


Autumn of Life

by ofVellichor



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Gen, The Ghosts (OCs), badass Jason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2018-11-30 19:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 79
Words: 729,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11470380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofVellichor/pseuds/ofVellichor
Summary: The League finds themselves in trouble, and Jason is the only one who can help.That was only the beginning.





	1. A changed man

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic.  
> Comments/feedback/criticism welcome.  
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little wordy, and nowhere near as good as all the other chapters because it wasmy first go at writing this, but stick with it to learn where Jason currently is in life at the moment, and pay close attention to the phone call between Jason and Tim.
> 
> I swear it gets really good, really quick!

Jason was at home when he got the call.

The day had been uneventful. Still, that counted as a win in Jason's mind. An early riser, he'd spent the morning in bed till ten on the dot, atrociously late by his standards. He could imagine the look on Alfred's face were he to walk in right now - that small tell-tell twitch of his right eye, shaking his head before that long suffering smile appeared, and gentle yet firm rebuke from the old man. Jason smiled as he thought about what would be doing at the moment. Breakfast was long over, so that probably meant preparing for lunch. Jason's mind drifted back to the present, taking in his large, clean comfortable bedroom; the sunlight seemed to make the walls glow a soft white. Outside, he could hear his favourite harem of birds chirping away happily and the stillness of his room complemented the peace he felt within. Man, he felt good. Really, really good.

As he lay in bed, Jason began to recap the events of the past week. Today was Tuesday, and what a beautiful Tuesday morning it was. His last mission with the Ghosts, a twelve strong group of ex-special forces that specialised in the art of impossible: extracting and infiltrating and being in places without any hint of a mark, had gone extremely well. All thirty-eight women and forty-two children were rescued; many were shaken and a few injuries were counted but thankfully, there was nothing too serious. They would be taken well care of by HESTIA, a shelter organisation and one of Jason's shell companies set up by Talia. They were involved in the protection and well-being of women and children, two groups Jason cared about deeply. Single mothers, widows, domestic abuse victims, sex slaves, orphaned and often neglected children, those that had suffered abuse - it didn't matter to Jay their status. As long as they wanted help, he would help, no matter the cost. It had take a while but each person, young and old, were being provided with identity documents, food, clothing, temporary shelter and eventually permanent housing; private, secure low rise housing blocks, marionettes and houses; small and comfortable enough to accept. Already HESTIA were providing the women with a decent selection of jobs - though Jason regretted that the range was limited to admin/secretarial, cleaning and catering, menial work in the eyes of others, it would hopefully be enough to get the women started on a better level in life.

Jason remembered the few that had took pity on himself and his mother Catherine during his early years, when they were dirt poor, thin and living day to day on the meagre cash Catherine made when she was well enough to work as a cleaner down at Barney's, the Bar in the "nicer" part of town. The other times were less pleasant. Jason didn't like to dwell on these; memories of sewage smelling alleys drifting into their shabby, peeling one bedroom apartment, with missing lightbulbs, drug paraphernalia strewn about on the carpet, a fridge that made horrible gurgling sounds at night that sometimes contained mouldy milk (rare times indeed). Worst of all, the sounds. The sounds that came with these memories seemed to seize Jason with a grip so deafening he felt glued to the wall; the heave thump thump of the sweaty man on top of his mother, the squeak of the old mattress and the creaking of the floorboard underneath that threatened to give way, the gasps of pain elicited from his mother that made Jason's heart constrict tightly.

He remembered always trying to make himself as small as possible as he would curl up in the damp corner of the apartment, just behind the couch, watching the men who came and left. On a good day, maybe one or two. His mother would be in the room for a while, not too long, before coming out, smoothing her hair and with a voice too high, eyes too bright, declaring that some food would be great just about now. In those times, he deliberately focused on the hem of her dress, not quite looking at her face, nor the finger prints around her neck, listening to the hot lies she spewed - those times he would match her voice, agreeing with her, as they made they way down to Patel's grocery shop a block away hand in hand. The other times...well. He usually lost count of the heartless bastards walking through the door. Grinning, ugly, repulsive creatures. Damn them to hell. Those days his mother didn't leave the room and he didn't bother to enter. His stomach gnawing away at him, so thirsty he would lick the water drops that leaked from their rusty piping; lead poisoning could kill him another day...

Nope. Not today.

Jason shook his clear clear. No, today he was only going to dwell on the good.

So, back to the mission. Rescued and safe women and children who were going on to a better start in life. The mission group, Ghosts, all twelve accounted for. Blue, a cyber security specialist had sustained a gunshot wound to his upper right shoulder and Black, the mechanical engineer, a nasty deep slash wound on his posterior thigh, but nothing much else. Jason himself, Red, had suffered a minor concussion early on after a scuffle with a few rebellious traffickers who just refused to stay down, damnit, but that was all. Jason smiled again. The Humvee would need repairing and they were four automatic A450's short but they were easy to replace. The mission itself had taken almost twelve weeks, brightened by rationed food, itchy beards, desert heat (but a damn deep tan to match), and came to an end with traffickers who were either dead (not that Jason was complaining) or being relocated to a maximum security prison in Mexico (which Jason had heard was utter hell) with life long charges. Jason felt...satisfied. 

After returning to his home last Saturday morning, in Danver, roughly an hour away from Gotham, Jason had never felt so calm. That Saturday was glorious. He'd parked his car in his grey gravelled driveway (that's right, all his), reclining on the seat of the old 1969 classic mustang which he had lovingly named Shelby. Beautiful Shelby. She smelt like smoke, leather, fuel and it warmed him dearly. He was home. His home. Not anyone else's, just his. A small two story house with an underground basement, in a quiet neighborhood, where good mornings were said with polite smiles, people were considerate of each other, and every once in a while, the smell of barbecue was a tease in the air. Jason knew that day, as he lounged in his car, eyes close, enjoying the early autumn breeze, that he had made the right decision to leave Gotham two years ago.

Since then, he had done nothing but sleep, eat, take ridiculously long vanilla scented baths (whose gonna judge), then repeat, and not all in that order either. It was bliss. He had taken his copy of Orwell's Animal farm everywhere around the house and was so absorbed in the book the entire weekend had passed by without his knowledge. Not once did he turn on the TV - Jason hated television and had only bought a decent sized TV after seeing Tim's incredulous expression that frankly, he could do without one. After all, the furniture did need to face something. He instead filled his mind and his time with books. Literature, of all genres, languages, forms - he loved them all. It was as if he was captivated all at once and nothing else mattered - it was the same when he was a young boy. The days where Catherine was sober enough to read to his worn out Harry Potter novel were treasured in his heart - her voice was a wonderful mixture of the raspy aftermath of a cigarette, crunchy, trodden gravel and warm honey; it was alluring and brought life into whatever she read. Despite everything, Jason never once blamed her. Never. A young woman of twenty-five with an eight year old child, no solid income, no decent job prospects, abandoned by family and by his abusive father, Catherine tried, and Jason would never hold her heroin-laced, vicious rants about the child she never wanted against her. She had done her best. His only regret was that he had been unable to give her the proper burial she deserved, and that was something that would forever live with him. 

Eleven thirty-five am.

Already?

Where had the time gone? 

Jason looked out the window. Outside was bright and the great Oakmore tree in his garden stood proud against the sky. His sheets felt crisp and teasing against his skin but Jason knew it was time to get up. Hmm, he thought as sat, sheets pooled around his waist. Bath first then laundry? Or how about tidying up, then laundry, then shower? Jason hated leaving for missions with his house in a mess, and though his house wasn't messy per se, it was certainly disorganised. He had left a full drying rack, and books strewn about in front of the giant bookshelf stationed in the living room. He didn't want to think about the two basketfuls of dirty laundry he had to do, the hoovering, mopping, not to mention all of his mission gear that would need cleaning and sorting. He had left a fridge that needed clearing and that he didn't like one bit. Jason hated food going to waste: the streets spared not a soul; his failure to properly buy and finish the correct amount of food before leaving on his mission meant he'd wasted food, wasted money, wasted time and wasted effort. And if he didn't want to starve for the next few blessed weeks he had off, food would be necessary. Which of course meant that a trip to the local market and the grocery store was in order. Great.

Mentally, Jason began to construct his list:

meat, ie chicken, lamb, pork, beef, turkey, goat. Probably a few kilos in total.

a couple of bags of rice.

definitely some pasta, linguine, spaghetti, a few packets should do the trick.

courgettes, parsnips, bell peppers, mixed vegetables, tomatoes, lettuce, red onions, spring onions.

spices: basil was on low, as was his all purpose seasoning. He was completely out of meat and vegetable stock, chilies, cumin, pepper, garlic, mild curry powder, and these were just the staples. He had yet to check each specialty cupboard: whole cupboards dedicated to spices from some of his favourite places in the world: India, Japan, Italy, etc. He decided to replenish his basics first; the specials he could stock later.

Jason sighed. It would be evening by the time he had completed everything, and he really didn't want to walk around sweaty and unwashed. A shower it was then. If he could leave by twelve pm on the dot he could beat the market rush hour of people, lunchtimes and general stuffiness. It would mean getting to the market on time - not too early that one would end up buying the remainder of last night's stock that failed to sell before closing time, and not too late that the best and most freshest of food were gone and all you were left with were the prodded, misshapen leftovers.

Alright alright, Jason mused as looked at his clock: eleven forty am. Time to go. Stripping quickly, he tossed his pyjama bottoms and shirt into the dirty laundry basket, which was already overflowing. The pyjamas themselves weren't too smelly but who didn't love fresh laundry? In the shower he opted for the portable shower hose and head instead of the fixed, overhead shower: Jason promised himself a luxurious hair wash the end of the day before his scented bath. Washing quickly and slapping on olive oil to his damp skin - great skin shouldn't just be limited to women - he dressed quickly. A gunmetal grey sweater with light grey shorts and flip flops, because he had been on his feet constantly for the last twelve weeks and no-one would be looking at his feet. eleven fifty-five am. Not bad, Jason thought, as he grabbed his car keys off the rack by the door and headed out.

Once in the car however, he paused suddenly. There was quite a bit to do and the last thing he wanted was step out later because he'd stupidly forgotten something. Fishing into his pocket for his phone, he opened Notes and began to type out his list. Food list done. But then he remembered he was almost out of washing powder and the conditioner he currently had was the wrong one: lavender instead of the fresh scent that came with the original, so conditioner would be needed. What else, he mused. Oh! Tim would be coming either tomorrow or later during the week and as always, a feast was to be had. The weather would indeed be perfect for a barbecue..and that meant charcoal from the grocery store.

Satisfied everything had been accounted for, Jason left for the market, a good fifteen minutes away by car without traffic. Parking wouldn't be too much of an issue at this time, he thought, as the warm breeze tickled his scalp. The road out of the neighborhood was quiet and Jason could feel himself sinking comfortably into the driving seat. Yet as he neared towards the centre of town, he began to steel himself for mix of people. Though the early afternoon was still better than the rush hour of the working morning or the bustle that came with soccer moms and their irritating brats, there would still be a number of people milling around. It wasn't that Jason was scared of people, not in that sense. Living in the streets left a person on guard at all times - suspicion could be the difference between staying alive and getting a knife to the back, or a blow to the head before being shipped off by traffickers. The streets of Gotham made grown men weep, its children pale and flitty - it was you, yourself and yours alone. Every man, woman, child, hell even animal for themselves; to forget this and take "pity" on another was a mistake that could cost a life. Since then, Jason had never quite shaken off the need to been at least on alert wherever possible - though it had saved him countless times, it meant that he'd never given certain people like Bruce a proper chance. A chance to trust him, to get to know him... 

No, not today, Jason shook his head slightly as he entered the city square. Good thoughts only. The smell of faijtas filled the air and Jason was quickly reminded that food wouldn't be amiss. Though he didn't feel spending money unnecessarily, today was a good today, so he was going to treat his damn self. Parking in the west side car park, he entered $3.50 into the coin machine for a six hour stay. It was slightly more than he'd have liked to pay, but it was a small reminder of what it meant to live in a peaceful city, with pleasant people and good food. It was to live without the threat of being shot, stabbed, robbed or killed in broad daylight and by God he'd take it, all day every day. Jason glanced at his watch. twelve fifteen pm. Not bad. Jason spent the next two hours making his way down the list, juggling baskets of spices, vegetables in one had and cash in the other. The meat he had decided to get last on his list; the frozen section of the market was the last to close and he did not want the smell nor the sight of meat sitting in his car in the heat.

After the market, Jason headed into the city square, where he bought the remainder of his items. The ten kilogram charcoal bag was tricky, though. He had the attendant set it aside to be collected for later - the plan was to firstly drop off all the shopping done so far into the car, head back into the market to buy all the meat, before taking the car to the designated ten minute drop off/collection parking bays outside the grocery store, where he would collect the charcoal. Later, after much huffing and panting, during which he dropped a can of tomatoes twice, amassing plenty of "oh shit" and "fuck noes" in the process, the ligheadedness after the back breaking work of hefting that bag of charcoal - that shit was stupidly heavy - Jason finally made it back home. After multiple trips back and forth to the car, including shuffling under the car to retrieve an onion that dared to escape, tripping and almost breaking his neck over his beloved copy of The Princess Bride, finally, it was home sweet home.

Flopped back onto his L-shaped creamy couch, Jason closed his eyes. He could honestly sit here all day, but then the smell of old rotting food weaved from the kitchen, through the dining room and over the cough to assault his nose. Ugh. More work to be done. Jason really didn't want to do anything, but, as he fondly remembered one of Alfred's infamous sayings, 'tackle the hardest first and life will be all the more sweeter'. So he got up. Up he went and made quick work of the remaining tasks: sorting the laundry and starting the washing, emptying the fridge and organsing the newly bought food, clearing the drying rack and hosing down the entire kitchen with kitchen cleaner. Once over, it was time to clear away the two inch layer of dust that hugged his kitchen worktops. The smell of floor cleaner restored his laminate flooring into the gorgeous maghogany oak he knew it to be. Soon the house returned to the pristine, uncluttered home Jason prided himself over and he couldn't be more glad.

Interrupting this peace was a sudden muffled growling emanating deep within. Ah, food. Apart from that one fajita he still hadn't eaten and his stomach now rebelled in protest. By now, both baskets of laundry had been washed and ready to be put away, but making food was definitely the priority here. Tim would be over soon and Jason secretly loved being able to feed his little brother. After all the shit he put Tim through, it was a sheer miracle Tim not only forgave Jason, but doggedly sought to spend time with him whenever he was back. Even during a mission, Jason received near daily voice messages, sound bites; little bits from Tim that helped Jason to relax in whatever Godforsaken part of the world they were in. It was hearing those slightly neurotic rants, the stupid jokes, the almost frantic manner Tim took when it came to updating Jason about the latest episode of their new favourite show, Ghostbusters, that Jason treasured. Deep down, away from the cocky, laid back persona Jason employed, Jason loved his brother dearly. He knew it, Tim knew it, and it was a testament to their relationship that Tim could get away with almost anything when it came to Jason.

Jason hummed away as he prepared something to eat. It was now six twenty pm and he truly was beat. Though he initially planned to cook a few stews to complement his heavy meat based dishes; he'd been eager to try making arabian lamb and eggplant stew, he was just too tired to cook anything complex. He felt he deserved something slightly more fancy than sandwiches, but didn't want to ruin his healthy meal streak (9 months, not counting that sad thanksgiving evening last year when he'd ordered close to thirty dollars of McMurrys) with takeout. A quesadilla would have to do. Two whole tortillas coated generously with green pesto, with roasted chicken, baby leaf spinach leaves, red tomatoes on top, all covered with another pesto covered tortilla, grilled to perfection on a lightly olive oiled saucepan. His stomach growled in anticipation

As he waited by the stove for base of the quesadilla to brown lightly, he turned on his speakers and selected shuffle on the iPod laying nearby. Before his untimely death, Jason had been obsessed with the old mp3 player he bought after months of meticulous saving from his weekly allowance. He had outright refused Bruce's offer for an mp3; the one Bruce wanted to buy cost an arm and a leg, and frankly, there was no way Jason could accept something he'd never had, from a man he didn't yet fully trust. At the tender age of thirteen, his young mind was adamant that giving into Bruce's seemingly innocent "generosity" would tip the balance of power solely in Bruce's favour - in other words, Bruce would own him, and Jason could not allow that to happen. It didn't matter that this particularly mp3 player was the latest, brand new, top of the range X63, with extra bass settings, storage for up to two thousand songs, no. Not that it came in a glorious metallic read with super cool matte black headphones, oh no. As good as it was, Jason knew deep down he could never accept it. Bruce, understanding Jason's internal dilemma, declined to push the matter and instead came up with an alternative solution: He would give Jason an allowance of twenty dollars outside food, clothing and books, that Jason could spend on whatever he he liked, no strings attached. Jason's lack of friends, a distaste for the cinema; a dirty, dark place where fumbling hands and whisky ran amok, meant that Jason ended up saving more than seventy percent of his allowance each week.

In two months, he had saved around a hundred and fifty dollars, more money than he had ever seen in his entire life.That evening in his room, opening the faded shoe box he kept well hidden by the side of his bed, on seeing all those green, paper thin notes, Jason had promptly broken down and cried. Cried, for he had never had so much money in all his years, money that was his, that he could never share with his mother. Money that could probably by several weeks worth of warm meals, second hand thick boots for the cruel winters ahead, a rented shelter...and here he was, about to spend it all on a stupid dinky looking mp3 player at a more affordable price. A sad bulky looking toy that barely held a hundred songs and didn't even come with a spare set of batteries. Meanwhile there were kids his age and younger, pulling thin, threadbare blankets around skeletal shoulders, big eyes and empty stomachs. Jason never did get the mp3 player in the end. He didn't have the courage, the heart to spend what was everything to him just to feel more like a "normal" kid around the jerks at school.

Unaware to Jason, Bruce had sat by the end of the hallway, heart heavy that his son, still new and so real, was so close yet so far away. To confront Jason on the subject, no matter how sensitively, would cause the boy to fly into a fit of rage, angry that he was being spied on, when privacy was so precious to him. It would once again mean bringing up the subject of wealth; the ultra rich Bruce and the sad, poor orphan Jason - it meant pity, and Jason, above all, despised pity. In the end, Jason wept, and Bruce sat. Two individuals within arms reach and still too distant. Bruce said nothing, and Jason never brought up the subject again.

And now Jason had an iPod, an iPod of all things and he didn't even buy it!. Tim had bought it and left it as a gift one day a few months back. He'd done it causally, to try and give off the impression that it was nothing, but both knew that wasn't the case. For Tim, it was a way of showing Jason that he cared, that he so desperately wanted to know Jason, and not just this Jason - the younger, before Jason, who he'd heard secretly held the voice of Bob Dylan and had moved Alfred to tears on more than one occasion. Jason, on his part, saw through the offhandedness of his younger brother - a year ago ago he would have flung the offending gift right back in Tim's face - no one could buy him off. But as they say, time is the best healer and Jason saw the meaning behind the gesture: a younger brother wanting to make his older brother happy. Jason would deny it with a flushed face, but out of all the people he held dear, of the very few he dared to associate with the L-word, Tim was at the very top of the list, and Alfred a tiny fraction beneath.

It was now seven zero five pm. Dinner had been wonderful. Jason ate the entire twelve piece quesadilla with no regrets, beautifully washed down with a few glasses of Alfred's 1988 Chateau La Croix against Einaudi's I Gorni playing in the background. Lounged on the couch, he'd just gotten to the part in Orwell's Animal Farm where Napoleon establishes himself as sole leader when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Tim. Probably calling to demand what he wanted when he came over, the skinny bugger. Jason had no idea how Tim managed to eat so much and still remain rail thin - Tim's usual response was to stand there cackling away. Still, what better way to show appreciation for some good home cooking than a younger brother with seemingly unlimited appetite?

Jason greeted his brother warmly. "Timmy! Timbo, my man, how's it going?" 

"Jay! Bro! You're here already? When did you get back? Wait, you've been back a while haven't you? You dick, why didn't you tell me?", Tim ranted at Jason.

Tim knew exactly why Jason didn't tell him when he arrived, despite his insistence that Jason do so. Of the little he knew of Jason's missions, (Jason refused to tell him pretty much anything that could jeopardise his "safety", as if the son of Batman needed to be spared, Tim scoffed) they were generally exhausting. An extraction here, a bit of infiltration there, and the rest was up in the air. The duration of a mission was also subject to change - Jason liked to give Tim estimates as he knew that Tim would worry without a return date to look forward to. The longest Jason had been away was close to four months and Tim had been pissed as hell when Jason finally arrived home - Jason might have told a little lie and said two months - okay, not a complete lie, the mission did technically take two months, but the paperwork of transferring eighteen of the CIA's most wanted men back to the US had been a bitch to complete. Should've just shot them instead, Jason had thought more than once at the time.

"Hey I'm sorry, you know how it is. But anyway, what's up? What can I do for ya skinny ass?" Jason grinned.

Tim rolled his eyes "Not subtle at all." He paused.

Jason heard the pause. Putting his book down, he immediately sat up, his heart beginning to quicken a little. "Tim, what's wrong? I swear if you need anything you know I-"

"Jay, it's alright. It's, um, yeah." Tim sighed. He didn't want to do this but it appeared there was no other choice. He didn't want Jason anywhere near this, especially him. Bruce. 

Jason was getting anxious. Tim was the kind to take pauses that could put a man on edge. His mind began to race; had something happened whilst he was away? Was Tim hurt? He knew Tim had sustained a sprained ankle a few weeks back after miscalculating his landing whilst out on patrol. 

"Shit, Tim, if you don't spill right now I'm coming over" Jason was half-way standing up when Tim suddenly burst to life.

"No! Jay! I'm good, seriously! I just, I-we need help. And I... I kinda don't want you to help" 

Tim winced at this. The last thing that Tim wanted was a) the impression that Jason was only useful when help was needed but most importantly b) for Jason to be anywhere near the Justice League. As the Red Hood, Jason and Bruce had been at violent odds; solo missions abroad had brought him under intense scrutiny of the League: assassination attempts after bombings after drug cartel wars, did him no favours, and the League were ready to call for his arrest. Leaving Gotham and undertaking private contractual work proved life-changing and Tim could not bear the thought of Jason losing such progress. But there was little choice, Tim reasoned. Jay was the best person for the job and like it or not, the Justice League had no feasible alternatives.

Now it was Jay's turn to pause. What on earth was going on? He didn't want to push Tim, his brother sounded agitated enough already. So he waited. 

It didn't take long.

"Alright, here's the deal", Tim muttered. "Don't say anything after I'm done, not straight away at least."

Jason remained silent.

Tim continued "For the past three months, the Justice League had been working on and off on maintaining the peace between the Xan, home to Xanderians, and the Ghusalem, of the planet Gol. Apparently they already have a peace treaty but it's always been fragile - the last few years have been tense with disputes over land, trade and defence. It was weird, Jay, ordinarily the Lanterns handle intergalactic disputes but you know the Lanterns, just can't keep their shit together I guess." Jason chuckled at this - it was true. He had lost count of the number of times Bruce had been "summoned" by the League on some out of world mission because once again, to no-one's surprise, the Lanterns couldn't do their damn jobs.

"Anyway", Tim continued, " This particular time the argument was over military defence. Xan believed Gol had too many radioactive materials that were having a knock on effect their planet's rotational energy - to be fair, the planets are quite close to each other. Gol claimed this to be nonsense, that Xander themselves were hiding more advanced and lethal materials of their own and were responsible for these changes. Neither side would own up to anything. Initially, the talks seemed to being well, but since they were too proud to back down, the tension kept escalating and at one point, the war was being threatened - the treaty had been violated in the past but luckily things had diffused. Shit Jay, things got so fierce that there was talk abour stability of the surrounding planets Hunio, Elek and Demish being at risk - some how the IGC, the Council of leaders of Intergalatic relations (ie their government basically) heard wind of the situation and summoned the whole lot of us before Council. They're a pretty ancient lot, been there since the beginning of the multi-verse apparently."

"At the meeting, both sides made their cases til the IGC couldn't take it anymore and issued a warning: one week to cease threats of war or they would step in and impose indefinite sanctions on both Xan and Gol until they could sort their shit out. And sanctions from the IGC are no joke, Jay. It means a complete ceasing on all trade, movement, people, materials, - everything, in and out of the cities, it all just grinds to a standstill. The rebound effect on the economy is enough to cripple it entirely - the IGC do not play. The threat of sanctions seemed to settle both sides a little and the representatives went back to their home cities. The Justice League went back to Eain, the capital city of Xan. The plan was to try and reason with Xan first before going to Gol to do the same - to keep the peace.” Tim stopped here, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing."

“This next bit was a little confusing for everyone. Superman’s voice crackled through our communicators, saying he’d seen what look like an aircraft approaching with speed towards Xan. The closer it came, the more we realised it was like a blur – low-lying, fast and it didn’t seem like it would slow down. Xanderian speakers were shouting warnings through the city speakers to the aircraft to slow down, to halt, but the aircraft kept going Jay. The infra-red sensors picked up fourteen of the Ghusalem on board” Tim sighed.

Jason knew where this was going.

“Superman had no choice…he had to meet the aircraft head on. It meant matching the speed of the aircraft, and we knew he didn’t want to do it, but without intervention, the impact alone would wipe out the entire city; there were civilians on the ground and we just couldn’t risk it. Superman went straight through the aircraft.. it was like a ball of light exploded in the realm. The passengers didn't make it.. it wasn't possible. For a moment, there was silence. Then the screaming started. Within hours, Gol had declared a state of war and had warcrafts already on their way. It was inevitable – Gol wanted war, Jay, and they used Superman as the excuse to pull the trigger”

Jason kept quiet. This was no longer amusing.

"Everything happened to fast. There was no time to sit and come up with a plan - these ships just kept coming and coming. Xan retaliated with their own warfare and half the League scrambled over to Gol to stop Xan's ships from wrecking El, Gol's capital city. The whole thing was mayhem.They wrecked a whole lot of shit. Buildings crumpled like pancakes. I'm talking utter collapse; people were trapped under rubble and you could hear them begging for help. We didn't know what to do; the force it took to stop these aircrafts meant anything in the periphery would go down as well- and these ships I'm talking about are BIG, Jay. Alien ships, strong, durable, with lasers shooting everywhere... we tried to contain the damage as much as possible, but in the end, I really wished we'd never agreed to help in the first place. Superman was... it was clear Gol soldiers were under the command to take out the strongest and he had no choice, Jay. It wasn't just him; Wonder Woman, Green Lantern and his power-puff ring... We had to take the Flash out almost entirely - the more he ran, the more the ground cracked under the stress of buildings collapsing- in effect he was creating mini earthquakes all over the place."

"We did our best, Jay, but the collateral damage was something else. We managed to deflect some of the aircrafts away from the cities, which prevented the deaths of thousands, I'm sure, but we forgot to look up, all the way up. On earth, up is an empty sky, so launching things into space isn't so much of a big deal - there isn't much to connect with. But here amongst these planets, that isn't the case. They have what they call the ISSA bridge, a sort of intergalactic high way that connects the main cities of each planet to one another. But the time the attack ceased, there were big jagged holes in the the bridge. On Xander's side the damage is so bad it kinda looks like the remnant of a cheese string, long threads just floating about in space." Tim stopped, taking a deep breath.

Jason closed his eyes.

He didn't want to imagine it. This really wasn't what he wanted to hear right now. Damn Justice League. Just fucking shit up.

Tim continued. "Yeah. The IGC were furious. Absolutely fucking furious. Representatives from Earth were informed and when they showed up, oh boy, they were pissed. IGC hauled the Justice League right up in front of everyone and gave them a reaming so bad I couldn't watch at one point, even though it wasn't all our fault! Gol used us - we all knew it but that wasn't the point apparently. But what could we do? We weren't on Earth, we don't have any jurisdiction out in space. They gave them a choice: One.International jail, Two. sharing out the billing of damages between Gol, Xan and the League; our representatives flat out refused - for one thing, the Justice League didn't involve them appropriately of the situation, they were under the impression that talks were almost concluded and another thing - tell me Jay, how are we gonna pay for something we don't even have the currency for?"

"The last option was for the League to repair the worst shit they damaged: infrastructure, the ISSA bridge, and we took it. If we'd refused any responsibility, the IGC would have enough leverage and support to amount an attack on us, on Earth, and then we'd really be fucked. The League have run seriously afoul of the IGC; all the IGC are interested in is the repair work - apart from that, they don't want anything to do with the League, and to be honest, I don't blame them. In the past, the Justice League has generally respected the decisions of the Council but oh boy, has that relationship has been blown to bits"...Tim trailed off before continuing.

"I haven't even told you the absolute bollocking the League got when they got back. With the president, heads of National security...Batman didn't speak about it but one thing I'm certain - if not for all the other times the League has proved themselves useful, I imagine we'd have gotten the order to disband, effective immediately."

Silence.

Neither man said anything. Jason, at first having enjoyed hearing the League messing up for once, was left slightly stunned at the colossal mess he was hearing. It would take years for both cities to recover. Lives had definitely been lost. Both economies would take big hit for sure.

He started, slowly organising his thoughts.

"What do you want from me, Tim? This isn't my mess, and these aren't my people. It's not my problem." Jason's voice was soft.

"I know, Jason. If there was anyone else, I swear you wouldn't even be hearing about this. But no-one from earth wants anything to do with this - they've left it all on the Justice League, and they're not half wrong. We need someone who can act as an ambassador, someone who can delegate between both Xander and Gol, some who-"

"A peacemaker, no, a baby-sitter, you mean", Jason bristled.

"No, no Jay. Outside the League, you're the only one who knows both Xander and Gol."Tim pushed.

That was true, Jason thought. Still didn't make him the right man for the job. "What about the Lanterns? Any of them could step in."

"Yeah, none of them will do it. The IGC called them ineffective, incompetent and wanted them scrapped entirely"

Ooof, Jason sucked his breath in, trying not to laugh. Harsh but true. 

"I'm not a peace maker, Tim"

"The irony isn't lost on me. Jay ple-"

"I don't have any experience in playing ambassador, or peace-maker. I barely spent time in either place; multi-dimensional travel has taken a backseat to the missions, you know that. Look, Tim, I want help you." Jason paused. "No, scratch that, I don't. I don't want anything to do with this. This is a whole 'nother "league" of trouble and I'm not about to have a target put on my back, not by the IGC, not by the League, not by anyone." Jason was picking up steam. 

As much as he loved his little brother, he could help being pissed that Tim would even want him to be involved in something like this. "You realise that I'd have to actually spend time with the League, to put myself out there for people who've never given a damn about me and for a while, hunted me like some sorta animal. I've only just starting getting my life back on track, after so long....no, Tim, I'm sorry, I can't."

"I know, Jay. I don't you in this at all. But I swear to you, all you'll be doing is keeping the peace. Just making sure that communication between the League, Gol and Xander is kept as hostile-free as possible. I know you don't want to be anywhere near this and I agree, but you're the only person I can think of at this time. The League are scrambling. You're well liked in both places and-"

"You're asking someone known to be hot-headed and impulsive to stop two planets being hot-headed and impulsive."

Tim chuckled. "You're not that person anymore, Jay. You're better than that, you've changed. I know you Jay, and I know you can do this. I'm not asking you to get involved in any of the reconstruction work or anything, no. Its just to play middle-man. Besides, it'll put you in a position of power over the League."

Jason paused at that. The role would involve bossing the Justice League around a bit, and he had to admit, he wouldn't mind it one bit. But then there was the IGC to think about. Surely they'd want to know more about him.

"And the IGC, Tim? You know they'll want to know what makes me qualified to act as delegate between Xan, Gol and the League. I can't have them poking around..besides, it would make any future travels more difficult. They'll probably know if I make an appearance anywhere in their dimension. And I'm not about to risk galactic jail Tim, you know my face is too pretty for that shit."

Tim laughed. Jason couldn't help but smile.

"You help sort this mess out Jay, the IGC will pretty much give you anything you want, trust me. This is all hella expensive and if you can help get things back on track, then get ready for an honorary 'collect as you go' lifetime visitor pass, anywhere, anytime" Jason laughed.

They were silent for a while. Tim could practically hear Jason thinking. Jason himself paced back and forth his living room. This could...work. He could act as delegate between the three parties, earn a good reputation with the IGC, and if things went well, get the League off his back. Though they weren't actively looking for him, probably due to Batman's insistence, it would be nice to walk about freely without wondering when his next League arrest warrant was due. Meaning he could be a "free" man and not owe Batman a single damn thing, because, if he was completely honest, he owed Batman big time for getting the League off him. Enough that they weren't smashing through safehouses across the world looking for him. Anymore, that is.

Yeah, this could work. What's that saying - two birds with one stone? No, Jason thought - this was even better. It was more like 4 shiny diamonds and he the cunning magpie - One. get in the good graces with the IGC, Two. possible obtain a free pass on travel in this multi-dimension, Three. absolutely de nada to do with the League and sweetest of all, Four. no more IOUs to Batmanc- they'd be even once and for all. It was perfect. Tricky, for sure; he'd need to be on his best behaviour at all times - no losing his temper, no starting unnecessary arguments, just all round civility. In fact, Jason pondered, he could set his own terms, and he already had a few in mind. It wasn't as if the League could flat out refuse - the weren't exactly popular off-world and at home at the moment. Yep, if he played his cards right, this could work out perfectly for him. It dawned on him gradually that Tim must have already figured this out. He laughed out loud.

"...Jay? You okay buddy?"

"You little shit. You told me all this knowing that it could potentially work well in my favour. You shit. Shoulda just told me from the get go." Jason was laughing.

Tim snorted and Jason could practically feel the git's arrogant smirk across the screen.

"Yep. How much of a dick would I be if I didn't make sure the benefits were worth it at the least?"

"Uh-huh"

"If I'da told you from the get go, the prospect of working with the League would far overshadow the benefits - the last thing you would take away from the conversation would be 'Ah, you mean I gotta work with these fuckers?" growled Tim, which sent Jason into a fit of laughter. Was that meant to be his voice? Tim needed a good hundred pounds of extra muscle and 3 lifetimes of puberty to even get close to intimating him. Jason smiled at the thought of extra short Tim with Michelin-like arms and a grouchy voice. Too funny for words.

"Alright, alright, point taken." Jason wiped the tears away. He was still smiling. "Fine."

"Fine? As in fine, you'll do it, or fi-"

"As in fine." Jason leaned against the wall of the living room facing the front driveway. "I'm around seventy, maybe eighty percent sure."

"Whoooo! Jason thank you thank yo-"

"Not finished, pipsqueak. It'll have to be on my terms. My rules. I'll take the night to think things through. If the League doesn't accept them all, then no deal, hombre."

Tim quietened. "I'll need to know by tomorrow afternoon, Jay. I don't want to push you but the IGC are breathing down the League's neck to get started and neither Gol or Xan want to deal with the League directly."

"Yeah, I get you. I'll let you know by tomorrow."

Tim breathed a sigh of relief. He'd had a pounding headache all day and his eyes were all squnity from the hours he'd spent glued to the watchtower screen. He was back at his apartment, a stupidly expensive two bedroomed penthouse on Gotham's Upper East side, befitting for the young CEO of Wayne Industries. His blinds were down despite the sunlight that still marked early autumn, and he'd sat in darkness for the last hour. The only sound he could bear was Jason's; the baritone had soothed away much of the headache. It had taken hours of planning by himself to put the idea to Jay across - too flippantly and Jason would brush it off, too urgent and Jason would become defensive, suspicious even. They desperately needed the help and Tim couldn't be more glad at Jason agreement. 

"Can't imagine how much it must'a taken you to get me to do this" Jason's soft broke into the silence. "I know it was hard for you, and the League don't give you anywhere near enough credit, but good job, Tim. Seriously, you're a hell of an asset and they sure as heck don't deserve you."

Tim's face flushed in the darkness of his apartment.

"Thank you Jay. I mean it."

"You know I'm not doing this for them, right? If it was up to me, they'd be rotting away in alien space jail right about now."

Tim chuckled. The silence returned, comfortable.

"Get's some sleep Tim." Ding. An automated voice spoke into the room that momentarily startled Tim. "Delivery for Apartment 23, to collect at concierge." 

Tim frowned. He hadn't ordered anything. His diet consisted of caffeine, more caffeine, instant noodles and green leaf salads that cost too much to think about. He had thought about ordering takeout on the way home from the watch-tower, but then Bruce wanted those reports on last week's drug smuggling ring, Dick was telling him about that new show he was hooked on, Psych or something, and he'd had to swallow the desire to snap at Damian, the utter shit, who seemed to enjoy Tim's misery. As soon as the family arrived back in Gotham, Tim hightailed it back to his place, not wanting to spend a single moment more with the little prick. He didn't see Dick's crestfallen face, nor did he notice the way Bruce's eyes never left him as he dashed out of the manor. 

Back to the matter at hand.. if he didn't order takeout then who did - Oh.

Jason did.

"Take out Jay? What, couldn't afford to take me out for a movie? Cheapskate."

Jason grinned. "Shut it and eat squirt. I'll know if you've had less than eight hours sleep."

"Liar"

"Alfred"

"You prick. Fine. Eight hours."

"Good. Night bro,"

"Night Jay".

Jay shook his head and smiled. He'd been smiling a lot lately - even now, at the prospect of working with people he despised. It was all Tim's fault, he reasoned, as he put Animal farm aside and began to jot down a few of the terms that had come to mind whilst he spoke with Tim.

Tim had just returned back to his apartment. Fresh takeout in two bagsful, he closed his front door with his foot, and dropped the keys he'd put in his mouth on the kitchen bar table.

Walking out to the large skylight of living room, he put on The Hobbit on the massive walled television and began to open up containers of egg fried rice, steamed dumplings, spicy pho, vegetable spring rolls, skewered chicken satay, a black bean salad and wait and minute.... sixty-four's special chicken and beef burger? Ah, classic Jason. Just had to mix things up" He grinned as he texted his brother "I saw what you did there."

A few minutes later, his phone beeped. With his eyes still glued to the screen, he looked down at his phone. Jason had sent a video. Hmm, Tim wondered. Pressing play, he really wished he didn't have a mouthful of rice as the voluptuous Mr Cheeseburger from veggie tales they'd drunkenly watched a few months back began to sing:

"oh you're a cheeseburger,  
a lovely cheeseburger,  
waiting up for you-o, yeah  
waiting up for you-o  
oh..."

Tim was still laughing five minutes later as he texted Jason a short, simple message "1-0."

Jason glanced at his phone and smirked at the message. It was now almost nine pm and he was sat in bed, leaned against the board rest, looking at the list of terms he'd drafted. He really did want to wash his hair but it was late and the day had left him beat. Plus, he felt drowsy now that food had properly settled and the wine he had drank earlier began to tease his eyelids asleep. He looked at the list once more. He knew he would wake early tomorrow, and decided to get some rest before taking a fresh look in the morning. He went about his night routine steadily - again, great skin took work, and yes, he was not afraid to admit that he liked to look good. Alfred had drilled that into him from the get go -"Presentation matters" seemed to be Alfred's mantra whenever Jason dared to leave the house with his shirt untucked, or cap worn backwards, not wanting to look like the lame ass brats he went to school with. It was a simple thing to look good, Jason decided. Clean clothes, a decent haircut, clear skin and smelling great worked wonders for the self esteem. Jason knew what it was like to be dirty, to live in the back alleys, the hovels, the very rank, ugly groves of Gotham where rats nibbled at your feet and rain soaked your clothes.

Washing wasn't a right, or a necessity - it was outright luxury. The day he'd managed to sneak into the showers of the public swimming pool near the city centre was one of the best days's of his life. He'd spent almost an hour in those showers: powerful blasts of hot, steaming jets of glory, pummelling the very dirt out of him. The soap there was nothing fancy, the cheap shit made by the Cain factory on the outskirts of Gotham, but to Jason, they were the manna of heaven. He'd washed his hair with the same soap too, and the water rinsed black, with small balls of dust, grime, sweat and matted blood tumbling across his shoulders now and again. He would have stayed longer, had that blasted attendant not decided to do a quick check of the restrooms. It was sheer luck that Jason managed to escape; who knows what would have happened had he been caught. Now that Jason had his own home, with his own electricity and water that he paid for out of his own pocket, he could not imagine going back to such circumstances. 

This experience why he'd had HESTIA, the shelter organisation, install up two large building units containing shower and toilet facilities in downtown Gotham, free for all, nine to six pm. Even if you hadn't a single morsel to eat, and nowhere to go, at least you could be clean. Sometimes being clean and smelling clean chased the monster of hunger away till the next day. It mean everything to Jason to be clean, and he'd make damn sure those living on the streets had the opportunity to feel the same way too.

Finally, nine forty pm.

Jason was in bed. Fresh sheets, clean, with a crisp breeze through the open windows. Bliss. He sweated a lot at night - nightmares and the feeling of being trapped tend to do that to you, and few things in life felt as good as the wind on your skin. Jason turned the light off. He generally liked his curtains to remain pulled back, allowing the glow of the night to fill the room. It made his nights more peaceful. His eyes grew heavy.

All in all, he'd had a great day.


	2. Get'cha head in the game, son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason prepares to meet the Justice League.

The next morning started much the same as yesterday.

Bright. Warm. Crisp.

By five am, Jason was wide awake. His sleep had been light, a result of the twelve hours plus he'd spent dozing over the weekend. He felt well rested, yet had a jumpy sort of feeling in his chest. He wasn't nervous, was he? No, Jason scoffed. Not nervous at all.

His first thought went to the list of terms he'd made last night. Picking the sheet of paper he left on his bedside table, Jason scanned the list with a critical eye. If he made too many demands, and didn't manage to pull through, the deal would surely be off. There would be no guarantee of anything. Jason sat back against the headboard. What did he really want? To be part of the Justice League, a "hero"? Jason chuckled to himself. He had never been the hero type; the goody-two shoes look didn't suit him. He certainly didn't want to remain in contact with them either - once this job was done, that was it. No keeping an open line, no "favours". He didn't want money - in fact, he didn't need it. Talia spoilt him thoroughly and Jason allowed her, despite his resistance. It made her happy, and there was nothing he wouldn't do for the woman who had cared for him for the three solid years he'd spent as a catatonic idiot, and who had sought to stay in close contact even afterwards.

He himself had plenty of money. Some of the missions he had undertaken after his training with the League of Assassins but before his return to Gotham had seen him set up shop all over South America as a feared drug lord. One of the most respected, thank you very much. The money was dirty, but Jason ensured it to be clean by wise investments in property, stock and small shares in businesses all over the world. As a result, he had enough passive income to last several lifetimes over. The interest alone took care of all of his personal outgoings each year, leaving the majority of his wealth for investment. Good. Too much money made the world blind, Jason reasoned. There was a lot to be said for taking care of those in need and Jason, over the years, worked hard to set up legitimate corporations to tackle this. Jobs. Education. Housing. It was not just Gotham that he provided with these opportunities, no - all the places he had been to, in India, South America - his organisations had smaller branches that delivered aid to these places and Jason took pride in the fact that his money was being used for good. Not laying around, like some he knew. Heh.

The list of terms was getting smaller by the second as Jason debated and eliminated one by one. Blackmail purposes? Amateurish. For respect? No. The League had never respected Jason, not as the ward of Bruce Wayne, not as the new robin, and certainly not as the Red Hood. He didn't want their respect, their pity, nothing. What he wanted was more than that. It was freedom, it was the ability to have something that was entirely his. Not fate, not by accident, just his. And this is what it came down to. The League were more in need of him than the other way around, and for this to work, they'd have to let him take charge, completely. He had spent time on Xan and Gol, and whilst he didn't know everything, of course, he knew a lot. He knew a lot of their customs, their people and could get round and about rather well in their language. Jason nodded. Yes, he held the cards, that was for sure.

He knew his terms. Placing the sheet back onto the table, he decided that it was time to wash his hair. As he let the jasmine infused tea conditioner sit in his hair, Jason thought back to when he first uncovered his ability.

Jason discovered his "gift" by way of an accident. Thanks to his Lazarus fueled resurrection, Jason had somehow someway gained the ability of multi dimensional space travel. It was like the Universe's private way of saying "Look, normally death is death, but since yours was particularly brutal, here, take this and stop whining already!" He wasn't sure how he'd first unlocked his free "gift", only that he was on a mission one day with the Bats, three years ago, back when his time as the Hood made him a useful but dangerous asset. Batman and his underage gang of misfits were trying to take down Jugla, a magician who'd been turning people into wild animals and causing general havoc in Gotham.

Finally, after three days of mayhem, the showdown they had been waiting for arrived. It was like one of those cringe-worthy street dance movies; after dodging countless energy blasts, being flung into walls, and tied up with a string of yellow socks, Jason had had enough. He was tired, hungry and irritated, incredulous that he here was, two-thirty in the morning, a adult male, fighting this lame-ass, cliche looking "magician", when the git blasted a beam of light right in his direction. He'd been too slow, underestimated the man, and as a result, couldn't brace for impact - he took a direct hit to the chest before being thrown several feet away, knocked unconscious as he collided with the floor. He'd woken up in the cave, against bright lights and the Bat looming over him. "Concern" he called it.

After managing to convince Alfred that yes, he was fine, no he didn't have a concussion, no, he didn't feel like vomiting, no, he was sure he hadn't sustained any other injury, Alfred let him leave. Bruce hadn't said a word, nor had Dick for that matter. Tim had stayed behind, on the pretense of writing up the mission, but Jason knew Tim wanted to check on him. Rather than experiencing a second death by mollycoddling, Jason fled the manor, winking at Tim on the way out. Bruce didn't know that Tim and Jason kept in touch, nor worked on a few cases together. Both men silently agreed it this way - Tim not wanting to upset Bruce, Jason not wanting the Bat stalking him before making over dramatic statements like "stay away from my kids" or some shit like that. 

Jason went home that night, but those next few nights were strange. He had dreams of outer space; blue green, white gold, purple planets, with inhabitants who looked like humans, aliens he'd seen in the movies, and all the rest inbetween. There was a planet, Thanagar, that had human looking people with wings at the back. Another planet was Apokolipos or something like that, red, black and smoky ruled by some freaky big-headed creature who called himself Darkseid. Jason didn't make the connection at first. The fight had left him run down, but as the days continued, he gradually realised that something was wrong. The fight was boringly long, but it wasn't strenuous. There was no palpable reason as to why he had been left feeling worn out. The blast of light hadn't turned him to an animal but -oh. It clicked in Jason's mind that a visit to Zatanna might be in order.

After a quick google search of her tour dates - Zatanna's last show would be in the next three days luckily, he booked a flight to Las Vegas. Ordinarily he would have made a road trip, avoiding the airport crowds, but he was too tried. After sleeping of the jet-lag, Jason finally caught up with Zatanna after the show, which had been absolutely fantastic. It took a couple of minutes for Zatanna, or "Zee", as Jason fondly nicknamed her when he was young and impressionable, to recognise him - she'd been close to calling security. Jason knew the moment she knew - the dawn of recognition in her eyes as she finally realised who he was, and the high-pitched squeals, along with giant hugs from the petite woman, came swiftly. He explained the situation to her, and she'd been enraptured from the start. Jason had noticed that she had looked, no, stared at him intensely all throughout his little speech. Becoming increasingly unnerved, he had stopped to ask why.

"and so when I woke up, I didn't get it at first but, uh....Zee? You kinda keep staring and its weird" Jason's face was flushed at this point.

Zatanna laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jason. Its just, well, don't you see?" Her head was now angled slightly to the side and her mouth was upturned gently at the corners.

"See what, Zee? I mean, I've not had any other injuries, but I just feel...weird. Like sorta in and out of my body. My head's all messed up too. What are you seeing?" Jason began to feel anxious.

Zatanna fully smiled now. "I can see the magic in you."

"Magic, yeah, alr- wait, what? What magic? I don't have any magic. I mean, apart from when Juggie boy hit me with his magic blaster. Oh. ooooh" Jason had put the pieces together.

"Well, what's gonna happen, Zee? Am I gonna turn into a chicken or something? Do I need to buy a coop? A man's gotta be prepared for these things, you know."

Zatanna burst out laughing. She was still studying him. Jumping up from where she sat at her dressing table, she took Jason by the arm and placed him in front of her giant, full length mirror.

"What do you see, Jay?"

"Nothing. Well, just a damn good looking young man and a fine young lady on his arm but apart from that-"

"How about now?" Zatanna had held his arm and her blue eyes appeared to twinkle.

"I still don't see any...Zee, why do I have what looks like a ball of purple light glowing in my chest? And there's a white bullseye smack bang in the middle of my forehead."

Zatanna smiled. "So you do see it". She brought him even closer to the mirror, and with a few words, beckoned a chair over. Seating him down, she lifted his chin slightly and stared right into his eyes. Man, she was pretty close. Lovely black hair and all.

"Zee, not that you're ugly or anything, absolutely gorgeous in fact, but lets not deceive ourselves: you're a little too old for me, you know? Plus, you once dated Bruce, no offence, so it would kinda be like dating my mom-"

"Lazarus."

That cut the conversation short.

He, looking up at her, and she looking down at him. Not with pity, but anger. And not angry anger, either, more of a sad anger.

Jason looked away, jerking his chin from her and gazed into the opening of the tent. He could see families, holding their prized popcorn, surrounded by children running ahead with cotton candy floating above their heads. Zatanna was still looking at him.

Beckoning another chair over, she sat down, and took his hands into her own. For a long while, she studied at him. He instead looked down at their hands clasped together, before taking the courage to meet her eyes. What he met wasn't fear. It was warmth. Unknown to him, Zatanna had been waiting for him to face her; she wanted confirmation that the young man in front of her still possessed the same fiery ball of strength she'd seen in him all those years ago when they first met.

He did.

Abruptly, Zatanna had started explaining what it all meant. Jugla didn't give Jason anything; he simply activated what was already inside him. Zatanna had come across a couple of cases before, but most people discovered their "gifts" - time travel, shape-shifting etc from early childhood, or not at all. For it to be uncovered later usually took a stressful event of some kind: provoked, high adrenaline, something that had to open up their emotions. A bit like the Lazarus pit; why it hadn't activated earlier when Jason was dipped in the Pit remained unknown. Zatanna sat him down then and explained that the purple usually meant travel and the white he saw was either dimensional or multi-verse ability. Time travel was rare and was more of a golden white.

Jason was stunned. He couldn't believe it.

"So you're saying, technically, I can travel into space? Like, see different worlds you mean? And when you say multi-verse, you mean like different universes? Say we've got Earth, Mars, Jupiter in our multiverse, another multiverse could have entirely different planets?"

Zatanna nodded, a huge smile on her face. "Not just that; I've heard that one could travel elsewhere and discover planets _similar_ to ours, say for instance, a sort of earth two. You might even met the same people, the same cities, but in a completely different multiverse!"

Jason's mind whirled with excitement. All those space fantasy novels he'd loved years ago back in his room at the Manor, all the times he'd wished for time travelling, discovering new worlds, and now he had the same sort of ability?! He couldn't remain seated. "Just a moment, Zee."

She waited, knowing what was going to happen. She'd seen it when he was younger.

"whoooooooooo-hoooooooooo! I can space travel! Whoop whoop, can you believe it? Can you actually believe this shit? Shit, man! This is incredibleamazingIcan'tbelieveit-"

Zatanna laughed as she watched all two hundred and sixty pounds of Jason Todd, six foot three and a half inches (he always loved to claim whatever he could, no matter how ridiculous) ran circles around the large tent, hands in the air, whooping, face bright and curly hair alive. She loved it.

After Jason had calmed down, they had gone to dinner, talking more about the gift and how it could be activated, including how to return, whether it was safe to eat and do things on the travel, the concept of time - would three hours on this earth be the same in another dimension? Were they even compatible? Zatanna wasn't sure on the latter details, but she promised to put Jason in touch with those she knew who had similar gifts. Zatanna gave him a necklace, a sort of focal point that could allow him to channel a blast of energy from any power source (electricity was usually the most convenient). All Jason had to do was to focus on the concept of space travel, and the energy generated by the power source would power the necklace, acting as a gateway, a rip in the fabric of space which he could physically step into. Literally. He could leave Earth on one side, step through the rip, and end up on Mars on the other side. It blew his mind.

After a long conversation of catching up, laughter, tears and hugs, Jason left Zatanna to return home, back to Gotham. He had wanted to try travelling straight away, but Zatanna had advised him against doing so; apparently being well rested was the most effective and relaxed way to travel. Attempting to do so whilst tired, stressed, or even ill would be too unstable - one might never return. Jason had swallowed uneasily at the thought of that. So he waited whilst he recovered. Impatiently. Finally, a few weeks later, he had fully recovered. The first couple of attempts had not gone well. Either he didn't have enough power, or focus, or sometimes both. The idea was so exhilarating that his thoughts kept racing; it was difficult to relax. He'd called Zatanna and she'd reassured him that it would happen; all he needed was to relax, to focus, and to be patient.

And then it happened.

It was so sudden that at first, when he'd stepped through the fabric of space, he refused to open his eyes. Call it fear, call it anxiety - he had no idea where he was. And then little by little, he peeked. What he saw left him speechless. Ahead of him were mountains. Mountains as clear as the glass he'd polished earlier that morning. Was this real? He pinched himself. Yep, definitely real. At his feet, the earth? floor? was soft. Bouncy even. He jumped. And flew through the air before crash landing with a small bounce.

"Wooooah" Jason breathed, eyes bulging. He attempted it again. Jumped, and went twenty feet into the air, before landing on his bottom with a squelch. Jason laughed. He couldn't believe it.

A thought struck him - he had needed energy from power source to get here in the first place - how was he gonna get back? As panic began to take hold, Jason forced himself down to think of what Zatanna had told him. The rip through space, having a clear focus, -oh! All he had to do was to once again focus on his earth, Earth one as he called it. As long as he had left the power source running, it would transcend through the rip on that same side and re-open the rift on whatever earth or dimension he was currently in. Oh. Jason tried it, and it worked. He tried it a couple more times, just to be on the safe side. He'd spent that day exploring the land; on future travels he'd later discover the land to be Yama, known for its see through mountains and ultra-soft land, of the city Playdopia. Jason had laughed outright at the name. Fitting, he supposed. As he continued to travel, he discovered another gift that had left him speechless - language. No matter where he went, as soon as Jason stepped on a new planet and opened his mouth, he could speak the language of the the inhabitants. It was amazing. He didn't even have to try. It came to him like waking up in the morning, natural as anything. Best of all, he retained knowledge of the language whilst back on his own earth. He chuckled. Good times.

 

SHIT!

 

Jason woke up with a snort. Had he really dozed off in the tub? He arched his back to look across at the mounted wall clock in his bedroom. Eight fifty sevenam. More than three hours had flown by and the water, initially hot and bubbly, was now lukewarm bordering on cold. Eww. He ran his hand through his hair. Conditioner! Wait a second. He ran his hand through his locks again - damn, they were ultra soft. Like, baby bottom soft. He leaned out of the top to peer at the mirror on the far side of the bathroom. His hair was proper curly now, and it looked great. Well then, Jason mused. No harm done. Maybe his body knew what was up after all.

Jason finished up quickly. His hair he decided to air dry. He'd seen this video on Youtube about the dangers of heat on hair strands, particularly curly hair, and he had finished the video with half a mind to toss his hairdryer into the pit of hell. He sat on his bed, boxers on, as he checked his phone. Nothing yet from Tim. Good. It meant he still had time to figure out the terms - and make sure they were airtight in terms of the law. A verbal agreement meant nothing; anyone could go back on their word. Jason wanted it written on paper - solid, and he was prepared to send a copy to his solicitors if it came down to it. Talia and all the training he'd received from various teachers had taught a wise lesson - never rely on word of mouth alone. Back with the League of Assassins, he'd been fed the basics of law, international law, the works. It was why the League of Assassins were difficult to dismantle. You couldn't just walk into their base of operations and demand that they shut down. The League had their fingers in lots of pies: industrial, financial, political. Just when you thought you were rid of them, another popped up. 

Jason's mind drifted as he lay shirtless on top of his bed. He remembered the conversation he and Talia had one weekend on the second floor balcony of the place they called home in Isla Vrika, a small private island close to the south of Spain. It was their home, away from the League, the other League, from Bruce, from expectations and legacy and all sorts of demands neither wished to have. Home was a pebbled white villa -Talia didn't do "small", gated and tucked in lovingly at the base of the small coves of the Vrika Mountain. There were only three bedrooms: one for Talia, Jason, and Damian, though Jason had yet to have a real conversation with the boy. The last time he'd spoken to Damian, he'd shot him in the chest, to get Dick off his back. Talia was enraged. She made it clear that Damian was his little brother, that they were both hers, not just Bruce's. Jason could see the hurt in her eyes when Jason finally admitted his sin, though he knew she'd long known. It was the reason why Jason, after that incident, couldn't look at his youngest brother. Even when Damian was out on patrol with the queen of mother hens, Dick, Jason never once looked at Damian, and he knew Damian noticed. It wasn't guilt, whenever his stomach turned. He deserved it, whenever Talia's eyes appeared in his mind. 

 

Jason lifted his head to look at the clock.

Nine forty-three am.

For frick's sake, man! stop daydreaming! Jason slapped himself awake.

Sitting up, he dropped to the floor to do a few stretches. Nothing too strenuous, he'd just taken a bath and didn't feel like having another shower; it was too long a process. Jason balanced himself on the flat of his left elbow. Bent at the left knee, he straightened his other leg fully. Pop, he heard and felt, as the patella locked into place. He lifted the suspended leg high up, drawing his body inwards. He wanted to feel the taught pull of his muscles, the strain across his shoulders. After holding the somewhat graceful pose, he repeated the process. Ordinarily his mornings would start with stretching, then his workouts. Trained in ways under masters too numerous to count, it was a fun exercise for Jason. Once a week he would skip the workout and go for a run instead. The mornings were a yawn of cool yellow across his skin, lifting his hair, and tickling his nose as he jogged lightly through the neighborhood. More than once he would think about how much he loved living here. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper nightmare; the kind that would leave him gasping for breath, his throat sore, and his sheets drenched. Nope. It seemed the peace of his surroundings had seeped into broken mind too.

Tim had laughed solidly for a minute when, after close to a year of constant communication, Jason finally revealed to Tim, the whereabouts of the place he called "home". Tim had tracked Jason everywhere - on his motorbike, his car, all the safehouses he knew, and still ended up with nothing. Tim thought Jason was joking when he found out that his big brother, supposedly all brawn and noise and life, now lived in a quiet little cul-de-sac in one of the many suburbs of Danver. The city itself was like metropolis, only smaller, quieter, and much less flashy, but the suburbs reminded Tim of a 1960s playbook. The houses were bigger, nicely spaced apart. Tim had been all laughter when he first visited, but by the time he'd left, he was quiet. Thoughtful. He'd said to Jason words he never imagined to hear. "Leaving was the best thing you've ever done, Jay", and it brought tears to Jason's eyes. Gotham, the only home he'd known, was now nothing more than a stranger.

Jason finished his stretches.

Breakfast time.

 

Hmm, thought Jason as he searched his cupboards. The problem of having too much food was that it made it impossible to choose. Should he make an omelette, Jason wondered, as he brought out a carton of eggs. How bouta couple of sides of bacon and sausages? It was never too early for meat. Or why not just cereal? Crunchy nut, with a few slices of banana, along with some green tea and buttered toast. Ooof, that sounded good. Frying meant cooking and he didn't want the smell of food permeating his jasmine-scented waves. Or his beard. That's right. Jason now had a beard. After much deliberation in front the bathroom mirror a while ago, to shave or not to shave, Jason had decided to keep Morgan, his beard. Named after Mr Freeman, Jason had spent many a morning reciting some of his favourite lines from Shawshank, and Morgan, along with his deep voice, made him like he could conquer anything.

Jason chuckled at the memory; during his year of terror, a couple of weeks after giving Tim a beating close to death, shooting Damian in the chest and almost straight up killing Bruce, Jason had returned to his run down, shabby excuse of a place, only to find Tim, newly recovered, on his dingy couch, laptop on the table, with two large bowls of popcorn on the other side. Jason had stood where he was and just stared at the runt. The runt had actually turned to look at him, smile, before turning back to the screen, popping a piece of corn in his mouth. And waited. Tim didn't say anything and Jason didn't know whether to scream, shout, cry or shoot the kid. In the end, he'd sighed, loudly too, so the kid would know how much of a nuisance he was, taken a shower and joined Tim on the couch. Jason didn't offer a greeting, and Tim didn't extend any. Once Jason had sat down, Tim had leaned forward, pressed play on the laptop, and sat back on the couch, taking a bowl of popcorn for himself.

For the next two and a bit hours, Jason forgot Tim was even there. He was so immersed in the movie that by the time it ended, he'd sat in silence, dried tear-tracks on his cheeks. He turned to Tim, only to find the kid sleeping peacefully, curled up in a ball. Jason didn't have the heart to kick him out, so he left Tim where he was. And if he spent five minutes looking under his bed for the dark orange throw, the most expensive thing he'd even owned, to cover Tim with, well, no-one would ever know. Tim was gone the next morning, but the laptop and the movie inside its DVD case sat side by side on the table. It would be two months later before Jason would thank Tim for that night

Jason's mind came back to the present as he waited for his toast to be ready. The art of making breakfast lay in two things, Jason declared. Preparation and timing. He had first made green tea, leaving the bag to infuse its life-saving goodness for two minutes exactly. Then he'd rushed over to make toast - he'd buttered it and left the butter to melt, seeping into the deeper layers of the bread. Just how he liked it. The last 30 seconds would be spent on getting his cereal mixture just right. Cereal first. Not too much, watch the milk, Jason thought to himself. Perfect.

Beep-beep. The alarm on his phone went off.

Breakfast was ready.

 

Back at home, Tim was making the final preparations. He was nervous. No-one else knew of his plan. The idea was to bring Jason to the watch-tower unannounced. He winced. Nor Jason or the League would like that. Jason didn't like feeling caught off guard, and the League didn't work with killers. It was that simple. But then, Tim reasoned, if he did notify the League, they would him down with a quickness. It would be out of the question. Bruce would glare daggers at him. He wasn't sure how Jason would react if he told him...but hadn't Jason already agreed? Come on, Tim, what's the worst thing he could do, Tim muttered to himself. Say no? Maybe, maybe not. A yes from Jason was a yes worth its weight in gold. Jason didn't like to back out on things - it would take nothing short of an emergency, and an unavoidable one at that, to get Jason to break his word. Tim took a deep breath and held the number one on his phone to speedial.

Ring..ring...ring...rin-

"Hello? Tim? Couldn't get enough of me last night, huh?" Jason joked.

Tim chuckled; Jason always made these stupid jokes. "Good morning to you, Jay. Is that crunchy nut I'm hearing?"

"Yep," CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH. 

 Jason had moved the speaker directly in front of his mouth. "Don't you want some Timmy? Open wide now. Good boy", Jason mocked.

"I'm good with my girl, Caffeina, thanks" Tim said dryly. 

"Your loss. What can I do for ya? Calling about the League already? That desperate, so you say?" Jason quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah. A bit more than that. Listen Jay. They don't know."

Jason paused, his spoon midway in the air.

"Whatdaya mean they don't know, Tim?"

"As in", Tim picked his words carefully. "They don't know that I know as much as I do, or that I asked you for help."

Jason took a minute. "So you're saying they don't know."

"Yes, Jay" Tim said even more dryly

"They really don't know, or that they don't knnooow know" Jason sang.

"Jay."

"Tim."

Both paused.

Jay started snickering and Tim rolled his eyes. This was what he'd been afraid of. Jason taking the opportunity to rub it in the League's faces. Not the best start.

"Jay don't even-"

"Uh-huh, there's no way you're taking this from me, nuh-uh. You mean I've got the jump on them? Ah man, this is gonna be great" Jason smacked his lips loudly, earning a groan from Tim.

"I knew this would happen, I just knew it". Tim muttered. He slapped his hand to his forehead. "When next are you free?"

"Well..." Jason wheedled. He was loving this. The only person who could help and the League didn't even know it? He was gonna have so much fun. "I wasn't planning on much today. Was probably gonna cook a bit, read, sleep, you know. Sloth style."

Tim grinned.

"Good. So if I tell you twelve-thirty pm, you're free, aren't you? Well isn't that just great! Works out for everybody. Get ready" Tim said with wicked snark.

"Now hang on just a second, Tim, wait just a hot minute! What exactly are you up to, you lil' sneak? Where are we going?"

Tim grinned wider.

"The Watch-tower. Twelve-thirty pm. I'll be outside ready to pick you up."

"Wait hell no-"

"Twelve-thirty pm! Seeyoulateralligator!"

Click.

 

Tim cut the call. He smirked to himself as he dumped his coffee pot in the sink. It was just after eleven in the morning. He'd get to Jason's around twelve, probably twelve-thirty pm if there was traffic, whiiiiich- Tim used one hand to scroll on his phone checking the weather reports, debit card in mouth, and the other to open kitchen draws for his keys....blasted things..ah-hah! No traffic. Noon then. It would be Elevn-ten am before Tim finally left his apartment, forgetting he had left his keys on the adjacent bar table last night, which were currently hidden underneath the newspaper he'd managed to spill coffee on. They would then drive to one of the transporter bays, a drop off teleportation point, one in every city, including Danver. Tim wasn't sure if Jason was aware of this.

 

Meanwhile, Jason looked at his phone with a full on glare. A knock-off Bat glare.

Damn Tim. Only a moment ago, he'd been smirking at the idea of rubbing it in the faces of the Justice League but not so soon!

Jason growled. So now he had to get ready. Great. A day of slouching and comfortable pants out the window, then.

Washing up, Jason made his way upstairs. He stepped into his walk in closet, which was more like an entire bedroom in itself. He'd broken down the wall between the former walk in closet and the next room, giving him plenty of space. Tracing an L-shape, the wall to his immediate right housed his work and formal shirts, the next wall his casual: smart casual, relaxed casual, indoor casual and lastly, at the far end of the room, was the outerwear section: sweatshirts, jumpers, hoodies, jackets and coats. To his left at the entrance of the room where he currently stood, began his bottoms, mirroring the order of the opposite section: formal first, then casual. To the far left corner were two wall mounted shelves which held soft cotton T-shirts, bottoms and his pyjamas. Typically, Jason preferred a more minimal look. Simple. Different textures kept his look from being too plain and Jason couldn't stand prints. At all. It reminded him of a certain Dickhead who used to walk around looking like a Hawaii shaped burrito. A fashion disaster. Jason didn't exactly have much whilst he was at the manor, but shit, even he knew how to dress with the little he had. 

Jason walked over to his shirt collection. He did not want to go to the League as the Red Hood, no. The time had come and gone for that. Red Hood was retired. Nor did he want to go as Jason Todd - they didn't deserve the privilege of knowing him. That was for Alfred and Tim. He decided to go as his Ghost name, Red. Red was a straight guy, hard-working, focused, a real team player. Never left a man behind and all that jazz. Yeah, Red was a good idea. He decided on a typical work outfit. Black would be too harsh. He loved wearing all black but it could come across as defensive, or even hostile. Dark grey? He liked that too, but nerves could make a man sweat like a pig, and the sweat patches would be obvious. Navy blue then. White shirt. Jason held the outfit against his skin. It looked crisp, open, clean. Like he had nothing to hide. Good. Let them think that, Jason thought.

The presentation of a Ghost was important - fitted shirts, clean cut, personal tailoring. No logos. Dressing sloppily was an invitation for disrespect. They were paid handsomely but that wasn't an excuse to flaunt wealth - only nouveau rich dipshits flashed silly watches and drove too bright cars. It drew unwanted, dangerous attention, and part of being a Ghost was the art of invisibility. It meant looking for the smaller luxury brands, the kind that you only heard about by word or mouth, or personal invitation from the designer themselves. They were the small, inconspicuous stores that on first glance looked boring. If only people understood the value of "boring", Jason mused.

Jason recalled the first time he'd discovered, Oko, a small, darkly furnished store that claimed to specialise in menswear and tailoring. It looked like an ordinary storefront, tucked away in the heart of Atrani, the province of Campania, South West Italy. It had been one of the few times he travelled with Talia. Up until then, they had kept in contact by phone or email. She had taken him shopping. He'd resisted bitterly at first - he didn't want her money, but she stood firm. "You're a reflection of me, Jason.", she'd said, as they finished breakfast out on the patio of their villa. It stuck with him, that sentence. Talia claimed him as her son, and more than that, her reflection. Jason knew it to be said that children were the reflection of their parents, and here she was, Talia al Ghul, right hand command of the entire League of Assassins, sharing croissants and eating eggs and sitting next to him, filthy street rat, as if it was everyday a commoner sat next to pure blood royalty. Jason smiled at he memory.

It was the first time Jason had decided he needed out of Gotham. Two nights before, he'd come to blows to Bruce. Physical blows, the kind that left swollen eyes, bloody noses and hate in the heart. He'd immediately driven home, drunk all the beer in his fridge, before calling Talia. Jason couldn't even remember whether he had spoken at all, but the next morning, a series of knocks at the door of his pitiful safehouse jolted him awake. He had blearily stumbled to the door, feeling sick, cursing whoever thought it appropriate to fucking bang on the door at eight in the morning. A middle-aged man in uniform, a chaffeur, had informed him that he'd be downstairs, waiting to drive him to the airport for a flight in one hour.

Jason had stood, swaying at the empty space the man left after he disappeared. He'd cursed, then vomited, stumbling to the shower to wipe the shit off him. How did the the prick even know where he lived? He'd only just bought this safehouse the other week. By the time he made it downstairs, barely remembering to pack a toothbrush, underwear and his passport, he felt the world was spinning. It was all it would do to hold the bile down - passing the harbour did not help; the smell of fresh fish made him close to hurling. He stumbled unto the plane, much to the disgust of the pilots he was sure, but that's what money bought you - being able to look away, he guessed. He hadn't gone two steps before stopping, realising that there was someone else in the plane also.

Talia.

Mother.

He felt sick and happy at the same time. He wanted to hug her, but he felt so nauseous, head pounding, that instead, he made for the toilets, and promptly threw up.  
He wasn't sure how long it lasted; he felt only dainty, light fingers brushing back his sweaty locks, before guiding him into the shower.

Jason smiled at the memory. He didn't remember much of the actual plane journey, nor when they had landed. He did remember the small thud of his head hitting the pillow, in wherever they were before opening his eyes to bright, warm sunlight and the smell of fresh bread outside his window. He remembered breakfast and the slow walk in the heat of the day, and his first lesson in how to shop. Talia had shown him that shopping wasn't about quantity. Quantity didn't even come into it. It was all quality. The make, the fit, the cut, the breadth, the feel, the purpose - and his first exposure to simple wealth had been in Oko. Inside was tiny, but as they were taken through the back, Jason's eyes were opened. Here, were racks upon racks of material of all kinds, colours, styles. Plush dark brown couches and a single bottle of chilled wine. By the time Jason had been measured and looked at himself in the mirror, he swore inside that he'd never go back to the way he was again. He didn't even know he could look like that - he looked good, really good. Fresh, even with his overgrown greasy hair and red eyes. Talia had fussed over him, making alterations here and there, pointing out areas of concern to the tailor as they prodded at Jason. He tuned them out. Talia had talked about him wasting his potential, and for the first time ever, he finally understood.

 

Jason stood in front of the floor length mirror, fully dressed. He appraised himself.

Curly, wavy, thick auburn locks. He was sure the Bats would be shocked - he spent years dying his hair black to imitate them but it never looked right on him. His white streak had faded to his natural hair colour as he learned to overcome the Pit's hold over him.

Beard well fitted to his face. Full but not overgrown. That would definitely cause a stir; Jason found it weird that most male members of the League were clean shaven. Green Lantern's beard was magnificent, but he was a self-righteous asshole, so he didn't count.

Clear whites of his eyes - a sign of a well rested man. The turquoise green of his irises nodded approvingly. The Lazarus pit had turned them bright green, almost like a cartoon character, but as the madness subsided, so did the green haze.

Fitted shirt. Open collar, one button undone. Formal yet relaxed. It would make him and his intentions difficult to read. Sharp trousers, polished shoes. Jason grinned. Look good, feel good. He would hold onto this feeling, no matter the stares he was bound to get soon. Ah. glasses. Classic black sunglasses, no, not the dorky robo cop ones. Just the classics. He wasn't about to wear a mask.

Watch. Nothing flashy, a brown strap would do.

He looked at himself once more. He was ready.

 

Tim would be arriving in a few minutes. Jason headed downstairs to the living room. It was peaceful. He sat, looking at the two terms he listed. Only two. He'd memorised them already. Scrunching up the paper and lobbing it straight for the wastebasket, Jason leaned back on the couch. He felt his breathing slow and even, techniques he and the Ghosts used to calm themselves. Their heart rate would drop to forty, even thirty beats a minute, common for elite athletes. He felt calm and light. A few mins went by before Jason picked up the crawling of Tim's car. He didn't know what a fifteen year old was doing with a Merc. The insurance alone...Jason shook his head comically

His phone vibrated with a text. "Get out here, ya lazy bum" it read. 

Jason grinned. Stuffing his keys and wallet into the back pockets, he made his way out.

No more daydreaming, or flitting through memories, not today. He needed to focus if he wanted to play this right.

Bring it on, bitches, Jason thought, as they made their way to the watch-tower.


	3. A League of their Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason meets the Justice League. He makes quite the impression.

The ride to the Portabay was a short one.

After the hugs, tears (which Jason had steadfastly denied from his end), both men set off for the thirty minute journey to Knightsbridge, the opposite side of Danver, where the bay was located. The transporter bays were in most large cities. Danver's own was an unusual case as it was a small city situated between the much larger Gotham and Metropolis, both of which had their own bays. Danver, however, was city surrounded by expansive, empty green plains, which made the movement of heavy materials to and from the watchtower safe from prying eyes. Wayne Industries used Highway 88, a straight road connecting Gotham, Danver and Metropolis, to transport tech and other stupidly expensive equipment to the watch-tower. It was a quiet road - the poor couldn't afford to leave Gotham even if they wanted to, the rich lived far away from their dirty counterparts in their own private bubble, and no-one in their right minds outside Gotham would willingly want to travel there. Gotham's own portabay was currently undergoing reconstruction so for the time being, it was out of order. Luckily Batman and co had their very own version of the spacetube down in the Cave. Weirdos.

Though conversation had started off loud and joyful, the ribbing became less and less snarky as the duo neared Knightsbridge. Jason, whether he would admit it or not, was anxious. It had been years since he'd seen the League, and whilst he could just about tolerate their bullshit from afar, it was having to be near them, especially Batman and Nightwing, that set him on edge. He wasn't afraid of the Bats. In fact, Jason knew he could beat them. Their fights all those years back were not him at his peak - Jason had been in a horrible state of mind at the time; unstable, dealing with all sorts of emotions, ranging from abandonment, to the madness of Lazarus. He'd managed to hold himself well against the Bats due to pure instinct, honed by years of rigorous training. If they were to try and take him now, Jason thought, they'd be in for a shock. His time away had done him a world of good. For the first time in countless years, his mind was sharp. Clear. The voices and grip of the Pit were no longer driving him insane- not that they were totally gone, but their effects had lessened significantly.

Everyday spent away was a blessing. Jason's focus was now nothing short of impeccable, and the experiences he'd had as a Ghost were invaluable, as private mercenary and as a brother. He and Tim hardly ever discussed patrol, or case work unless Tim asked. The time they spent together was solely for brotherly bonding. Tim knew Jason more than anyone, even Alfred. Well, maybe not more than Alfred, Jason smirked, but close enough. Alfred was...special. Jason wasn't sure if Tim knew but he had actually returned to Gotham for seven months, before he made his official return known by terrorising the Bats. For months, Jason had lain low, studying his long begotten city, monitoring the Bats. At the time, he was so full of rage, so angry, bitter than Bruce had failed to avenge him, that he didn't even remember Alfred. It was by pure coincidence one Monday afternoon when Jason, walking down Chancery lane, on the way to Mart, the grocery store, head bowed, cap on, hoodie up, had almost walked straight into Damian and kneed him in the head. Jason was taken aback in shock - he'd been coasting on autopilot after close to two days of sleepless, Joker-filled nights and had failed to see the young boy. He was still getting used to his new height. Damian had hissed angrily, threatening curses in Arabic about slicing his balls off and feeding his body to the dogs, before Alfred had yanked the brat backwards by his shitty looking blazer. As Damian stalked away to the car, Alfred had promptly apologised. Jason was desperate to leave.

"I do apologise, sir. The young man does have a tendency to overreact. He means no offence" Alfred said kindly.

Jason's voice was hoarse from all the screaming. Darn nightmares. "It's fine, don't worry about it. My fault anyway."

"Are you sure? If there's anythin-"

"No!" Jason had all but screamed. It was that outburst that caused Alfred to pause and Jason's heart to beat wildly.

Shit.

Double shit.

Alfred was now looking at him, gazing, studying him intently.

It would have all been fine, too, had Jason not fiddled with his cap, and in doing so, looked straight up into Alfred's eyes.

He wished he'd stayed home then. It had taken a few seconds, but Alfred's eyes widened and his hands shook, dropping Damian's school bag to the ground in shock.

"Master Jas-"

"Pennyworth! What is taking so long? I demand we go home this instant!" Damian's shrill voice jarred Jason wide awake now. Damian had reached the car, and was standing stiffly, arms crossed, the face of a forty year old man plastered on the body of a ten year old. Misplaced.

Jason had used the moment to grab the bag before it tumbled onto the floor. Alfred was still staring at him, eyes glassy with tears. Jason didn't know what made him do it, but he did. As he moved close to Alfred, he whispered in a low voice, "Friday. One pm". He'd all but dumped the bag into Alfred's arms before walking continuing his walk down the street, feeling Damian's glare burn holes in his back. As soon as the next back alley came into view, he ran into it. He had flung his cap off then, black hair sweaty, heart thumping madly. Alfred. How could he have forgotten the man? Jason doubled over, gasping for breath as the memories assaulted him. Warm bread. Twinkling brown eyes. Hot milky cocoa. Saturday afternoons spent cooking. Alfred's patience as he stumbled over his reading. Thin, calloused hands wiping angry tears away after a particularly bad nightmare, or a day of bullying and frustration. Bruce was Bruce, but Alfred was more of a Father than Bruce ever was. Jason sank down in the alley, crying till he exhausted himself. He forgot to eat that day.

 

 

Knightsbridge. A large redbrick building, pleasant looking despite the cast iron black gates out front. All around were miles and miles of plush green garden, and it was so quiet, it reminded Jason of one of those scary movies: peace before the mayhem.

They were here.

Tim pulled in close at the gates, placing his right hand onto the hand scanner that seemed to appear out of nowhere. He watched as Tim pressed a few buttons behind his wheel, a whirring sound, before the appearance of a flat glass slide came gliding out smoothly from the CD player. The slide had a paper thin sheet on top, a sheet which happened to be in the shape of a hand print. Ah. Jason quirked an eyebrow at Tim, who merely grinned in return. Jason lifted the hand print carefully, stretched his own right hand flat and watched, amused, as the hand print latched and adhered itself tightly onto his hand. It sank into his skin perfectly. So Tim was really going all out on this, huh, Jason thought. They were going to have fun.

Jason watched as his brother leaned into the scanner for visual recognition. Tim beckoned Jason to the flip down sun visor. Jason did so, and had to bite his lip to restrain his laughter. Tim was really taking the whole spy thing seriously! Inside the visor was a contact lens, which didn't seem like much at first, but as Jason detached and brought it towards his left eye, the damn thing actually flew from his finger and into his eye.

Jason gave a small shriek.

"What the hell, Tim?" Jason cringed as his voice took on a high girly pitch. His left eye went blurry for a few seconds, before eventually clearing. Beside him, Tim cackled.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"Yep."

"You know you're never gonna be James Bond, right?" Jason crossed his chest as he tried to scowl his brother down.

"You mean Alfred?"

Jason straight up laughed at this. "Fair play."

He leaned out his side of the window and stared into the abyss of the eye scanner.

After a few moments, the words 'enter' appeared in green and the big gates gave way. They drove in and parked, squabbling as they made their way into the building.

Jason looked around. It seemed like such an ordinary building outside, but that was the point. A drabby grey-steeled building with flanked with security guards, wired earpieces, holding AK47s, decked out in all black, would draw too much attention and would serve as feeding fodder for conspiracy theorists.

Not bad, Jason thought, as he looked around.

The security inside checked them again.

"Red Robin, nice to meet you. Mr Perez, welcome. Is this your first time?" The security guard asked neutrally. A true professional.

Jason sank into the role like bread and butter. He could adapt into anything. "Si Senor, I've never seen anything like this" with a noticeable Spanish accent. All traces of the staccato-bitten Gothamite were gone. He was speaking his mother tongue now.

Tim stepped in. "Mind if I take it from here, Rob?"

"No problem sir. Have a nice trip"

Tim nodded his thanks as he and Jason made his way to the transporter bays. Tim said nothing, watching Jason out of the corner of his eye, taking in all the details. He was cataloging everything. A well trained bat, Tim thought.

"Pretty sweet tech you got here, bro" as they entered Bay One, east of the building.

"Just say you wouldn't mind getting a slice already, sheesh" Tim smirked.

Jason punched him lightly on the arm. "Brat". He was still smiling.

Both men stepped into the Portabay, a room containing eight separate platforms for eight individuals to travel at a time. Jason and Tim each stood on a platform. Announcing they were set to the attendant, both men stood feet slightly apart, hands by their sides, as the warm beam of the Teleporter enveloped them.

"Ready?", Tim asked quietly.

Jason breathed. "Ready".

Transportation took only a few seconds. With a whoosh and automatic voice confirming successful transmission, they were on the watch-tower.

Jason opened his eyes. He'd never liked transportation. It seemed to..unnatural to him. He scoffed - as if he had right to say what was "natural" or not.

He was in one of the portabay rooms of the watch-tower. The attendants there welcomed Tim and greeted him neutrally.

"Red Robin, Mr Perez, welcome to the watch-tower."

"Thanks". Tim nudged Jason by the shoulder to follow.

Jason couldn't hep but gaze. The watch-tower was like a giant silvery baton floating in the middle of space. He always felt uneasy at the thought of it just being just..there, in space, not anchored to anything. A lot had changed, too. Better technology of course, that was obvious. There were lots more "leaguers" he realised, and he and Tim strolled leisurely down the hallways - some he recognised, but many that were completely foreign to him. They, too, stared at him as he walked past. Red robin they knew, but this guy was a complete stranger. Jason saw frowns, whispers, and he was glad his eyes were completely hidden. He chuckled to himself at how he and Tim must have looked: him, tall, broad chested and deeply tanned, next to a barely five foot eight, pale, slender wisp of a brother. Both brothers looked at each other at a glance, each smirking. They looked a sight, for sure.

Jason had forgotten just how big the watch-tower was. It was huge. Hallway after room after hall - it would make a game of hide and seek hellish. Cameras were everywhere, and Jason felt the hair on his skin rise slightly as he kept walking. He was on full alert now - the anxiety had turned into adrenaline and filtered through his bones. Tim had noticed this change and walked to match him. Long strides, straight postures - they walked, no, strode like confident men, and it made them the centre of attention. Tim could see that a lot of the female superheroes were suddenly far more prominent than the before; he saw the tossed hair, the smiles, the batting of eyes. He guessed it was down to Jason's presence: even without seeing his eyes, it was easy to tell that Jason was a handsome man. Tim wasn't jealous, however. Well. Maybe of the height. And the skin - man, Jason's skin looked like warm, oak brown honey. He knew this was mostly down to Jason being Latino, but still, that desert tan made Tim's own casper-white skin stand out even more. One thing Tim definitely had was the hair. Yeah, as he looked up at his brother. Jay had great hair, but Tim's was hipster commercial: jet black, straight and bouncy. That's right. Bouncy, like it had volume, and it reached his shoulders, though it was in a low bun at the moment. He adjusted his sunglasses. Sometimes it didn't hurt to be the centre of attention, he smirked.

Though Tim usually wore his mask, today, wearing his sunglasses, he wanted Jason to know that he had his back. Jason hadn't commented; he'd simply adjusted Tim's glasses and pushed a strand of stray hair back behind his ear. Thank you, Tim correctly interpreted the gesture; Jason had grinned lopsidedly in acknowledgement. And Jason was the master of looking at the little stuff. Tim may have been the detective, but Jason was the catcher of the eye, the king of observation. His ability to read people was unlike any Tim had ever seen. Very few could match that ability, and that included Batman. Tim could deduce, reason, but Jason interpreted. He watched, studied, and became new characters all the time. He was the ultimate chameleon - he could fit in and disappear at the drop of the hat. That's what made Jason so good at his job, and even more terrifying when he went up against Batman. Tim had realised early on that Jason wasn't really trying when he'd spent a year fighting the Bats. He'd not used all his skills; he had downplayed just how good he really was, and the sad thing was, Bruce had missed it. Bruce missed the entire point of why Jason had created such havoc in the first place. Tim wondered if he would ever understand.

By now both men had reached the main hall, a massive space lit alight by the buzzing of people, activity and best of all, the huge floor to ceiling windows that separated its inhabitants from the expanse of space outside. Jason shuddered slightly. Just a couple of inches of glass were between him and drifting in space. In multi-dimension travel you landed on a planet - something solid, that grounded you, not left you floating about, vulnerable to whatever lay out there in the dark. Jason turned away from the windows. The League were having a lunchtime meeting in Auburn, the private meeting room of the League's founding members, unaware of who they were about to meet. The room itself was around the corner, a few feet away from the top of the large staircase that left the main hall. These particular set of stairs just so happened to be at the end of the hall, opposite to where Jason and Tim currently stood. Already, with people turning to stare and the whispers increasing, Jason did a half torso turn to look directly at his brother, as if to say, "Really?".

They didn't have to take this route. There was a less crowded way to Auburn. Shorter, even. Tim knew it, Jason suspected it, yet to Tim's surprise, Jason didn't push it. Didn't even ask why. Tim, ever the detective, came to the conclusion that it didn't matter to Jason on this occasion. As much as he knew his brother hated being unprepared, Tim saw that despite the attention, Jason remained unperturbed. The longer route would also help to calm his brother down. Jason now reached up and lowered his glasses every so slightly as he faced Tim, and Tim saw that they were glinting. Uh-oh. Twinkling eyes meant happiness, but glinting? Jason was up to something. Either that or he held more cards than Tim previously thought. Jason pushed his glasses up and turned forwards, facing the room, more of whom were staring back with excited interest at him. He nudged Tim's shoulder - nudging did seem to be their thing nowadays - and Tim, from the corner of Jason's eye, smiled back. Message understood. Jason would be fine.

As they walked through the hall, heads swiveled as they made they way past, Tim thought about how much they'd misunderstood Jason. A common belief that many held, particularly the Bats, was that Jason worked and reacted in the heat of the moment - brash, loud, jumping in with both feet - the kind of individual who made plans as they went along. Nope. It was all an act. Tim understood, after hours and hours spent with his brother, that Jason was meticulous when it came to preparation. It only looked like he did things without thinking them through because that was exactly how Jason wanted it to appear. It gave him the upper hand: the element of surprise, and it made it fatal to underestimate him, especially as the Hood.

They walked up the stairs, made their way round the corner, and finally, they were here. Right outside Auburn room, with the League just a few feet away.

Side by side they stood in front of the door. Jason's shoulders were up and stiff against his body and his lips thinned into a slit. Tense, Tim understood.

Tim paused, giving Jason time to ready himself. He turned slightly and watched, amazed at how Jason seemed to morph into a different person altogether: Jason rolled his shoulders, widened his feet apart slightly, lowered his glasses that they weren't so plastered to his eyes, and adopted a small but cocky grin on his face. Hand in pockets, with the left shirt raised a little to reveal his watch. His look spoke confidence, relaxed and cocky - a loveable jerk.

Perfect.

Tim had to hand it to Jason; the man was a hell of an actor.

"Ready?" Tim asked quietly.

Jason nodded. He was ready.

 

 

Tim pressed the buzzer.

"Hey" He could hear heads lifted and chairs turned to the direction of the door where they stood outside. He heard the tale-tale sign of someone having risen from their chair - the small click the chair made as the springs relaxed upwards. "I know you guys have a meeting but this is important enough to interrupt."

A pause, then-

"Come in, Red Robin."

And just like that, a small buzz, and the door opened by itself.

It was time to meet the League.

 

 

Tim stepped into the room and Jason followed.

Silence.

Superman was standing, staring straight at him. Oh yeah, Jason remembered. X-ray vision and all that. Well, he had remembered, but wearing lead-lined sunglasses would set off red flags immediately.

"Red robin, who is-" began Wonder Woman.

"What is he doing here?" Superman spoke quietly, but they all detected the anger beneath the calm. Jason smiled even more. Was Superman gonna lose his cool over him? He couldn't wait.

"Whadaya mean, Supes? You know this guy?" said Flash, pausing his sandwich mid-air, as he looked worriedly back and forth between Jason and Superman.

Before Jason or Superman could even respond, however, Batman's voice beat him to it.

"Hood". Batman's voice was cold. Hard.

Damnit, thought Jason. He'd wanted to announce his own damn self, thank you very much. Ah well. There was still much fun to be had.

In one smooth motion, Jason reached for his glasses and took them off, completely, cocky grin evident. Tim, by his side, merely cocked his head at the movement but said nothing.

The rest of the room, however, were not as quiet. It took them a while to recognise him, as he had changed quite bit, even with Batman's declaration.

"What!-"

"No way-"

"The hel-"

"This asshol-"

"Jas-Hood" That one was from Nightwing, for sure. What was he even doing in a founders meeting? Golden child, of course, Jason thought.

Bruce hadn't responded. He had simply stared at Jason, like he'd grown two heads or something.

Superman, on the other hand, seemed to have trouble controlling himself.

"Get out! Get out now! You are NOT welcome here!" he seethed, face red, eyes narrowed. Jason looked at the flat hand Superman had laid on the table before; it was now curled up into a fist and putting a dent into the table. Jason wished he'd brought along a hidden camera. He could make money off this shit.

Jason was smiling for real now, big, wide, and ever so smug. "What, you guys didn't miss me?"

Tim groaned beside him as the room started to protest.

Nightwing was on his feet, face drained pale, open mouthed. Bruce sat, still and silent. He reminded Jason of a gargoyle. Wonder Woman was up and was holding Superman back, trying to prevent him from dragging out Jason himself. Jason would be all out laughing right now if it weren't for Wonder Woman. Wonder Woman, the only one outside this circle of liars who'd shown him acceptance. He remembered the flushed silence he went into the first day they met, struck dumb in adoration. Afternoons spent with the woman climbing Greek mountains, lunch in her favourite Parisian restaurant, taking him to Apollo theatre in London because, Shakespeare. His mind was quickly cast back to times spent listening to her read as he curled up beside her, under the crook of her arm, the presents and Aetima stew she'd bring just for him whenever she heard he was sick, a stew meant to aid healing and recovery native to Themyscira, home of the Amazons. Jason swallowed painfully. He'd forgotten just how much he loved her.

He had honestly tried to forget that one time in New York, at the opening of a film adaption of a book they both loved; he couldn't remember the name, but she had taken him, a thirteen year old looking more like eight, a skinny-ass street rat, as her date. She was an absolute stunner in her long, red, flowy dress, and he scrubbed up clean in his little fitted tux, feeling like a mini Bruce. He'd hated wearing suits back then, particularly when it came to the Wayne Galas, frightful stuff, but that evening, when Wonder Woman saw him and rushed towards him, enveloping him in a giant hug and lifting him straight off the ground, he told himself that he would wear it forever, just to see her smile the way she did at him that night. She'd twirled him round, laughing, spinning, causing people to look on amused, smiling at the antics of a beautiful woman and her cute little boy. Jason remembered the way his face flushed in embarrassment, but he didn't care. Wonder woman had held him close to her chest as she whispered in his ear "My little boy, my beautiful robin. You've made me the luckiest woman here tonight". She smiled at him afterwards, putting him down and holding his hand as they made their way past paparazzi and admiring onlookers, right to their own little private balcony above the masses, ready to watch the play. That night must have been the single most magical night of his life. The smell of her perfumed lingered for weeks, even after dry cleaning. And now she was here. His mother before Mother.

"Jason?" It was her voice now, right in front of him. Wonder woman was standing up, still holding Superman back with one arm, but faced towards him, staring, just staring at him, all hope and strength in those lovely eyes, and he just. couldn't.

He couldn't look at her.

He put on his glasses in one quick motion.

Wonder woman's face fell, crestfallen.

Tim held his hand up for silence. He had seen the exchange, they all did. Tim, as did all of them, knew how much Diana had meant to Jason, and vice versa. Though Auntie Diana had always been lovely to him, kind, kissing his head many, many a time, Tim always got a feeling that part of the love she gave him was for the little robin she lost all those years ago, her son. Even as a tiny eight year old, Bruce's new ward, Tim had seen sometimes the way Diana had pulled herself back from him, as if she were reminding herself not to get to close, that she might lose this robin. Tim had never pushed. He simply accepted all the love she bestowed on him, even when he could tell she was holding back. He didn't know how, but he would get these two back together somehow. He was certain of it.

"Please sit down and I'll explain."

Now seated, the members stared back. Some confused, others shocked, a couple angry. Very angry. Tim began.

"I asked Red here today because I believe he's the only one who can help us. Wait" Tim directed at Flash, who was about to interrupt him, his mouth wide in a big O. Flash closed his mouth.

He continued "I told him what had been going on-"

"You had no right to do that!"

"He isn't even League"

"Are you crazy? He's the Red Hood for crying out loud!"

Tim carried on speaking as if he hadn't been interrupted. Jason tilted his head at him - it always impressed Jason that his little brother could hold such command without raising his voice, be it amongst the Bats, in the boardroom of Wayne Enterprises, or right now, in the midst of the League, the big players. He was glad he had Tim on his side.

"I appreciate the seriousness of the situation. The sensitive nature between events off-world and here at home require a delicate, discretionary touch, which I have tried to maintain. However, you are partially right; it was not left to me alone to discuss League matters outside the League, and for that, I am sorry. You have my sincerest apologies" Tim was using his VP voice. Jason loved him all the more.

"Nonetheless, the reason I broke confidentiality is simple: we do not have any other choice. No-one: not the IGC, not the Lanterns, not your other worldly contacts, not the CIA, FBI, Homeland security, not Army, or Secret service, navy seals, not here in the US or abroad- out of all the people we know, and work with, and work for - not one is willing to help us right now."

That shut the group right up. The silence was deafening.

"It isn't fair, and it's not right, but we are running out of time. The IGC are impatient, and we need now more than ever to get in their good graces before they mobilise units against us, and earth, which, by the way, is within their right."

The League looked at him, ready to argue back.

Tim continued. "Remember it was either jail, or money. Ten years there could easily mean a hundred of our earth years. They don't accept our currency, and their technology is light years ahead. Their health systems are entirely different, and they are, for the most part, self-sufficient in almost every aspect. In other words, we don't have anything tangible to offer them. We also don't have any legal jurisdiction with the IGC - their laws are their laws, not ours. We're playing by their rules. We're in their territory. There is not an ounce of legal standing available to us."

The group sat back. Tim was right.

"Remember also that the more time we spend from Earth, the more we leave ourselves open to attack from others. So if we stall our feet on this and refuse to comply, and a major earthquake, a tsunami, multi-scale building collapse, terrorist attack - if any were to happen on our watch, and we weren't available to help our emergency services, help with the reconstruction and prevent any further damage, because we were off world finally doing what we should have done in the first place... you see where I'm going with this? We would receive the order to disband, since we're no longer useful - it would be an Executive Order from the president, most likely, and you can bet the heads of national security would sign the damn thing too."

Heads bowed in acknowledgement. Tim scanned the room. Bruce's face was tight, but he hadn't interrupted, which meant Tim was right. Good. Superman sat, no longer so angry, at the unsaid reminder that he was the cause of this mess. Wonder woman had her hands clasped in her lap, the Flash looked suitably abashed, and Green Lantern looked uncomfortable. The Martian said nothing. In fact, he had yet to move or utter a single word throughout since the arrival of Jason and Tim. Hawkgirl was the only one maintaining eye contact with him, and she held her mace across both arms, tapping it slightly. Tim got the impression that she would have liked to say something, had her own people not used her to start war on Earth and enslave its people.

Tim continued.

"So you see, we need help, and fast". He paused. He'd driven the point home that there was no help available, or more accurately, those willing to help. Now to sell Jason.

"I asked Red for help due to a number of reasons. One, his expertise in mercenary and contractual work has enabled him to amass an extensive network of contacts - private, military and international. He has a greater range of resources available, much more than you currently have at a public and global level. It means some of the same people who might have refused to work with or aid you will think nothing of helping him."

"Two, Jason has been to both Xan and Gol."

Tim allowed the outcry of surprise for a few seconds before once again asking for quiet.

"I won't tell you how; I don't even know why he is able to do this, but he can. I've seen him go, and he knows things that can only known by travel. If you would like further confirmation, Jason will prove it to you."

"Third, Jason has spent enough time on both planets to pick up important customs. Best of all, he is fluent in both of their languages, Xalanese and Ghusalish, which means Jason could potentially be our very own translator, ambassador and peacekeeper, all in one. He can help us avoid any further misinterpretations and potential conflict."

The group looked at Tim, Jason and each other in disbelief.

"How?"

"You can't be fucking serious."

"This guy? Give us a break."

Tim looked at Jason. Jason looked back at Tim. He knew what Tim was going to do.

Tim went over to the small table in the corner of the room, which had the main computer linked to the massive interactive screen at the front of the room. Quickly, he typed in a few codes much to the amusement of Jason and a few others.

"How the heck does he have access to this computer?" Green Lantern scratched his beard, irritated.

"He's a Bat. Do you really have to ask?" Flash leaned back in his chair, curious.

Opening a series of windows, Tim set up a secure line to direct to Eain, Xan's Capital. When the League first made contact with Xan, they'd had one of the Lanterns with them in the conference room, making sure the translation between them was correct. There was no such luxury this time around. Tim pressed the speaker button on the panel in front of him. Immediately, tiny red lights appeared in the corner of the room. Jason understood. Tim had placed the call on speaker, before turning on the large screen. It would be an audio visual call. Tim was going to prove Jason's worth. He chuckled to himself, drawing the ire of Nigthwing, who stared at him across the room.

A small petite Xanderian, green scaled skin and big, unblinking clear dark blue eyes appeared on the screen. It was the same woman who the League had spoken to three months back, when this messed first started. Jason studied her. She's pissed, he thought. A flicker of momentary surprise, before carefully schooling her face into a more neutral expression. It was obvious she wasn't pleased to hear from the League.

"Xin? Hei'sh ma Zele, de Xan wa, est fa simbla? Her tone was sharp. No niceties here, then.

(Hello. I am Zele, of Xan. Who is speaking?)

"Gr-Xin, Hei'sh ma Red, u za le peezia Erika za frene ade Eish Justice League. Xin hempo" Jason spoke, grinning and giving the woman a small wave.

(Grettings and hello to you. I am Red, currently working with the League

The woman gasped and her eyes immediately lightened to sky blue. Surprise and happy, Jason interpreted.

Meanwhile, the rest of the League were floored, jaws practically off the floor. Jason smirked before continuing.

"Mepa hegreza. He'timbuta ze rigrudamen za He'rash de yute eeres for lam puza, se wa League e wa Gol. He'opoith yuki uda futuro epezalo, mepro hobola, temero de ooffra, odopia ra zopoula. Me ada bor su tupresda mi bauntifula" Jason said kindly

(I'm sorry to hear about all the difficulties you having with the League and with Gol. I hope that I will be able to help as an ambassador between all three of you, and the repair work to be done. I have to say, you are quite the beauty)

The Xanderian laughed, eyes blushing a rose pink as her tail, hidden out of sight before,wrapped around her shoulders before curling over her chair.

Ah, Tim observed. She was flirting with him. He looked at Jason who was still talking, grinning, and the woman laughing and smiling.

"Daco, Daco, Xigreista me He'ishta nuza. Onopo desee asounza, Cimai?

(Okay Okay, I'm straying off topic, I can't help it. Are you are well, yes?)

"Cimai Cimai, oflo rami zu zu he'gretie concrutea"

(Yes, Yes, we are holding well, I thank you for your concern)

"He'gropo rutizuia Gr-Xin ho pozula councreta ho limperiza. G'Yatu"

(I am glad to hear it. Greetings to the rest of your council and your leaders. Goodbye)

"G'Yatu, Yatu" The xanderian's eyes were now fully pink, and her little white teeth were sharp pointed.

(Goodbye, bye.)

The call ended.

Silence.

"How?"

"When did you learn to speak Xalanese?"

"That was pretty damn cool". The Flash. Jason didn't mind that guy so much.

"But how do we know what you're saying? You could be saying anything and we don't have any way of confirming anything!" Superman's voice cut loudly across the room. 

Superman was still mad, and Jason cocked his head to the side in thought. The big boy scout was right. Neither Jason nor the League wanted anything to do with each other, so it would be foolish to trust on face value. Jason could be selling out the League right in front of them and they wouldn't even know it.

Tim opened his mouth to speak but Jason shook his head. Now that they knew what he had and what he could do, it was time he took over with negotiations. It was time to play his cards.

Jason began, his deep baritone voice quieting the room in seconds.

"You're right Superman. You don't know what I'm saying. ." Jason smiled. "Poor Zele. She didn't look to pleased to be hearing from the League."

Ah.

That last sentence created a hush amongst the League. None of them had given Jason the Xanderian's name, yet Jason said it, which meant... either Red Robin, who they knew to be Tim, had told him beforehand, which would make him untrustworthy - not like him at all, or.... Jason, at the very least, understood some Xanalese. And judging by the ease at which he conversed with Zele, and her reaction to him speaking her language, the League found it hard to deny the evidence in front of them: Jason was fluent in the language, which would make him a suitable translator. And if he could speak Xalanese that well, then it was very likely he knew Ghusalish too. It was clear to the League: they needed Jason. They knew it, and Jason knew it.

Jason mockingly looked around the room before continuing. "In fact, apart from me, there's no other way to discern just how truthful I'm being, unless I'm mistaken of course. I guess you'll just have to...oh, I dunno...trust me" Jason smirked and held Superman's gaze. Superman stared back angrily. 

Jason carried on with his pitch.

"Tim hasn't given me all the details. Confidentiality and all that, which is fine, really, I don't care to know. But according to my understanding - and please, do correct me if I'm wrong" Jason was being ever so polite. Tim rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. Jason was loving this, and he couldn't blame him. He was putting on a pretty good performance.

"The way I see it, you have two choices. One. I work as the middle-man, the peace-maker. Communication between the League, Xan and Gol are regulated by me. Meetings are led by me. It means that you get on with doing whatever you need to do to stop the IGC sending your asses to space jail." Jason was walking around the room, hands in pockets, looking as relaxed as ever as he spoke to the League.

"It also means that you stay out of the politics. The IGC don't know who I am and they won't care - so long as I maintain communication between all three parties, then it's all good. As long as you do your job, there won't be any need for another whipping by the IGC. You won't need to get Earth involved. Again" Jason said this last bit directly behind Superman's chair. He was rubbing it in Superman's face, well aware of the fact that the President of the United States and heads of National security had given Supey a real tongue lashing. By now, Superman's face had turned a deep red, and his jaw was clenched so tightly, Jason swore he could hear teeth being ground to white ash, but he didn't move. Jason stood behind the man a moment longer, smirking, and patted the overgrown boy's chair before moving on.

Had Jason not proven himself valuable a few minutes ago, he was sure he'd be hurtling through the window right about now.

Jason continued.

"Number two. You refuse my...services. You refuse to work with a notorious killer, a supervillian, a no-moral gun-slingin tootin' lootin' maniac, who goes round killing bad guys, and rescuing women and children. Its understandable, really" Jason was hamming it up. He could see the uncomfortable looks passed between them.

"In fact, why stop there? I mean, think about the audacity I have, to walk in here, arrogant as shit, with the skills and resources you so desperately need, I mean, c'mon! You should have thrown me out already! We could play hide and seek! You know, we've done it before- chase me around the world, blow giant holes through apartment buildings, trying to drag my malnourished-ass out from whatever rundown shithole I can barely afford?- oh, remember that one time Supes, when you destroyed six levels of that south eastern apartment block in Chile looking for me? That was fun." Jason smiled as Superman squeezed his eyes shut and the deep blush crawled across his face. Red, then purple. Interesting, Jason thought. He cocked a hand to around his mouth and fake whispered to the room "Better get the medics up here, don't want the Big Blue having a stoke on us, do we now?" Glares all round. Even the Flash looked pissed.

Jason carried on with his antics. He'd have just a leeetle bit more fun before getting serious. "Oh! the residents were fine, by the way. Just wanted to reassure you, you know? Must have been so worried you didn't ask. It's alright though. Little Lolita lost her leg, Johan's blind in one eye from the blast and Papi? The restaurant owner? He's doing alright, just raising three kids on the street. The rest... well, I'm sure you know" Jason smiled. He didn't bother to look in Superman's general direction to see the effects of his taunting. He knew it already. Jason was a master when it came to the English language - he didn't need a gun to make a man bleed.

The silence was beautiful.

"But I digress." Jason turned serious now. "It's tenth grade economics, people: supply and demand. Not that I'd know, but, oh well." Jason smirked as Batman flinched. Beside the looming bat Nightwing, daddy's little boy, clenched his little boy his fists. Jason had to swallow his laughter. Jason straightened up.

"You need help. I can help you."

"But". Jason paused dramatically. The room tensed once more.

"I have a few conditions, of course. Nothing majo-"

"No!". Superman burst out as he stood up, both hands slapped down on the table with a bang. "We are NOT going to make any sort of deal with you, no bribes, no-"

"My terms are simple. Easy peasy." Jason continued as if Superman hadn't interrupted him.

"But before we begin, let me make it clear. I don't have to do this. I don't really want to, if I'm honest. I'm here because a. I'm bored and have nothing better to do and b. Little Red here asked me to."

Silence. Glares all around. Jason grinned.

"Good. My terms are only two. Nothing hidden, I promise. The first term is this: If I do this, I do this my way. You go ahead and do the work IGC have instructed you to do, but when it comes to playing middle-man politics, stay out of my way. You follow my lead. You don't interrupt, you don't argue, you don't go behind my back, de nada. If you do, for any reason, I'm out. Rot in jail, I don't give a shit."

No-one spoke.

"The second term is this: If I do this, afterwards, when you once again become the darlings of the nation, I walk away. Clean. No monitoring, no tailing, no arrests, nothing. Record wiped clean. If I detect even a whiff of any of you sniffing around, keeping tabs on me, nosing around - I'll have enough to make your lives a bloody misery."

More silence.

"So, in summary: You.. need help. I.. help you. Stick to my rules, wipe my record clean, and you have yourselves a deal. You have until this evening to make your decision."

Silence. Superman looked about ready to burst. Batman's lips were clamped so tightly together, any more and Jason was sure they'd disappear altogether.

Jason turned to Tim, who'd crossed his arms and watched the spectacle half stunned, half amused. It was a hell of a performance, and Tim was glad he and his brother were now tight. They were gonna be laughing about this later, for sure. Jason looked so proud of himself. Both men knew that Batman nor Nightie was not expecting Jason at all, and certainly a Jason that looked well rested, healthy and happy. The Jason the Bats knew of was a lanky haired mess, with badly dyed dirty black hair, brown leather jacket, with those ridiculous combat boots, a Jason that Batman and Nightwing were considering for Arkham, Blackgate even. The son once loved, not any more. They certainly didn't imagine to see this Jason: A good-looking auburn-haired beard-wearing Jason, in a fitted shirt and tailored trousers, looking all sorts of grown up. A Jason that was clearly very close to Tim. Both Tim and Jason knew that Tim was in literal shit with Batman the moment he walked through the door with Jason. But Tim didn't care. He was the only one, save Alfred, who believed Jason was still worth something. Still worth saving. Jason would never forget it. He owed Tim his life.

"Red" Jason addressed Tim. "Ready?"

Tim uncrossed his arms and smiled warmly at his brother.

"Born ready, Red."

Jason walked out then, not bothering to bid the League goodbye. Tim paused by the door and looked around at the League. He looked at Batman and Nightwing, one stoic and carefully blank, though the eyes gave him away, and the other, perched forwards as if to call him back, confused, angry and hurt.

Tim turned to Superman "Let me know what you decide".

With a final nod to the room, Tim followed his brother.

 

 

Both men left the same way they came. Round the corner, down the great steps, through the main hall. But something was different. Tim glanced at his brother. Jason's head was held high, and he walked not with the pretend confidence he bared for the sake of putting on a front, no. This was the real deal. He walked slowly, but more relaxed. His face was open, softer, and his face held a small smile. Jason, Tim concluded, was happy. More than happy, in fact - it was relief Tim was seeing. Once again, it was a testament to the close relationship they'd developed that Jason allowed his emotions to be read so openly by Tim. Jason saw the glance his brother gave him and smiled all the more. He felt so light, so free, so...in control, he decided. He felt proud of himself; he'd kept his cool, albeit with a little snark here and there. He had been honest and set down his terms right from the get go. He was clear, he'd made himself firm, and he did it all, with the best friend he'd never imagined to have by his side, healthy and at peace.

Jason slung his arm around Tim's shoulder's and pulled him in close. He heard Tim's fake indignant squeak yet no movement was made to shrug him off. He felt Tim's shoulder relax, moving closer towards him. Tim might pretend to be embarrassed by affection, but they both knew how much it made Tim's day when Jason showed how much he cared Tim, which, strangely enough, was becoming increasingly common as they spent time together.

"Let's go home, Red. We've got a barbecue to cook."


	4. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman reflects on the meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I've been overwhelmed by such positive responses, thank you!
> 
> I thought I would insert just a little viewpoint from the Bat himself. There is a lot coming from Clark and Wonder Woman later, so if I don't manage to write a little on how they felt about Jason and Tim's impromptu League meeting, don't worry!
> 
> Happy reading!

Silence was a strange thing.

It could be comforting, and it could be deafening.

Sitting here, in silence, watching the two men leave the conference room, no-one knew what to think.

Batman was tense, to say the least. He had sustained a myriad of injuries during the battle; a broken collarbone, fractured right tibia, a sprained wrist, a few bruised ribs, concussion, and a nasty, dirt filled, six inch jagged gash across his shoulder blades, after being clipped by a piece of falling debris in the fight. Batman cast his mind back to the heat of the battle. Taking a small break, he had leaned against one of the columns of Eain's city town hall, in Xan. He used the time to make a quick appraisal of the situation. He'd kept himself useful by opting to herd civilians to safety- after all, how much good was he, a mere human being, in an all out intergalactic multi-species war? He wasn't putting himself down - Batman was being realistic. Practical. If he couldn't stop flying pieces of angry metal with his bare hands, fly, run, shape-shift through walls or hit things with a shiny electrical mace, then the only thing left to use was his brain. And Batman knew how to use it.

Taking a swing of water, Batman had looked around him, taking in all the details. It wasn't good. There were giant holes in buildings, on the ground, the injured and the dead, smoke, fire and utter confusion. Superman and Wonder Woman had worked desperately to stop the incoming battle ships amount their attack. On the other side of the battle, at the borders of Gol, Green Lantern and the Martian were struggling to contain the damage inflicted by the Xanderians, their retaliation towards the Ghusalem. Gol had clearly aggravated the situation; by sending one of their own aircrafts at speed towards Eain, knowing the city's protocol for approaching ships and deliberately ignoring them, they had banked on Superman intervening. The speed at which that aircraft had been travelling was too fast to be a coincidence, or a simple misunderstanding. Batman knew it immediately - the fact that Ghusalem ships were already noted to be on Xan's borders not even a minute after Superman destroyed their ship, meant that Gol had planned for war all along. Superman was to be their pawn, and he, the Batman, the detective, had missed the signs. Batman was angry at himself - he should have picked up on how insistent the Ghusalem had been during their meetings with the IGC, claiming that there were no possible solutions to the conflict with Xan, that nothing could be done. Batman had dismissed their defence as dramatics; attentions-seeking, and as a result, completely underestimated them.

It was clear the Ghusalem had been studying Superman - they recognised he was the unspoken leader of the League, and his soft spoke, gentle demeanor, constantly emphasising the need for peace, made him the perfect scapegoat. Batman had realised it too late. The moment Superman announced in an unsure, unsteady voice, that an ship travelling too fast was approaching the borders of Eain, Batman knew what would happen next. It was almost like a slow-motion sequence. He saw the Ghusalem aircraft- well, not saw exactly. It moved fast like a dark furry ball, hurtling across the skyline, and it kept descending lower. Lower. Lower. Both Superman and Batman had looked at each other then - they both knew what needed to be done. They read each other without speaking; the regret in Superman's eyes, and the shame in Batman's. Superman, by no fault of his own, would trigger all out war, and nothing could be done to stop it.

The aftermath of the battle was one Batman was sure he would never forget. The screams alone had kept him awake at night on his on return to the Manor. Shouts and screams and cries, crying children, shouting mothers, dead fathers - they all moulded into one in the Bat's nightmares. In the end, he opted to remain awake, and by day 3, the effects of his sleep deprivation were kicking in. One night, he had skulked the halls of the watch-tower, slower than usual, trying to block out the pounding headache that was threatening to burst his skull, when all of a sudden, he'd looked down and saw blood. Hot slippery, metallic blood, on his hands, his feet, and for a few seconds, Batman stopped breathing. He had stopped in that hallway and leaned against the wall. Eyes closed, he forced his mind to ignore the hallucinations, recalling his training. This is a visual hallucination, ground yourself to reality, Batman had muttered through gritted teeth.

Superman had come round the corner then, by chance. Rushing over to his friend, the pair made they way back to Batman's room, where Bruce had promptly flung his mask off, tore at his cape and sat forward on the bed, face pale, hands sweaty, eyes still closed. Clark had said nothing. It was clear Bruce was close to a panic attack brought on by his sleepless nights - he'd heard Bruce's screams even as he lay awake on his own bed in Metropolis, listening. Clark had sat next to Bruce on the bed, shoulder to shoulder, trying to ground his friend back to reality. He knew it was the only contact Bruce would be able to tolerate without a fight. They didn't speak; Bruce's laboured, shallow breaths were enough.

Eventually the room had gone silent. Both men still sat, the silence saying it all. Eventually, Clark had left the room, and returned with two giant mugs of hot cocoa for them both, his mother's recipe, along with two well stuffed baguettes. Bruce accepted the drink wordlessly, but the way his eyes closed after the first sip conveyed the thanks Clark knew it to be. They ate in silence. Superman didn't ask about what had happened, Bruce made no move to offer an explanation. There was no need - they were both going through the same thing. They needed each other, that was clear. That Bruce could allow Clark to see him in such distress and actually help, and Clark could just sit in the presence of his friend, not as Superman, not as the world's greatest hero, but as Clark Kent, the quiet, Kansas bred, naive idealist, was a reflection of the improving friendship, and more importantly, the trust, between the two men.

 

 

But Batman was not expecting this.

He hadn't expected...that.

 

 

Batman was now back in Gotham. He'd returned to the manor unexpectedly early, after the abrupt end to the meeting that had occurred earlier on in the day. He sat in the Cave now, analysing reports, keeping one ear to the radio waves of the Gotham police force. Thankfully, criminal activity had been quite low over the past week, and had been managed well by the Bats. Nightwing was already upstairs in the Manor. Probably helping himself to some cereal, he thought.He sat down heavily at his chair overlooking the Cave's interactive screen and let his mind drift back to the events that had occurred a few hours earlier.

Hours ago, Batman had arrived on the watch-tower to look over a few preliminary reports. He and the League had spent the last week in front of the IGC and in the President's Secret communications centre. It had not been pleasant, particularly for Superman. The League founders had arrived back to the watch-tower two nights ago - alone; Tim had had the tower cleared for some privacy, and they had sat in the common room, quiet, trying to rest from the exhaustion they felt. Most had recovered from their physical injuries, but mentally, they worn out. Drained, even. They had sat around, barely eating. They didn't know what to say to each other- could anything even be said? It was a messy situation, one that was unavoidable, and yet the guilt felt suffocating. Superman hadn't stayed long. Wonder woman had passed him a cup of juice and held his hand then; warm, reassuring, and had squeezed in gently - it was a reminder that she loved him, as a brother, as a friend, and had her support.

Batman had watched them for a second before glancing away. It had seemed too intimate a moment to intrude. It also left a hollow feeling in his chest- he had let Clark, his best friend, down. Superman and Batman, the world's finest duo; he had heard the nicknames. And yet, when it came down to it, Batman had failed to protect him. Batman failed as the only human member of the League founders, to keep them in check. He had failed in his duty to support one of his team mates. He couldn't be more disappointed in himself. And if Batman felt this way, then Bruce felt even worse. Logically, he reasoned, they had responded appropriately. The League had made sure to stay as a neutral third party in the disagreements between Xan and Gol; neither side received more attention than the other. Yet despite their best efforts, things had gone wrong in the worst way imaginable. Batman felt disjointed. How does one prepare a contingency plan where most, if not all moves taken are relatively sound? Batman had watched Superman stare at his cup a little longer, then place it as gently as he could on the table, as if he were afraid of breaking it, before walking out. Wonder Woman met his eyes across the room. The three of them were close, and neither needed words to understand the other. She nodded at him, before speaking quietly into the already quiet room.

"We will meet in two days time. A lunch time meeting". She had paused then, seemingly unsure, before continuing.

"Go home. We...we need to rest. Nothing can be said for now". 

Wonder Woman stood for a moment more before making her way out. One by one, each member left, till Batman was left alone, sat by the corner, staring into space. It was just him alone in the entire watch-tower, and it made for an eerie feeling. Batman was unsure of how much time had passed before he became aware of his son, Nightwing, staring at him. He didn't move as Nightwing made his way over to him on the window sill, placing two bowls of Alfred's chicken stew and flasks of hot cocoa at his feet. Both Father and son sat facing each other, eating quietly, watching space pass them by. It was Nightwing who had walked him home that night, shoulder to shoulder. Nightwing had stayed whilst Alfred checked Bruce's bandages, tutting and fussing. His son, Dick, precious to him, had looped his arm around his shoulders and led him upstairs to bed. Dick had waited in the bedroom as Bruce took a shower. He'd helped his father to bed, before taking his own shower. Bruce had watched his son potter around his bedroom, folding clothes, pulling curtains, as if he could magically clean away his failures. He had followed Dick with his eyes as his son plopped in the bed beside him, pulling the covers over both. And still, Dick had said nothing. No funny joke, no attempt at cheering Bruce up. Dick had startled Bruce out of his thoughts when he leaned over and kissed his father of the forehead, whispering a "you're the best, Bruce", before turning his back to him and drifting off to sleep. Bruce had smiled over that, his first in a long time.

Two days later, both Batman and Nightwing made their way to the watch-tower for the lunchtime meeting. Batman hadn't asked him to come - he knew Dick would come regardless. Neither were the League taken aback to see Nightwing in the conference room that day; they'd known Dick right as a precocious eight year old, Robin to their Batman, and they'd loved him like a son ever since. It was strange; they were eating and making small talk, but the food rested like lead in the stomach. Batman couldn't quite place it; it felt like they were lost, adrift even- they had exhausted all their contacts, none were willing to come forward, and the penalty of the IGC, though far away, never strayed from the backs of their minds.

And then, in walked Tim.

Tim and a stranger. One that looked oddly familiar.

The man was very tall, of possible Latino, Italian or even Arab descent by his dark colouring, Bruce was unsure. Very well dressed, fitted clothing - was that a Chopard watch on his arm? Less than two hundred were made each year, and the waiting list could be as long as five years - Bruce had yet to get one, despite his status. The man saw him glance at the watch and smirked, turning his wrist ever so slightly. Bruce continued his assessment. Around two hundred and sixty pounds, tops, early to late twenties- he couldn't tell with the beard, but there was something about that expression, that smile on the man's face, that gave him a boyish look. It took years off his face, and Batman wondered why. It was all too familiar..the way the man stood, hands in pockets, casual, relaxed. The cocky grin.

He'd seen the look before, Batman was certain of it. His mind went through catalogues of missing people, contacts, assets.

And then Superman had spoken.

And it all clicked into place.

Someone who could make his friend react like that - Batman had detected the undercurrent of anger in Superman's voice and there was one person in mind who could do that and still stand so smugly.

Jason.

Hood. Batman's voice was cold to mask the shock his body had entered. He had long ago perfected the art of staying still, but inside, he was reeling. Beside him, he could feel Nightwing gasp at the name.

He silently gripped the base of his chair.

Jason. Son- no, not son. Not any more. Murderer. Hood. The Red Hood.

Batman was furious, and Bruce felt like fainting.

The last time he'd seen Jason had been over two years ago. They had fought in the most ugly way possible. Jason was crying, Batman was close to bursting, and the boy had limped away that night, bloody, hurt and angry. Bruce had been left sorrowful. He had all but given up on the man. Jason was too unstable, violent - Bruce had other children to think about. He let Jason leave, and made no attempt to contact him, despite the angry looks Alfred subjected to him with each passing day. Bruce had steadfastly ignored them. He was done.

And now Jason did something that completely blind sided Bruce - he took off his glasses. Years of lecturing about the importance of keeping his identity secret, about staying unknown, for his protection, and with one swift movement, Jason had spit it all in the fire. Bruce couldn't move as his eyes met Jason's. Turquoise green. Bruce would remember those eyes forever. No matter the size of the crowd, Bruce would never have trouble picking out Jason each and every time. 

Bruce couldn't stop staring. He could actually feel Nightwing lurch backwards into his chair beside him, aghast. It was Jason, for sure. He had changed, so, so much. The Jason they'd last seen had been a lanky, awkward, greasy haired, chain-smoking trigger happy adult boy. Not quite the boy he once was, and not yet the man he should have been. That Jason had been all fire and fury, vengeful, spiteful and despised them. Mocked them. Spat at them. The man in front of them was a complete stranger. No, it couldn't be Jason. Couldn't. be. The man was tall, taller than Batman. Broad chested and obviously strong. Handsome. His skin glowed a healthy brown - he looked well rested, light, despite his muscled stature.

Bruce had kept staring.

His hair!

Jason's hair! Gone were the flat, limp, dirty, greasy, poorly dyed locks. On the man's head sat a thick bundle of curls, waves, of a lovely auburn that could pass for a deep red in the light of the room. Nightwing was standing up now, and Bruce could feel his son shaking. He watched the man smile even more at the response-oh! A beard! Bruce felt himself beginning to despair - the boy he once dreamed of teaching to shave, how to put on a tie, taking him out for driving lessons - the man in front of him had grown up without him, and Bruce didn't know what to do.

He wanted to leave. Desperately. His heart hammered and his chest hurt. But he couldn't move, he just couldn't. It was as if he were afraid that moving would shatter the image of the man, or that he'd wake up in his bed at the manor, realising that it had all been a dream. So Bruce sat, still as a statue, taut, holding himself together.

He watched as Tim stepped forward to introduce Jason as "Red" and he was left reeling all over again. When had this happened? How long had they been in contact? It was clear to everyone that the two were comfortable with each other - they stood close together, wore similar glasses, and often glanced each other, as if they were having a private conversation. Bruce's mind was racing. How? When? Why, Tim, why? How had Tim, of all people, managed to get through to Jason that he was here, in front of people he despised, the League, looking fresh, comfortable, and relaxed? Tim, the one Jason had called replacement in spite, the one he had beaten up and left for dead, had written "Jason Todd" in the boy's blood as he lay there, dying,- how? How? How had Tim done it?

Bruce wasn't sure how much he could take.

He'd watched Tim put forward his pitch. The boy was clearly using his experience as Vice President of Wayne Enterprises to talk in front of the League and it made a great impression. Despite his anger and betrayal at discovering Tim's relationship with Jason, even after he had forbidden any kind of contact with the mad man, Bruce was proud of how well Tim presented himself in front of the League. His son was right. No-one wanted to help them.

But then came something unexpected. Tim had placed a call to Xan, strange, as the League had not heard anything from them since the IGC's ruling. Zele, the communications guide for the Xanderians appeared on screen. She had been very friendly when the League had first made contact but now she sat, unblinking and cold.

And then Jason started speaking Xalanese.

The shock could be felt in waves across the whole room, Batman included. Where had Jason learnt to speak Xalanese? He was sure he had never taken Jason on off League missions as Robin, so where had Jason learnt it? But then Tim re-started his pitch, and this time, he was selling Jason.

Bruce sat up imperceptibly. So Tim had disobeyed his orders and gone behind his back to stay in touch with Jason, despite the line of work he knew Jason to be in. Bruce was furious and Tim, judging by the angle he chose to stand in front of the League, but away from him, knew how Bruce felt. Good. Bruce listened to Tim's speech and analysed his points.

Two things were very clear:

One: According to Tim, Jason's particular expertise gave him access to the skills, resources and people the League could right about now benefit from.

Two: Jason, somehow, had been to Xan, enough that he was able to hold a conversation with Zele. Judging by her reaction, it was clear miscommunication would not be an issue, so it was likely that Jason was fluent in Xalanese. And if he could speak Xalanese, then there was a good chance he knew Ghusalish too.

As the League kept uttering their disbelief, Batman pondered over what he had heard, and what he had seen. Tim had played his cards very well. It was obvious that Jason was well placed to help them. It was also obvious that Jason too knew this: the man still had his hands in his pockets, looking as comfortable as ever. Smug, too. Tim seemed about to continue when a look passed between he and Jason. Ah. So it was Jason's turn now. Bruce shook his head clear. He wanted to hear what Jason would say. By the time Jason had finished, Bruce wished he'd never come into the watchtower in the first place. The first thing that hit him was Jason's voice. It was now a deep, smooth baritone, much like his own, except Jason's was a lot warmer. Jason kept his voice calm - a another thing that surprised Bruce. He was used to hearing the animalisitic snarl Jason's voice took whenever the Bats confronted him.

Batman listened to Jason's pitch. As much as he wanted to disagree, Jason was right. He had been brutally honest with them - Jason was unconcerned whether they were jailed, billed - he made it clear it wasn't his problem. Bruce didn't buy Jason's snark of being bored and having nothing to do, and only agreeing to help because of Tim. Not that it wasn't all true, but Bruce was sure there was something more, something in it for Jason, that he could even consider coming to the watch-tower in the first place. Jason was honest, forward and presented all the facts as they were: indeed, he would make a fine ambassador. Personal opinions wouldn't be enough to dispute it. Bruce watched Jason taunt Superman - it was an ugly, embarrassing thing to witness. He couldn't defend Superman's actions - Jason, through his international exploits, had created enough trouble as an international terrorist to provoke the ire of the League, but Superman had gone out of his way to try and apprehend Jason.

Not that Jason was all innocent either- he had taunted and mocked Superman endlessly, and on a public platform too. There were still new Youtube videos cropping up now and again of some of the crude messages and pictures Jason had left all over the world, making fun of Superman. The incident in Chile really was the straw that broke the camel's back - it had taken a lot of pleading and diplomacy to soothe the outrage of Chile's national leaders and Superman had been left with a number of harsh sanctions. The president had warned him of becoming an "embarrassment" to the US, in front of the entire US Cabinet, Congress and the League. Bruce could not face the man for a while after that. His former son was the reason a good friend and an honorable man was being disgraced internationally. Bruce didn't think he could listen to Jason's taunts any longer.

And then Bruce finally heard Jason's terms. Ah. The Batman had to approve: the boys had sold Jason well. Jason was too valuable an asset, but his cooperation rested on a few terms to be met. Bruce was expecting a whole list of ridiculous items; things like an unlimited supply of chili dogs, or a free five year all round pass to the playboy mansion, something that would make the League mad, uncomfortable, and humiliated. But once again, Bruce had been proved wrong. Jason had surprised him with only two terms, but after hearing them, Bruce had wished Jason had gone with the playboy pass instead. The terms themselves were short and simple: Jason would be in charge, and he would walk away with a clean record afterwards. But those two agreements were the most difficult of all.

The first one was a direct smack in the face: it was a tip in the balance of power to favour the once number one international criminal on the League's list.

Doing it Jason's way would mean that they would have to follow his rules, toe his line, and none of them could predict what this new Jason could do. It was too risky, giving so much power to Jason, but as Bruce had desperately searched, there were little alternatives.

The second term was a mockery of all things good and moral: the League, at the end, would be giving making a deal, a fantastic deal, with a notorious, unrepentant killer. It made Bruce's stomach turn. Jason wanted his record wiped clean. They'd be left with no evidence of wrong doing and they wouldn't be able to fake it- Jason was too skilled for them to deceive. It meant that he'd walk away free - no further monitoring, or tailing - Jason could potentially do as he wished, and if his terms were agreed, get away with it. No. Absolutely not, Bruce thought. Jason had created a deal of a life time. It really was the perfect supply and demand scenario - he hadn't missed that jab Jason had thrown at him. He'd died at fifteen years old, a time when he should have been in tenth grade, preparing for college, girls, and learning to drive. Jason always had a way with words.

Tomorrow evening. That was the deadline Jason had given them. Short and simple. He'd walked away then, without so much of a backward glance, knowing full well the havoc he had created. Batman seethed inside. This was Jason, Jason who created havoc and chaos and walked away from it, unaffected. Tim had followed, giving a final look to the room. The boy had finally looked over to Bruce and Nightwing, but Bruce gave nothing away. He was seething, seething at Jason, and the fact that they now needed him, seething at Tim, at how his own child could do such a thing. Bruce couldn't imagine the look on Nightwing's face, watching his dear brother, leave, with the other brother he'd grown to hate.

Batman and Nightwing had left the watch-tower silent. Lips tight, hearts heavy. Neither of them had said anything as they were transported through the teleporter back to the Cave. Batman had glanced at his son then. Nightwing was unusually still, face drawn, taut. He had not spoken since they decided to go home. Both had been too shocked to see Jason. There was little point in saying anything now, at least until Tim returned, whenever that would be. Upon arrival, Batman had sat down at the console, taking off his mask. He'd ran a shaky hand over his face and through his hair. What a day. Dick had done straight to the towers and returned in a light T-shirt and jogging bottoms. His face was no longer tight. It was instead sad. Dick went up to Bruce as he sat, slumped heavily in his chair, eyes arched up to the ceiling. They stayed like that for a few minutes, struggling to come up with the right words.

Eventually, Dick had sighed, placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder and squeezed it. Bruce understood - it was a gesture Dick used even as a boy. It said everything and nothing at the same time. Bruce reached up and took hold of his son's hand, squeezing it back. Their hands remained clasped for a few more seconds until Dick, patting Bruce's hand lightly, let go and made his way up to the Manor. Bruce watched him go, before turning back to his console. He tried to go over the reports, but his eyes swam with tears. Nothing would go in tonight. He sighed, rubbing his temples with vigour. The pounding headache he'd had during the week was coming back with a vengeance. He arched back further in the chair and let his mind drift.

 

 

The Batman had called the Hood "dangerous, unstable, volatile," and declared he'd made a "mistake" continuing to work with him. Bruce however, had given up. He no longer saw Jason, his son, once loved, treasured. That boy had died long ago. The boy...man that he'd been locked in a fierce battle for the past year was a stranger to him. To Bruce, Jason was dead.

Bruce paused at the memory. He didn't want to go down memory lane, but the exhaustion was soon catching up with him. He felt his eyes close a little.

 

 

Bruce remembered the first time he made The Decision. The Red Hood, an admittedly exceptional opponent, had tried to harm his children. And, as he'd arrived back to the Cave after patrol one night and heard a beeping noise, as he traced the noise to the underbelly of the Batmobile, on seeing what looked like a makeshift bomb, his heart gathered speed wildly: someone had tried to kill him, and that someone was the Red Hood. At that moment, Jason died. Bruce longer recognised Jason as his son; that Jason was dead. He was now dealing with a monster, and that monster was the Red Hood. Bruce swore bitterly that night - he would hunt down that bastard and make him pay dearly, no matter how long it took.

It was then both Batman and Bruce had made The Decision: the decision of disownment. To Batman, the Red Hood was an unstable madman, to Bruce, Tim was now his second born. The first time he'd told Alfred this, Alfred had stopped, calmly placed the dishcloth he was using to polish the glassware on the table, paused, and then with a movement too quick to comprehend, slapped Bruce full across the face. Bruce went the force of the blow, and his head was snapped painfully to the side. He staggered back, holding his face, eyes bright, staring at the man he privately regarded as his father. Alfred's arm was still in the air, and Bruce could see his father's eyes full of tears.

A long, painful moment passed.

Then Alfred spoke, cold, harsh. It frightened Bruce. He had never seen Alfred like this.

"Bruce, you are a lot of things." Alfred began. "You've made mistakes, broken promises and, whether stupid, ignorant, or both, have said many unknowingly hurtful things. And each time I have forgiven you, because you are my son, and I will have it no other way." Alfred's voice was clipped.

"But, my dear boy, listen closely. I will not repeat myself again. If I ever hear those ugly words from your mouth again, I will cease to be your father."

Bruce was floored. He couldn't speak.

"If you regard Jason as dead to you, then you too, my son, will be dead to me."

Bruce felt the world spin at that. He staggered, gulped, tears streaming down his face as he made to reach for Alfred. "Alfred, plea-'"

Alfred took a full step backwards from him, and Bruce thought his heart had stopped. "Jason is as much your son as you are mine. He is my grandson, as much as the three other boys are my boys also. If you dare to take this away from me, know then, that I will never forgive you. I will not hate you, Bruce, but I will most certainly leave you and never return again."

Bruce sank to his knees, beginning to plead.

Alfred continued.

"I have loved you as my own right from the moment your one hour-old self was placed into my arms. I have loved you, held you, washed you, cared for you, shouted, screamed, cried, wept, mourned, blessed, searched, waited for you for the past forty four years, your entire life. Thomas Wayne was your father, is your father, and you are as much mine as you are his. You brought Jason, a thirteen year old, malnourished child into your home, skittish, afraid, and despised by the world - the moment you did, he became your son and therefore, my grandson. Not ward, not partner, not Robin, - your son, just as much as Dick is your firstborn, Tim your third, and Damian your lastborn, my youngest grandson."

Alfred now had his own tears streaming, silently, as he continued to speak.

"Jason has made many mistakes. He has lied, killed, slaughtered, murdered, fought and lashed out at every member of this family, myself included."

Bruce's eyes widened at the last bit but Alfred soldiered on.

"He left here a fifteen year old child, having only just learnt that love is not abuse, that smiling is free, that life can be good, and he was taken away from us in a blink of an eye. He returned a broken, eighteen year old man - we missed that-" Alfred's voice was now bitterly acidic, as Bruce bent in front of him, weeping, "-he went through hell, came back from the depths of hell, and returned home desperate, confused; seeking his father, the one for whom he dug out of his own grave."

Bruce gasped at that. "Wha-wha-what?" He stammered. His eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his head.

Alfred gave a short, horrible laugh. "You never asked, did you Bruce? Didn't you wander how exactly Jason came to be? Where he had been the last three years, who he had been with, what he had been doing - how a medically declared dead body came to be standing in front of you, ready to fight? Jason told me how he'd woken up, in his own damn coffin, wearing that bloody suit he'd always hated, screaming bloody murder for a man who couldn't hear him, scratching and clawing his way out of that awful box, till his fingernails were ripped off, and blood flowed down his face in rivets."

Bruce wept.

Alfred's voice was now broken.

"Jason told me that he'd crawled out of his grave and searched for you. Looking, searching ever so desperately - Jason, a dead boy, freshly autopsied, couldn't speak, brain-damaged to the hills, yet the first thing that was on that boy's mind was you, Bruce! You! Not Joker, not revenge,- just you! Because you meant family, Bruce! He associated you with safety, comfort, warmth, a family. Jason spent almost a year in Gotham, catatonic, looking for you, for us, and we failed him."

Bruce couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He felt as though the ground would swallow him up that very instant.

Alfred's voice was hard. "And now, because Jason's a little angry- and not totally out of the blue, mind you; his murderer is still out and about, killing people - because he's a little more angry than you expected, he's no longer your son? As if its every day a child is tortured, blown up in an explosion, crawls out of their own grave, is tortured again with the League of Assassins - oh, didn't know that, did you Bruce- and finally, finally, escapes, to return home, only to a man who fails to see him, here, the same man who remembers him not as a son, but as a "good solider"- but it's all Jason's fault, of course it is. He is simply being unreasonable."

Alfred finished now, chest heaving, breathing heavily, eyes full of anger.

Bruce couldn't look at him for the rest of that evening.

 

 

"Master Bruce! You do realise that there are perfectly suitable beds upstairs, do you not? I did not slave away six hours making beds, washing sheets and cleaning top to bottom for you to sleep in the Cave. Come along, sir."

Bruce jolted awake, opening bleary eyes into the harsh light of the Cave. He groaned, holding out his elbow in the air to block the monstrosity, Above, the bats squeaked, laughing at him. Evil creatures, he cursed. He looked into his butler's face. Kind Alfred. Smiling, though his smile didn't reach the eyes. Ah. So he knew.

Alfred sighed, before a small fond smile appeared on his face.

"C'mon, up you get. Good lad, let's get some food into you" Alfred chatted away as Bruce allowed him to lead him up the stairs. Both men knew why Alfred was doing this; Alfred had head the news from Dick. It didn't take a genius to know that Bruce had been deeply affected by the day's events. Jason tended to make that sort of an impact, Alfred mused. Bruce moved sluggishly, as if on autopilot. Alfred didn't mind. He thought of the sedatives he'd been preparing to place in Bruce's tea. His son needed sleep, and sleep would he give him.

Alfred left Bruce upstairs to shower whilst he prepared a few sandwiches and a hot mug of cocoa. He sighed. He had been in contact with Jason for the past two years since his disappearance. Jason had begged him not to tell Bruce. Alfred couldn't even if he wanted to; the stubborn man had ceased to refer to Jason by name, yet alone son. Whatever father-son relationship that had once existed had been blown to bits the day Jason had gone missing, and it broke Alfred's heart.

Now is not the time for reminiscing, Alfred scolded himself, as he placed the dishes on a tray. He had a hungry son to feed. He carried the silver tray up the stairs toward's Bruce's room. Alfred looked on the bright side. He had his boy and his three grandchildren, at least close to home if they weren't physically in the Manor. They were safe and sound. Not happy, no, but they hid it well enough. Jason on the other hand, was happy, and if keeping their meetings a secret from Bruce kept Jason around, then Alfred was more than happy to oblige.

When there is life, there is hope, Alfred thought. His boys would one day be made whole.

It was just a matter of time, and Alfred was more than happy to wait.


	5. In bed with the enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The League make their decision.

The League had decided to reconvene the next day after Tim's meeting. Each member gone home that night, deep in thought. Who could have foretold that Jason Todd, or "Red", held the answers to the problem they desperately needed solving?

 

 

Clark was flying. Or, rather, Superman was flying, and Clark was fuming.

Today had been a downright terrible day. Superman had arrived on the watch-tower anxious; he didn't know what he would say to the rest of the League - he didn't even know what to do. Hood was not what he had expected walking through the door, and it had taken all his willpower, along with Wonder woman, to prevent him from hurtling the criminal right out the window. Clark had sat there, enraged, humiliated, and most humbling of all, powerless. Powerless to help his teammates, and powerless to stop the events unfolding in front of him. He'd left the meeting shortly after, embarrassed and angry. His stance was clear: on no terms should the League have anything to do with that murderer, that insufferable bastard that had dragged his name through the mud in front of the world two years ago. Superman's reputation had still not recovered; on some occasions, thugs who he'd come into contact with addressed him by a couple of the vulgar phrases the Hood had used for him - words that still made him blush in shame. And now that same son of a bitch, without any shame whatsoever, had walked - no, coasted right in front of the League, in front of him, looking as relaxed and as smug as ever. As if he had all the time in the world, as if the last few years of his mayhem were nothing but a blip in time.

Superman had stormed out, shrugging off Diana's warm hand on his shoulder. He could feel Bruce's eyes glued onto his back, watching, but he didn't care. Not this time around. Neither Batman nor Bruce would have a say in how he felt, no way. All the way home, Clark had flown, no, not to Metropolis; back home to Kansas, spitting fire and boiled over in frustration. It was because of Bruce, his best friend, a brother even, that the League had chosen to cease the search for Hood's arrest. And yet, Hood continued his exploits - wreaking havoc across the globe; shooting and killing and uprising and disturbing the peace of those he believed "deserve it". And worst of all, many supported him! They cheered when Hood had yet again strewn the heads of drug cartel bosses across the streets like the lightbulbs of a Christmas tree, crudely decapitated; they had whistled and whooped, chanted the man's name when the bodies of high ranking officials, involved in a major prostitution ring, were tied up and left hanging from lampposts in their respective countries, with their sawed-off penises stuffed into their mouths, eyes gouged out, and headcards placed above with the words "I eat dicks for breakfast".

Not only did people openly voice their support, no- when the League, specifically Superman, called a press conference denouncing the madman's crimes and issuing a warrant for his arrest, people had turned on them, violently. They spat at the League, calling them cowards, freaks, weaklings, furious that they dared to stop the one person bold enough to punish the evildoers for their crimes. The League had left the conference at their New York head quarters having tomatoes lobbied at them, curses thrown haphazardly, and what was the Hood's response? It was to upload a live streaming link from Sante Fe, showing him riding above and being passed across the shoulders of thousands of people, completely relaxed, smiling - Hood was mocking them. The message was clear - he was untouchable. Copycats were beginning to spring up, dealing out their own brand of justice. When challenged, they had pointed to the Hood, their hero, before dragging the League, highlighting their failures to tackle home grown crime and most troubling, who had appointed them judge, jury, and executioner? Judging by the way police had turned aside to let these attacks continue, it was clear that they also, were of the same opinion as the people, despite many of their corrupt colleagues in bed with these criminals.

Hood's antics had caused a strain between Clark and Bruce. Clark could not understand why Bruce had put forward the motion to call off his former son's arrest. At first, Clark had refused to see it Bruce's way and decided to apprehend the Hood himself. Whether Bruce was going soft on the man, bending his usually strict moral code for the sake of the man he once called son, or whether he had given up, Clark didn't know. If Bruce refused to put the Hood down, then Superman would do it himself. He had chased the Hood around the world, and with each chase, came the publicity. The articles. The news reports. Interviews. All questioning why it was Superman going after the Hood alone, and more pathetically, why he, the so called "world's greatest hero", had failed to catch him.

After the Chile incident, Batman had called an emergency meeting. Without him. It was decided to call off the search, and Superman had been left in the dark. It was an embarrassment to Superman, to be left so unaware, blindsided even, as he sat at home in Metropolis, watching a live feed of the League delivering the news, and Clark had spent that day feeling betrayed. When he'd confronted Batman, Batman had reasoned that by publicising and giving attention to the Hood, the man would be prompted to keep "upping the game", enjoying the limelight his actions were giving. If they as the League quietly called off the arrest, refused to pay attention to the Hood, then the publicity would wane, and eventually, Hood would find out that no-one cared anymore. The idea had seemed reasonable to the rest of the League and they had voted, all in favour of the idea. Superman had vehemently disagreed, but in the end, it was too late. The warrant was cancelled. Any further comments the League were asked on the Hood were dismissed; the League, as directed by Batman, called the Hood "childish, attention-seeking", and that prioritisng his arrest was a "colossal waste of effort and resources".

At first, Hood had increased the intensity of his exploits. The murders became more frequent, more violent, but as the League continued to pay little attention to him, the attacks lessened, till, a few months later, they had stopped altogether. It was what the League had wanted. But, to Clark, things hadn't been the same with Bruce since then. Sure, Superman and Batman appeared as a unit, working together in the public eye, covering each other's backs. But behind closed doors, once the capes were off, there was an oddness between them. An awkwardness that had never been there before. They had started off this way years ago; both young, one bright, eager, and ready to save the world, the other self righteous, haughty, and dismissive of the idea of "help", "backup", "support". Both men, despite Bruce's denial, had worked had to get along, and as time and experiences went by, they had gone from mere acquaintances, to friends, best friends, and finally brothers. But after the Hood, things had regressed between them. There were more arguments, disagreements behind closed doors. They found it difficult to sit eye to eye; they didn't even sit together at League meetings. Superman had stopped asking after the Bats, and for a while, there had been no more "Clark", or "Bruce".

But then the mission with Xan and Gol had happened, and the two men had slowly begun to rebuild their friendship. They had supported each other without question, held each other's backs, and even whilst they faced penalties and harsh criticism for their involvement, seem to find strength in the other. Standing together. Little by little, they were once again reaching out. Though they didn't speak much when they were together, they could comfortably sit in silence without worrying too much about saying the wrong thing. The trust was still there, despite everything. They needed each other, and it was enough for both.

And now Hood was back.

Not Hood, Red. Superman had seen Batman's wheels turn in his mind, debating, thinking - he left knowing somehow that upon the next League meeting, Batman would vote Jason in as ambassador. Superman had now reached his family home in Kansas, now full of anger, and he desperately needed to blow of steam. Clark wasn't sure how long he'd stayed outside for, only that when he finally looked around, the sky was now a lovely pitch black, and he'd demolished close to twenty-three sandbags. Ma had sat him down for dinner, but Clark could barely touch his food. Pa had tried taking him out for a cool walk with a drink in hand, but when Clark tried to swallow the liquid, it burned harsh, hot and angry, and left his mouth tasting like acid. Eventually, he'd bid his parents goodnight.

That was three hours ago.

Now, as Clark lay awake, thinking over the day, the tiredness initially kept back now washed over him. He felt tired and restless at the same time. The League would be meeting the next day, and his stomach churned in anticipation. Clark sighed. The moment Jason had started speaking Xalanese, he knew it was a done deal for the League. The man's criminal past would be placed on the back burner for now; he had proved himself too valuable to lose. Worst of all, it would be him who would have to deliver the decision to Tim, and he could just about imagine the look on Jason's face. It was humiliating. Already, Clark could feel the burn of his cheeks.The events of the last few months had been a real eye-opener. It seemed to Clark that what was right was being rewarded with wrong, and all that he knew, and felt, and was taught, "wrong", were being blessed with right. The world is turning up-side down, Clark thought, as he drifted aimlessly, half awake. It would be another two hours before Clark slept that night.

 

 

Ten am. The League trickled in, one by one, into Auburn room, the same room that had hosted the drama of yesterday. There were few greetings, and unlike yesterday, the room felt tense. Divided even. It was as if they all knew what was about to go down, particularly for the two that had now walked in, seated far apart from each other: Batman and Superman. Neither man made an effort to start the meeting, so Wonder Woman bravely stepped up to the plate.

"Thank you all for your presence today. As you can appreciate, there is a lot to discuss. We'll start with you, J'onn. Has there been anything of note from guarding duty?"

Off they went. Martian Manhunter had politely explained that apart from a few cosmic disturbances to the watch-tower readings, nothing of note had arisen. John had volunteered to be in charge of watch-tower duty; he enjoyed the relative peace that came with floating above the earth. It was also an opportunity to get away from his team mates - as much as he cared for them, their incessant rambling, particularly the Flash, made him irritable and he needed some personal space to recharge.

Wonder Woman had now moved onto Hawkgirl, and the Martian mentally tuned her out. He used his telepathic ability to inconspicuously assess the room. The Flash, or Barry seemingly aware of the serious gravity of their situation, was for once not chewing, or mumbling, or interrupting with his childish jokes. He sat half up, half slumped in his chair, creating the appearance of a child forced to sit in what the humans called a "time-out" corner; J'onn wasn't sure by the meaning of this. But as he studied his team mate, he realised that the young man's eyes, though cast downwards, were sharp. Ah. So he was paying attention. Too many of them still thought of Flash as a immature, simple minded fool, harmless, who'd happened to "stumble" his way onto becoming founding member of the League, and that all held true when they'd first started the justice League. Flash had nineteen years old, a ball of life, happy, energetic, irritating but loveable. At the time, Manhunter had taken a peek through the boy's mind - he was astonished to discover the brimming of activity in the man's mind, fast, too many thoughts to count, racing similarly to the man's speed, speech even. The man was not an idiot- far from it, in fact. The level of quantum theory that casually floated through his mind, the lightening speed at which equations of immense difficulty were being solved - Flash, if he truly wanted, could surpass the Batman, and that was a frightening, if not comical thought indeed. But in the ten years they had worked together, Barry had gradually matured. He was still ever so friendly, kind, but he had indeed slowed down considerably, assessing situations before running into them. Flash was a firm favourite with everyone, and a valued team member, if the Justice Lords had anything to say about it. Manhunter glanced around the room again.

To Flash's right sat Green Lantern, posture rigid, hand absently stroking his beard. How the two men had come to best friends, Manhunter would never know. Lantern, unlike his friend, was a serious man. Straight forward, stern, he was a typical military man. In his mid, things were either black and white. Right or wrong. J'onn knew Lantern would be very difficult to convince; he would most likely vote against the League working with the Hood. Lantern had taken personal affront to the failure of his fellow Lanterns- far too often were the League called out at the request of the Lanterns, and where it had been once amusing to joke about the frequency of such requests, now, it was stinging. The Lanterns had failed in their duty to prevent conflict, though Xan, and in particular Gol, had proved difficult to appease. Still, had the Lanterns demonstrated more efficiency in their work, the League might not have needed to intervene.

J'onn moved on. Hawkgirl sat relaxed in her chair, but Martian knew she was far from it. Hawkgirl's reputation had taken a severe beating a few years back, when she had been revealed as a spy on behalf of her people, the Thanagarians. Seemingly unaware of the real intent of her mission, Hawkgirl had revealed the weaknesses of earth's mightiest heroes and as a result, had had the entire nation enslaved at the mercy of their new rulers. J'onn wasn't sure what to think of her, even as she sat across from him. She was a wild card; as smart as the Bat, though relied far too much on her mace - the pleasure she derived from "hitting" unsettled him. It had taken a long time for her to "re-earn" her place within the League - even at present, she was still viewed with distrust and suspicion. Her close friendship with Wonder Woman had deteriorated to the point of trading blows, and though they were now friends, it was clear to everyone that much of it was at face value. Manhunter studied her. Hawkgirl, at times, seemed on the verge of contributing - she looked the same way the day before, but whether it was due to her fragile place on the team, or her own history of manipulation and treason,- J'onn wasn't sure, but Hawkgirl remained silent. It was a shame, he thought. Had the fear of being shut down or even outcasted not been a real possibility, Hawkgirl would have made excellent contributions, J'onn was sure.

And now, the Martian came to the two that dominated the room. Batman and Superman. The two that had rescued him from his tortured beginnings here on Earth, all those years ago. He had watched their friendship grow, steadily, uncertain from Superman's end, distant from the Bat, yet there had been no denial - Batman and Superman were as fire as to ice. He knew both men had spent time together outside the League and were on good terms in their personal lives, and that included family. J'onn hadn't been the only one to notice the gradual falling apart of their relationship. From two who had appeared as close as brothers; now they sat far from each other, angled so they would not view each other by accident. J'onn sighed. The Hood had made things difficult for all of them, and he didn't want to imagine the strain that Bruce and Clark had sustained. Before, though the two men were different in their approach to conflict, they respected one another and never failed to lend the other their support. At first, the disagreements had been private, held in hushed, biting tones. Now, they argued in front of the League, red faces, heated voices, and it drove a wedge between the rest of the team. None wanted to take sides. Both men were viewed as leaders of the League; Superman was simply the more recognisable public face. And now, as J'onn watched, neither could look at each other.

 

 

Wonder woman was speaking again - she had finally left the most important issue at hand for last. The Hood. The Martian mentally tuned in.

"Last on this meeting is with regards to the Return of the Hood, or Red, as was announced by Red Robin" Wonder Woman paused here. J'onn tilted his head slightly as he studied his friend; Diana had always been fair, kind and generous, and was highly regarded both in and out of the League. She held a special place in his heart; many a time had he visited her apartment in London and spent an evening or two with her, sight-seeing and eating. She had a particular fondness for cooking for him; though a few of her favourites were not to his liking, J'onn accepted all she offered graciously. He couldn't bear to offend her. And now she stood at the front of the room, taking charge. J'onn felt for her. It appeared that she was in a slight conflict, one of the heart. On one side stood Superman; a dearly beloved brother, best friend, colleague, the one who teased her mercilessly and had even trained her now and again. The other side held Batman - J'onn did not want to delve too much into their relationship, but it was clear that she adored him, and he in return, regarded her highly. She, her friendship, her support - she was important to him.

So now Diana stood, stuck between her two best friends, not wanting to upset either one. But that was not all, J'onn deduced - a third hand was in order, and that hand was the matter of Jason Todd. All of them knew of their relationship, Mother and son, and it was no secret that Diana's reaction at seeing the son she'd lost had brought tears to a few of their eyes. J'onn, no, all of them, he surmised, could see that tiny part of her was aglow with the thought that she could be once again in close proximity with her boy. They had all been reminded of a younger Jason Todd- a cheeky, mischievous boy who was quick to barb but difficult to trust. Jason's first meeting with the League, and Diana, was not something that could be easily forgotten. It had been an unusual decision, unexpected: Batman, or rather, Bruce, had invited them over for tea at the Manor, at the end of a long day of saving lives. They had all shown up in the Cave, much to the delight of Dick, Bruce's eldest, and Alfred's amusement. They had wearily trudged up the Cave stairs, still in uniform, marvelling at the huge expanse of the renovated space, up to the Manor, where they sat in one of the guest living rooms. Uncomfortable at first, after a few rounds of sandwiches, tea and coffee, they had all loosened up. Anecdotes were thrown about easily, causing laughter, and it was almost as if the group had been friends for ever. All of a sudden, the front door slammed with a bang, and the voice of one Jason Todd, thirteen years old, filled the hallway with speed.

"Alfred! Alfred! You'll never guess what happened at school today", the shrill voice had began. The League had instantly hushed, sat still as the young voice relegated his dear Alfred with the wildness of his day: a minor disagreement with an unfortunately named boy, Hepplesworth Snogarshville, a note from a young woman the boy seemed to have much affection for and most of all, the one that brought such joy to the young voice - the feedback from a piece of coursework, or essay, the boy had received. Jason had apparently scored an "A", the highest reward of excellence amongst young humans, J'onn had discovered, and the boy's delight had been further cemented by being asked to read out his work in front of his entire class. A soft thump was then heard; a muffled voice still spoke - it was clear the boy had given Alfred a hug, and the League sat smiling at each other.

Without warning, the boy had started shouting for Bruce.

"Bruce! Bruce! You've got to see this, where are you, ya big boob! Bruuuuucceee!" A tiny boy had then rushed straight into the living room where the rest of the League sat, staring back at him in shock. The boy's face had turned a cherry tomato red, and he'd subsequently made a beeline for his Bruce, clambering behind his back, face muffled in his new father's shirt.

"Bruce! Who are these people? What's going on?", the boy asked, as he peeked above Bruce's shoulders to stare at them. The League tried desperately to muffle their laughter, but it was no use. Bruce had simply sighed before taking the boy gently from behind him and placing him in front of his chest, holding him close. The boy still buried his face in his father's chest.

"Jay-lad, you remember I told you about the people I sometimes work with? Well, why don't I introduce them to you, hmm, chum? Bruce had his arms around the boy, speaking softly, trying to coax him out. The boy nodded, and slowly turned his head to the rest of the League. A small, light brown, freckled face appeared. Greeny blue eyes, curly, wavy auburn hair - and the group, particularly the women Leaguers, awwed at him. Then it dawned on the boy on who they were - and everything changed.

"Bruce" the boy breathed.

"Bruce....its them! The League! OhmigoshBrucewhydidn'tyoutellmetheLeaguewerecomingovercouldnthurttogiveaguynoticeyaknow-"

The boy had yapped at high speed, eyes bright and shining, as he stared at them. "Superman, ohmigoshitsyou, and flash, The Flash, this is so cool! Hey Lantern - look, Bruce, he's got the ring, and its Hawkgirl, yeeeessss, can I have a mace, Bruce, and ohh..Martian Manhunter." Jason had come up to him, bold as ever, and stuck out his hand.

"It's a real pleasure to meet you, sir", Jason had began, polite. "I do hope you're being well taken care of- don't mind Bruce, he's just a grumpy old boob, but if you ever wanna hang out, you can always come to me, okay?" The boy had looked up at him, happily, whilst the rest of the group had chuckled at his nicknames for Bruce. J'onn had liked the boy in an instant; most children ran away from his natural form, screaming, and the experience always left him feeling isolated and lonely. Not with Jason. Jason had seen him and liked him...wanted to be friends with him, and Manhunter could not deny the young boy.

"Of course. Thank you, young sir, for your offer. I do hope we will spend time together in the near future. I imagine you must have a number of questions to ask." J.onn had smiled warmly at Jason, who was by now blushing, nodding. Manhunter had sensed the excitement in the boy, and for once, felt relieved that he was being viewed not as an object of ridicule, but with genuine, innocent curiosity. It felt good.

"If you carry on achieving such excellent results at school, and remain well-behaved for Bruce, then I will see you in the watch-tower very soon" Manhunter finished. The boy was beside himself with glee. "Thank you, thank you!", the boy said delightedly, as he launched forward and hugged Manhunter. Manhunter had smiled his biggest since his arrival on earth; the boy was lovely.

And then Wonder Woman coughed. It was a small cough, but it reminded Jason that there was still another person he had yet to greet. Turning, the League saw how the boy's eyes had widened, and watched the emotions flicker across his face. Fear, wonderment, amazement - the boy stood staring as Wonder Woman rose to her full height, a glorious six foot four inches tall, before crouching down at eye level to Jason. The boy didn't move. His eyes followed her every movement, but it appeared that he had been struck dumb. J'onn had been close to laughing then; Bruce was smiling, Superman was chuckling quietly, and the rest looked on, highly amused. Wonder Woman tended to have that affect on people.

"Hello, young man." Wonder Woman now crouched on her tip toes in front of the young boy, a warm smile on her face. Even bent, she still towered over Jason, and the boy had to crane his neck upwards to look, or rather, stare at her.

Jason's mouth opened, but the words didn't come out. His eyes had been comically wide by now - they looked like little green marbles, ready to fall out of his head. He opened his mouth wider, but still, he couldn't speak.

Wonder woman laughed slightly, and it seemed to re-start the boy.

"Hi...ohmigosh, hi. Hello, hi..I'm-I'm Jason. Jay, You can call me Jay. Whatever you want, really. I'm Robin." The boy seemed to have trouble speaking, and he was still staring at her.

Bruce had put his head in his hands on hearing Jason reveal his secret identity and groaned loudly, earning a bout of laughter from the rest of the group.

Jason had turned then to look at Bruce, whispering an "oops, sorry Bruce," before turning to his beloved Wonder Woman, who had been chuckling at the exchange between Father and son.

Jason turned alive then. Taking Wonder Woman's hand, he had announced to the group "I'm taking my lady on a house tour, you all feel free to stay put. Bye Bruce", and led Wonder Woman out the room to the sound of the League's laughter. They had wondered around the whole manor, Jason pointing out his favourite rooms - the library was the best, apparently, and they had spent some time reading together, before Martian Manhunter telepathically informed her of their imminent departure.

The two had eventually made they way down to the rest of the group, deep in conversation, with Jason skipping on the steps, much to the amusement of the group. Jason had looked at them before turning to his new favourite person, bidding her a solemn farewell. Wonder Woman had crouched back down then, hugging him close, and whispering that they would spend time together soon, she promised. She kissed him on the nose, and the boy's face had once again turned a bright red, across his nose, over his cheeks and alighting the tips of his ears, much like a butterfly. Jason had hidden around Bruce's knee, declaring in a serious voice "If you don't marry her, Bruce, I'll never speak to you again."

The group had burst out laughing as it was now Bruce's turn to go red. Wonder Woman, smiling, had stepped forward and kissed Bruce on the cheek, and the blush deepened. That night was the beginning of Jason Todd's love for Wonder Woman, much to Bruce's jealousy. As for Wonder Woman, it was the night she had met her son.

 

 

"So now we have a decision to make" Wonder Woman's voice brought Manhunter back to the present.

"It appears Jason does hold the necessary skills to aid us in our work with the IGC, Xan and Gol. We would need the test the extent of these skills, particularly his fluency in both Xalanese and Ghusalish, as well as his understanding in the customs and laws of the IGC."

Diana paused here.

"I..I am unsure of the alternatives available at our disposal. As Red Robin has rightly pointed out, time is not on our side, and all three parties are impatient".

Another pause. Superman had already turned away from her, jaw clenched.

Diana swallowed uneasily before continuing.

"As informed, we have until this evening to decide. Either we choose to work with Red, or we reject his offer."

The group was silent at that.

Then it began.

Flash started, looking uneasily between Superman and Batman. "I dunno guys...it seems like the guy's got what we need, if I'm honest. Diana's right, we'll need to find out just how much he knows, but from what I've seen already seen, he might be the only card we have. Sorry."

Flash paused before starting again, scratching the back of his heard. Nervous, Manhunter interpreted. "..Supes, I know you don't like the guy, believe me, I-we all know. He's an asshole, sorry." The sorry was directed to Batman. "He's a jerk. He's dangerous, volatile and definitely can't be trusted. But I don't know any other way, I'm sorry." That sorry was for Superman. Flash seemed about to continue before he sighed, shaking his head, and ran his hair through his hands. Green Lantern looked at his friend and paced a hand on his shoulder, patting it gently before clearing his voice.

"I vote no."

Superman turned to look at him. Batman merely angled his head.

"He's not just a prick, he's a murderer. He's the Red Hood, I don't care what he calls himself. Don't tell me you've forgotten we were trying to arrest the guy, for Pete's sake! How can you even consider working with him, after everything he's done? He's untrustworthy - his first term alone directly gives him the power to do as he pleases. Ok, so he spoke a few words in Xalanese yesterday - that doesn't mean anything! Being able to speak a coupla greetings here and there does NOT equate to being able to navigate international-hell, Intergalatic law and politics! And don't even get me started on his second term - a clean record, really? After all the shit he's pulled? Turning all those people against us, raising hell across the globe, dragging your name through the mud, Superman, and now he's saying for this to work, its gotta be on his terms, and he walks away, free? No consequences? You're shitting me, excuse the language. I'm sorry, but hell no - no, I am not working with this guy, and I can't even believe you're considering it.There must be another way, there's gotta be. If we do this, then we become a laughing stock - criminals worse than this guy can ask us for a deal, and if we say no?"

Green Lantern finished, muttering angrily under his breath. He was right. The room was tense once more.

The rest looked to Hawkgirl, who had been cleaning her mace for the last five minutes. They all knew it was a distraction from how uncomfortable she felt.

She leaned forward, clasping her hands together and rested her chin on them, elbows on the table. Her wings stretched lazily behind her.

"I'm not in the best position to be commenting here." No-one disputed it. She really wasn't.

"Hood is a number of things, that much is clear. But, all feelings aside, out of all the alternatives we have looked at, working with him is so far the most feasible. True, we don't know just how good his Xalanese is in a more formal setting. We don't even know for sure whether he can speak Ghusalish. We have no confirmation of his going to Xan and Gol apart from Red Robin's word, and we all know how dangerous it is to rely on word alone. But"

Hawkgirl took a small breath before continuing.

"Hood didn't just come to us for nothing. Yesterday was all a performance. If he truly didn't care what happened to us, he wouldn't have agreed to come. He came here yesterday because he wanted something in return and, whether you like him or not, he has told us what he wants. And...to be honest, the terms are not that bad."

Heads swiveled towards her in disagreement but Hawkgirl carried on.

"Neither term is entirely unreasonable. His first is rather logical; if it turns out that he has indeed been to Xan and Gol, and is aware of the customs - he has at least demonstrated some proficiency with one language - then it would not be too far fetched for us to do as he says. We made a few mistakes on this mission: we arrived ill-informed of the gravity of the situation between Xan and Gol, we relied too much on face value - we were too trusting, and left ourselves prime for manipulation by being the only third party involved."

The group was quiet at that - Hawkgirl clearly knew what she was talking about.

"Whether Hood likes it or not, Earth is involved. If we don't comply by the IGC's ruling, then Earth is vulnerable to attack, and that include's Hood's livelihood too. In other words, he'll help - he'll do so mockingly, arrogantly - but he'll help."

Hawkgirl had now stood up, running her hands across the hands of her mace, small sparks flying. "The second term is a bit more of a push, on his side that is. For him to even ask that means he knows how important for him to also play ball - he'll need to tone down the antics for this to work. What he wants is not a stretch for someone who has been on the wrong side of the law of a while - he wants freedom. He wants the ability to walk down the street, or travel abroad, and not worry about who might be following him, or who is watching him. Though we did call off the warrant, we never did stop monitoring him. What he wants is not a clean record - for one thing, it's clear he is unrepentant about his past acts, so a clean record or otherwise does nothing to his moral conscience. We don't even know what he's been up to for the last two years - there's been no trace of him anywhere."

Hawkgirl looked out of the window now, staring into space. She seemed lost in thought.

"What he is after is peace. He wants privacy. I..-I think if we were to agree to his first term, and only half of the second term - not to wipe his record clean, but to agree to stop tailing him, then he'll do his best not to, what's the word you guys use-ah, fuck it up." Hawkgirl arched her back and spread her wings wide, taut, before drawing them back into her sides. "I vote to work with him."

The room was quiet after Hawkgirl's speech. They had forgotten how easily she could match Batman if she really wanted.

Batman drummed his fingers on the table. The room sat up to attention. So far, the Batman had remained silent. His former son, now enemy, had returned, and they had yet to hear what he felt about the matter. They wasn't sure if they would even get a response.

Bruce spoke.

"I have..concerns."

A pause.

"Hawkgirl has covered most of the issues. Hood is not the best choice as an asset. He is brash, reacts poorly in the heat of the moment and is quick to resort to violence, unashamedly. Those qualities alone should disqualify anyone from being considered an ambassador. Another worry is his reliability - just how truthful would he be? Speaking a language and knowing a few customs is not enough to accurately translate the meaning, and the meaning behind a meaning, in any aspect. Reading between the lines is a difficult skill, and now we're talking about Intergalactic peace treaties, between species more advanced than we, and more experienced. Dealing with Hood would be child's play to them. But my concern is greater than that. The issue is not what he has already said, or demonstrated - it is what he hasn't said, that is the real deal. As Hawkgirl has pointed out, part of our failure was that we had relied too much on face value, and that is the same mistake we could potentially make with Hood. His terms are difficult, but not impossible; they gave him free reign over the league, and what could be interpreted as a free pass on any future criminal activity he could undertake, but it is his best interest for things to work well, so he will most likely hold up his end of the deal."

Batman stopped to clear his thoughts. Just thinking about Hood made his head spin, painfully.

"The one thing I have learnt about Hood, in my experience, is his unpredictability. He is consistently inconsistent. His violent outbursts and propensity for action made him predictable, but, as we've all seen, yesterday showed a man completely opposite to our expectations. Therefore, if Hood could do that yesterday, and very well might I add, then what else could he do?" The issue is not what we see, but that which remains unseen. The unknown is the worst of all fears, and if we aren't careful, we could end up in a much worse state thought possible.

Bruce closed his eyes for a second. He could feel his team mates staring at him.

He concluded.

"It is my assertion that we work with Hood. With strict, proper supervision, things could work in our favour. There are no other alternatives, not at this moment, and the longer we wait, the more we risk with the IGC. Let me be clear - in no way am I supportive of Hood, nor do I approve of any of his measures. Yesterday too was the first time I laid eyes on him in years, the same as you.. There are too many things that could go wrong, but could is a possibly, not definite. As it stands, we have no other choice. It is a risk we'll have to take."

The room murmured. Superman looked pissed, but before he could interrupt, Wonder Woman invited Manhunter to speak.

"Batman is right. Hawkgirl, even moreso."

J'onn's quiet, firm voice drew the attention of the room.

"I tried to connect with his mind". That drew the room to stillness.

"I didn't not gather much, indeed very little, if anything. He has been well trained in the art of guarding his mind against external influence. But from what I discerned....Hood is more willing to work for this than you give him credit for." At the room's murmured displeasure, J'onn continued. "Though I too have concerns about the other cards he has in mind, Hood, for the most part, desires the second term in particular, more than he let on. It is true; the man does take pleasure with our predicament. He feels it justifiable, after the way we have treated him, and I can see why. But, as Hawkgirl correctly deduced, he has an intense longing for freedom. True freedom. I could not gather much more than a deep yearning for peace, and if it means playing along with people he has openly, and publicly despised, then I believe he is willing to do it."

Superman looked at J'onn, surprised.

"I..this may be irrelevant to the conversation, but I don't believe he is as lost...as believed to be. The madness which I was expecting in great swathes is not as dense as I expected. It is there, in the corners of his mind, but...well, I would need greater access to find out more." The Martian signed. "He is..not unstable, per say, but as Batman as said, willing to pull his weight." The Martian finished. "I vote to work with him. I have a feeling you and I might be left pleasantly surprised."

The room was now loud with discussion.

"No."

"I'm not sorry, but no. Not a chance in hell. Absolutely not."

Superman's voice cut like ice through the murmuring. Everyone froze.

Clark sat forward, shaking his head. His voice began to increase.

"No. No way. I don't care how much Xalanese he can speak - I-the League should not be making deals with a criminal! A murderer! You've admitted already: he is unstable, untrustworthy - how can you even think of relying on the man? You really want him here in the watch-tower, exposed to our equipment, our communication - in our space - do you know how much he could do with that? Not to mention, all the crap that jerk has put me throu-"

"Personal opinions aside Clark, he is-"

"Don't. Fucking. Start. Bruce"

For a long, horrible second, no-one breathed. Superman was already up, staring down at Bruce.

"Don't you bloody dare. You pulled this shit last time, going behind my back to get the rest of the League to vote cancelling that madman's search warrant. I, the bloody fool, had sat back and allowed it to happen. Not any more, Bruce." Superman was close to shouting now, his voice risen dangerously.

Batman matched him.

"Yes, the Hood has done all you say. He's done worse to me, Clark, but even I can tell when an asset is an asset and you'd be a damn fool not to see it!"

Both men were now red in the face. Fingers pointing, hands wildly gesticulating - the rest of the League were on their feet too - if they didn't intervene, their two leaders would come to blows.

"You utter prick. All those times your fucking mess of a son wreaked havoc and you responded as you saw fit, all 'cause you couldn't fucking step up and be a man, and now when we're on the line, the League- you know, the one you turn up your nose at- when Earth is at risk, nooow you sit here, acting all self-righteous, separating the "boy" from his actions, acting like the selfish dick you are, I swear, just fuck o-"

 

 

WHAM.

It all happened so fast.

Batman, somehow, even to Flash's surprise, had moved fast enough to punch Superman straight across the jaw.

 

 

WHOOSH.

THUD - THUD.

 

 

Superman, face red with shock, head snapped to the side, recoiled, before charging at Batman, gripping him easily by the collar and hurtling him against the wall.

Batman bounced off the wall and landed like a ragged doll, not moving. The wall above him was now dented with an irregularly shaped hole.

The rest of the League moved then, Wonder Woman throwing Superman back, screaming at him, Flash rushing in a panic to Batman's side.

Superman, after the heat of rage cleared from his gaze, now saw clearly what he had done.

He had lost control, the one thing he'd been afraid of his entire life.

The mild mannered country boy; he had lost control of his strength and now someone dear to him had suffered the consequence.

He couldn't move. His heart felt like rock. He felt as if the walls were closing in on him, and the voices were too loud for him to filter.

He had to leave. He had to get out of there.

Blindly pushing hands away, Superman fled the watch-tower.

 

 

Batman heard the news when he awoke a few hours later in his bed at the Manor. His head throbbed painfully, and his eyes felt glassy within his skull. For a few moments, he struggled to remember what had happened. How was he here, in bed? He tried turning his head to the side. Owww. His brain felt like squish with the pressure of movement. Quickly, Bruce conducted a memory test. He needed to test his faculties. Name eighteen of the biggest capitals of the world. Check. The six most common languages in West Africa. Check. The amount of cash held in reserve in the Bank of England. Check. Bruce breathed a sigh or relief. He wouldn't know the true extent of the damage till later, but for now, his memory remained intact.

Bruce lay in the darkness of his room. When had it become so dark? He traced the movement of the Sycamore tree on his wall. Its shadows seemed to beckon to him. Bruce tried keeping his mind still; his eyes felt heavy and trying to move made him slightly nauseous. Ah, he surmised. So he'd had a concussion. He tried thinking again. He'd remembered waking up in the morning around seven - Damian had tried to hide the fact that he'd sneaked out on Patrol, forgetting that there had been three other boys older than him who'd done the same thing. Bruce knew all their tricks. After grounding his son, wincing as he heard "I hate you, Father!" and a door slam, he'd tiredly gotten ready for the meeting at the watch-tower. His headache had failed to subside and he was forced to resort to taking codeine, something he hated. He didn't tell Alfred, though - the man knew how to fuss and Bruce couldn't afford to miss today. Watch-tower. Felt nervous. Wonder Woman taking charge. Superma-oh! Bruce cursed inwardly as the events came tricking back to his remembrance. He had already felt so worn out; speaking made his mouth dry and all he wanted to do was sleep. And then Clark had opened his big mouth. Accused him of being a failure for a father, that it was somehow his fault a mad man had been raising hell as an international terrorist. Bruce felt it all came to a head and he'd lost it. Everything of the last few weeks: the stress, the anxiety, sleepless nights, the shock at seeing Jason, Jason and Tim!, and Clark, spouting all sorts of shit he knew nothing about. Bruce grew angry all over again. That dumb idiot had deserved a lot more than that punch.

Voices. Turning his head to the left, Bruce could hear voices outside his bedroom door. One very young one; proud, but with an undertone of worry. Ah. That would be Damian. Another voice, gentler, older, but still young: his eldest, Dick. Bruce listened intently for Tim's voice before it hit him. Tim wasn't here. He hadn't seen him since yesterday afternoon , and there had been no contact since. Bruce's heart ached. He was upset at Tim, angry that he put his life in danger by choosing to associate with Jason, but he wasn't here to shout at, and Bruce missed him. He wanted his boys under his roof- was that too much for a Father to ask? Bruce listened closely again. Two more voices. Alfred's....and Wonder Woman's. Diana? What was Diana doing here? He struggled to get up but it was too late, Diana had opened the room, peeked, and on seeing him awake, made her way over.

"How are you feeling, Bruce?" Diana helped Bruce sit up, propped against the pillows. His head still swam and he felt drowsy, but still, he wanted to at least appear well for his friend. Diana laughed softly, placing a gently hand to his forehead. She held his hand and sighed. Bruce said nothing. He could she needed the time, and he gave her the silence to speak.

"We came to a decision today." Diana started softly, meeting Bruce's eyes before turning away.

"It was five against one." Diana let him figure it out. Himself, Hawkgirl, Flash, Manhunter had all agreed to use Jason. Superman was a straight no, as was Lantern, so who had been the fifth pers-oh. Diana.

Diana herself said nothing for a while. Eventually, she spoke. "I know he has caused so much pain, Bruce, I know. But he is the best we have at present...and...I, I couldn't bear to let him leave. Again." They both knew what kind of leaving Diana was referring to. Bruce nodded. Objectively, it was the right thing to do. Superman...Clark would hate him. Their friendship was already on the rocks, and now, Bruce knew that the majority of the League voting to work with Hood could very well tear their relationship apart. He turned to look out the window. His heart was heavy. It seemed likely that he would lose the only brother he'd ever had. It was too difficult for words.

Bruce opted to remain silent. He simply squeezed her hand; he'd understood her decision. He knew how much Diana loved Jason; it would be foolish to bar her away from him. As if he could ever boss around an Amazon, anyway. Diana understood what Bruce felt; Clark and Bruce were her two brothers, her best friends. Things between them were already strained. She saw that the vote would likely change things between the men for a long time after. They sat in silence together, until Bruce felt his eyes closing. He needed to rest. He heard the far away voice of his friend as she bid him good-night, and the faint brush of her lips against his forehead, before he finally gave into the darkness and slept.

 

 

Jason was at home when he got the call.

After the meeting at the watch-tower, he and Tim had decided to hold a barbecue. They'd joked all the way back home, before gradually changing the subject. Tim wanted to know all about the missions, as he did every time Jason came home. Jason had simply sighed in response; Tim knew the drill already. It was for his own safety that Jason opted to keep Tim in the dark for his missions; rarely did he tell Tim where he had been. Jason instead would regale Tim of the adventures he'd had with the Ghosts; not too specific that his brother would go searching, trying to track his movements, the nosy git, but enough to satisfy Tim. The stories alone were incredible; Jason usually had photographs as proof, and not too long ago, had taken up videoing his experiences on his hidden Go-pro camera. It brought his stories to life, and, seeing how Tim loved them, Jason resolved to tape as much as he could for his brother.

The gifts were something else. Jason loved being able to surprise his brother. Sometimes the gifts were small, sometimes they were big, but never had they failed to blow Tim away. One of his favourite reactions from his brother was when Jason had presented the squirt with a personally signed copy of one his favorite books Jason had "borrowed", a too sciency brick of a book by Tim Berners-Lee, the supposed inventor of the internet and one of Tim's dearest heroes. His brother had squealed like a little girl guinea pig, running, shouting for joy at seeing the mini essay Mr Lee had written in the first page of Tim's book. Jason had explained one of Tim's many inventive ideas to the man, and he had liked it so much he'd written down a few points for Tim to consider, along with his secretary's email address, in the hopes of meeting one day. Jason would never forget that day, the speed and force at which his brother had tackled him, hugging him hard, weeping with joy.

And now here they were, back at home. Jason had delegated Tim to salad prepper - it was all the boy could do without making a mess. Tim had happily obliged, chattering away, as they had watched the latest of their favourite of their latest show, 24. Both had a habit of pointing out the sheer stupidity of their the characters, plot holes, or both, and it made for fantastic watching. Jason was in charge of everything else; meat was his specialty. He couldn't imagine being a vegetarian - it'd be akin to torture, in his opinion.

And then Tim's phone had rang, and it made Jason's night even sweeter.

Tim had taken the call outside whilst Jason had been in the kitchen, seasoning the meat, and as Jason returned to join Tim, the look on his brother's face made him stand still.

"Tim? Bud, what's u-"

"That was Diana. Clark was busy."

Jason waited.

"They...they said yes, Jay, they said yes! Obviously they want you to come in for testing, just to make sure you're capable of handling yourself when it comes to the language of politics, but they said yes, Jay! Yes!"

Tim ran to his brother and hugged him gleefully. Jason, for the most part, was slightly shocked, even as he returned the hug. The League had actually agreed? That meant they were desperate. Yes, he had agreed to do it, but the fact that they had actually considered it, and voted to bring him in, left him reeling a little. So he'd actually have to behave himself. And be civil. And work with the League, with Batman and Superman and not storm off. Challenge accepted. 

"Jay? You okay? Tim was looking at him, worried.

Jason jolted out of his thoughts.

"Yeah Timmy, I'm good, it's all good. I just didn't expect them to get on board so...willingly. And quickly too."

Tim nodded. He understood.

"But..this is it. This is what I've hoped for - I can finally be free, Tim. We can can on holiday and not have to stay in a shitty hotel,oh, there are so many places we need to go! Venice, Vrika Isla -"

Tim laughed, cutting his brother short. "Jay, Jay, its alright, seriously. Anywhere with you is good enough for me, I swear."

Jason slung his arm around his brother's shoulders. "So lets start planning. Where should we go? Barbados? I'mma teach you how to tan, I'm tired of looking at your pale -ass"

All through the evening, the boys squabbled. They had gone to bed happy, content, Tim in the bedroom Jason had given him, right next to his own. Jason felt...good. Yes, the prospect of working closely with the League was a little nerve-wracking, but if it meant doing so his way, and walking away free, free to move about as he pleased, then it would all be worth it.

Jason closed his eyes. Sleep would be sweet tonight.


	6. Let's get down to business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason starts work with the League.

It would be almost a full week before Jason started work with the League.

After receiving confirmation of Jason's agreement, The League had moved quickly. There was a lot to do. Mountains of paperwork from the IGC, the Presidential Security Cabinet, had yet to be organised, meetings needed to be arranged, rooms designated for Red's use cleared, and it had been left to the Martian and the Batman to organise security clearance for the Hood, or "Red". Red would need to be introduced as the League's ambassador in two weeks time, at the IGC's deadline, something that left a few of the founders unsettled.

All through the week, the watch-tower bustled with activity. The other Leaguers had watched as boxes one after the other were transported to and from the tower, whispered and gossiped as to the content of meetings held by the core founders in Auburn room and had scurried away time after time upon being caught by their leaders. They knew that the League founders had been away for some time on a secret off-mission, and said mission had apparently gone wrong somewhere, and now the League were caught up in negotiations. The founders had made it such that none outside their circle, including Tim, and a handful of others, were aware of the extent of the situation, particularly the penalties were they facing. It was better that way, all had agreed; the quicker they had the situation under control, the less likely would be the need to involve others, potentially creating mass panic. By Saturday, everything had been put into place. Superman had still not shown, though a few had apparently overheard a phone call with Wonder Woman in hushed tones - she was apparently keeping him up to date, and Batman had sparsely been around. The League founders had closed the second and third floors to the rest of their younger counterparts; authourised access only. It was strange and exciting to the younger leaguers, but none of them were brave enough to ask the founders outright. They would just have to wait.

Red Robin, initially very involved in League meetings, had now been demoted to a supernumerary role; Tim reasoned it was his "punishment" for breaching confidentiality and involving Jason, but the fact that they still kept him in the loop was evidence that they needed him. Tim had played a major role in the communications effort between the League, and the IGC, and had assisted the Martian in keeping an eye on Earth. In addition, the boy's advanced level of thinking, on par with their Batman, had given them an extra pair of eyes and ears, picking up on tiny subtitles that if missed, would have left them in a worse state even still. They had a lot to thank Tim for, and he knew it. The League knew that they would ordinarily have to pay an outsider like Tim for such services, many of which included long hours overtime, and it was nothing short of luck that Tim worked tirelessly for their benefit, free of charge. No matter how pissed they wanted to be at him, Tim was too valuable to lose.

Tim himself had also been very busy. Ideally, he would have offered to help with the security clearance for his brother, but his demotion would in no way allow such a thing. Work as Vice President of WE still needed to continue, as did the demands of his highly advanced AP courses in Maths and theoretical Physics. Tim had found himself stretched thin; twice had he wished for the ability to be in two places at once. Wayne Enterprises were on the verge of wrapping up a major deal with an important patent, and nothing could be allowed to go wrong. The board would require much pleasing, and any absences from the young VP could give potential grounds for an ousting by those Tim liked to call "parasites." There were some on the board who were quietly displeased with Tim as VP, despite proving his suitability many times over. Wayne Enterprises had benefited greatly from Tim's inventive, analytical way of thinking and compromise, but the fact that Mr Wayne had overlooked some of his more experienced counterparts, especially those who had worked with Thomas Wayne, left a bitter aftertaste in the mouths of a few board members.

Tim had also yet to return to the Manor. That day, after the lunchtime meeting at the watch-tower, Tim had left with Jason, and after spending the night, returned to his Upper East side penthouse. The boy had known Bruce would want to see him, but he decided against going to the Manor. The thought of facing Damian, Dick and most of all, Bruce, left his stomach in knots. For the last week, Tim had been ferrying up and down Wayne Enterprises; he had deliberately scheduled meetings that did not require Bruce's presence. He knew Bruce had tried to see him, and Tim had his secretary, Tam, tell his father a series of excuses well rehearsed in advance: "Mr Wayne is in a meeting, sir", "He's currently on the phone with a client, sir", "Mr Wayne is going over a few contracts and has asked specifically not to be disturbed, I'm sorry Mr Wayne". Each time, Tim had seen Bruce sigh, smile in the way "Brucie" did, and thank his secretary for her time, before leaving. Tim had felt horrible, and the longer he continued to avoid his father, the worse he felt. After the seventh time of this happening, Tim had sat back at his desk, pen in hand, and looked out of the window, deep in thought. The guilt began to creep up on him - Tim didn't feel it had been wrong to seek out Jason and remain in contact with him, no way. Jason was his brother, no matter what Bruce said. But Bruce. Tim understood Bruce was concerned for his safety around Jason, but that line of thinking made Tim angrier instead - couldn't Bruce see that Jason had changed? That it was mostly due to the Pit's influence that had fueled the man's seemingly insatiable desire for violence? Yes, Jason could not be totally excused for his actions, he had committed horrible atrocities by his own hand, proudly too, but Jason had changed, even his propensity for violence - Tim knew it, he'd seen it, he swore it, and Bruce's refusal call his former son anything than "Hood", yet alone acknowledge his very existence, put a wedge between himself and Tim.

Bruce eventually stopped trying to force Tim to meet him. It was a Friday afternoon, the Monday before Jason would start work with the League, and Tim had stepped into the elevator at Wayne Enterprises with a few assistants, when Bruce, the Wayne, had walked in. They had both stopped momentarily, wide eyes meeting even wider eyes, before they looked away, quickly. That split second held everything; the frustration, the anger, the betrayal, from both sides, was clear to each. Behind Tim, the group, mostly young ladies, had fallen into awed silence before the giggling began. Tim rolled his eyes and glanced slyly at his father, whose lips upturned gently in return, before transforming into "Brucie", ditzy playboy, and watched as Brucie playfully flirted with the women behind him.They had clearly missed the silent showdown, smirked Tim. The flirting continued until the group had exited at the third floor, bidding "Goodbye, Mr Wayne!" in high voices, blushing. With a ping, the doors shut, and both Tim and Bruce, not Brucie, were left alone.

It had been days since they'd seen each other. It was too difficult to put into words how much Bruce wanted to see his Tim, and vice versa. They were still father and son, after all, as they stood side by side, silent. Bruce swore he hear Tim's breath quicken, and it left him sad at the thought that his own son was slightly afraid to be around him. Third floor. Second floor. Tim's voice started before he faltered; Bruce watched him fiddle with the gold finishing of his briefcase, face flushed, hairline beginning to sweat. His son was nervous. Bruce waited. He wanted his son to talk to him, to explain, but not like this. Not here, not as the Waynes, not so...stiff, he thought. First floor. Tim parted his mouth once more in an attempt to speak but Bruce beat him too it. Startling his son, Bruce turned to Tim, and both men looked at each other. Bruce had had to lift Tim's chin upwards, forcing his son's eyes to meet his, as the boy had been set on staring at the ground. After a few moments, Bruce sighed, pinching his nose. Frustrated, Tim read. Frustrated and unsure - his father was debating on how to approach the matter of the League, of Jason, of Tim's lack of contact ever since. It hit Tim then, fully - his father was angry, but more than that, worried. It didn't excuse Bruce's behaviour but it was something. As Tim watched his father, he made his decision: he moved in quickly, hugging his father tightly. Bruce, momentarily shocked, recovered quickly as he held his son just as tightly. They stayed like that for a few moments. Tim could feel his father's breath tickle his hair.

Bruce looked at his son.

"You've grown, son.", eyes round, as he'd realised that his Tiny Tim, who'd once barely reached his belly button, was now close to his upper chest. "When did this happen?" Bruce continued to wander aloud.

Tim for his part, laughed quietly. "It's definitely been a while, dad". Both men relaxed on hearing the term. Dad. There was a lot to be discussed, but Bruce was still Dad, and Tim was still son. Neither would be lost to each other, at least for now.

A few seconds ticked by. They broke apart, Tim blushing slightly, looking at the floor, and Bruce smiling at him.

He placed his hands on Tim's shoulders, and the boy looked up at him.

"When you're ready, we'll talk." That was all Bruce said, and Tim looked at him, surprised, before nodding quickly, biting his lip. So Bruce was going to allow him to explain without being forced? Strange, Tim thought. It was unexpected, but nice. He looked at his father, whose face was still firm but soft.

Tim hesitated slightly, before he decided. "Tonight. eight pm...Not,-not the Cave. Upstairs".

Bruce nodded in return. He could see why Tim had chosen to want the talk to happen in the Manor. The Cave would be too confrontational for both of them, and their relationship still felt fragile, as if one wrong turn would send it crumbling. When had things become this difficult with his son, Bruce wondered.

Ground floor.

Tim could see that Bruce was beginning to blame himself. Quick as ever, he reached Bruce and gave him a small hug, before the elevator doors parted away.

Tim looked back at his father and smirked, before walking away. They knew what it meant - stop overthinking, that was the message. Bruce grinned in return. Message received.

 

 

Monday morning. Nine am. The League were now gathered in Auburn room for an early briefing over breakfast. All seven members were present, and no-one had the courage to tackle the events of the last meeting. Wonder Woman led the meeting again. Speaking boldly, the other founders suspected that she had given both Superman and Batman a good talking to, judging by the way both men sat listening to attention. They needed to appear as a unit for this to work - any sign of discord among them would leave them ripe for picking with the IGC, and with Red, who was due to arrive in an hour's time.

Wonder Woman went through the events planned for the rest of the day.

"Red will be arriving on site at ten am. He passed the initial screening tests yesterday with Manhunter. Manhunter, I'd like you to continue in this supervisory role; please could make you way down to meet Red at Portabay two and present him with his security passes. It would be best to take him through a short tour of the areas he will have authorised access to, and where he will be working. At the end of the tour, please escort him to the Ashbeck conference room; Hawkgirl will take over from there."

Manhunter nodded. It was a wise decision.

"Hawkgirl, I'd like you to take charge of showing Red around the room. All the paperwork, contracts and calendar dates have been laid out for him. Red will have use of both Ashbeck and Pembroke rooms; we've opened up the space connecting the two areas together. Red Robin will be here in half an hour. He will lead Red through the communications log between the League, IGC, Xan and Gol. He will show Red how to open a direct line with any of the other three parties, and will emphasise that every form of communication, made between us and them, must not proceed without the presence of at least one founding member present. I will also remind him of this myself."

"Red Robin and Hawkgirl will then sit down with Red to ascertain if there is anything outstanding. As for everybody else, you will continue with your assigned duties as before, unless informed otherwise. Manhunter, please continue with the monitoring in the watch-tower bay. I believe you are doing a wonderful job helping co-ordinate rescue efforts of the earthquake in Japan - if you need further assistance, please do not hesitate to ask. Batman, you will join Black Canary as usual to train the new recruits down in Hall four. There is also the matter of the quarterly account report that needs reviewing, but that can wait till the afternoon. Flash, your help with forensics has been requested down in laboratory six - please do not forget to wear a mask this time, the vents are costly to repair."

Flash blushed and looked down, sheepish. What kind of scientist forgot to wear a mask?

"Superman, the north tower has been experiencing difficulties with transmission, and the west two-four propeller is out of alignment. Your help with the engineering department would be greatly appreciated". Superman nodded, silent. His face was carefully blank.

"I myself will be in a conference call with Greece and Norway. If you have any questions, please either contact the usual way through the communicators or talk to Manhunter. That will be all for now."

The group dismissed, each person made their way to their assignments. None had missed how Superman and Batman ignored each other, leaving through opposite doors of the room. It was going to be a long day.

 

 

Ten am.

Each founder, wherever they were, looked at the clock.

The Red Hood was here.

 

 

Jason stepped through the portabay of the watch-tower at exactly nine fifty-nine. Right on time. He wore a dark grey suit jacket, a lightweight maroon coloured turtle neck jumper, and matching trousers. The same dark sunglasses that had caused the uproar on his first visit once again sat upon his nose. He'd appraised himself that morning - ordinarily, the intensity of the colours would be better suited to a person of a lighter shade and dark hair. But Jason didn't play by the rules - the dark grey offset the "matchiness" of the material and his dark skin, and the jet black glasses made his hair and beard stand alight, complimenting him perfectly. He looked good. And as he walked through the portabay, watching the Martian assess him, he knew he looked the part.

Manhunter greeted him neutrally, with just a hint of warmth injected into his voice. Jason had never had a problem with J'onn; they'd been friends as a young boy, and the Martian had been one of Jason's few advocates - he'd tried to reach out to Jason during his reign of terror across the globe, and though Jason had been rude, all rage and snarl, the Manhunter had retreated, but remained on the periphery of Jason's mind, trying to reach out. He'd almost caught the Martian once - it had been once of those nights; a night where Jason could be kept wide awake, paralysed by fear, wild cackling, caught up in the wild green haze of the pit - a night that was usually the result of severe sleep deprivation. Jason had woken up, out of his mind, about to take a knife and peel off his skin, desperate to escape from the entrapment of his own vicious body, when suddenly, a smoothing, a lulling warmth, spread across his mind. It was so soothing, so comfortable - Jason remembered falling back onto the bed in slow motion, heavy eyes pulled closed. He'd woken up over eighteen hours later, refreshed, at peace - and knew exactly what had happened. Manhunter. He was the only person Jason knew who could help alleviate nightmares in such a way, and Jason hated it. Manhunter meant League, and League meant Batman. Bruce. He didn't want their pity. So, despite feeling awake and alive for once, that morning, he'd screamed as intensely as he could inside, silently, telling Manhunter to fuck.off. Manhunter had understood and retreated - since then, he'd never had a night's sleep quite like that one, though the last two years had been significantly better.

"Hello, Jason. It is good to see you again. Welcome to the watch-tower."

Manhunter offered his hand and Jason took it, firmly. They shook hands once before Manhunter produced what looked like an electronic security pass out of nowhere. "Red", they'd written, along with "League specialist" at the bottom. Secure Access 2, 3, Library and Lower halls. Ah, Jason thought. His access had been severely restricted, he smirked. Levels 2 and 3 held many of the private conference rooms the League used, the library Jason knew to be on the first floor, back when he'd visited as Robin, and the Lower halls most likely held the cafeteria and dining room, and possibly access to a gym too. That was likely Wonder Woman's doing, Jason thought. He'd only been to the watch-tower once, as Robin, and had boasted to Wonder Woman that one day, he'd match her height fair and square, after she thoroughly beat his skinny ass in training. Jason smiled sadly at the memory. If it were up to the rest of the League, he'd be working flat out day and night. He focused his mind on the present.

They moved along.

Manhunter gave Jason a short tour of the areas his pass permitted him; it was as Jason had suspected. The watch-tower seemed even bigger than his last visit. He remembered the excitement his younger self held as he'd explored the watch-tower back then; smaller, cozier perhaps, and even then, it was daunting. This "new" watch-tower was absolutely massive - too shiny, too white, too cold for his liking. Jason couldn't understand how some of the younger leaguers voluntarily chose to live in the giant space baton. He chuckled to himself. The lower halls indeed contained a cafeteria and dining hall. Far too many stared back at him and once again, Jason was thankful for the glasses. He took in the giant windows, echoing voices, and as he did, Manhunter watched him, quietly. J'onn sensed the man's slight trepidation, something he knew many of his friends would not expect from Jason. Despite the arrogant front, there was still a young boy deep inside, hidden - the one who'd bombarded J'onn with questions on his first and only visit to the watch-tower, left open-mouthed in shock at the view of space. Manhunter waited a little longer, allowing Jason to take in his surroundings before moving on. He led Jason through one of the exits of the halls and down a smaller hallway. A fully equipped gym, massage and sauna facilities, should Jason ever require them.

The Library was on the first floor, open to all Leaguers. Jason raised an eyebrow at Manhunter as he beckoned him to use his security pass to open the door. Jason did, stepped into the room, and for a few seconds, was left blown away at the sight before him. It was well known that Jason Todd loved to read anything he could find, he read- no, devoured literature. The boy had craved knowledge, and here, in the main library, Jason would not be able to resist his calling. Manhunter smiled to himself as he watched the younger man's reaction. It was the reaction Jason had when he had first visited, but, as the Martian surmised, Jason had long forgotten the memory. The boy was clearly stuck for words, mouth parted slightly - J'onn could watched the flicker of his eyes as Jason took in the wide expanse of the room. Curved ceilings, a rich oak, shelves upon shelves containing what must have been over five thousand books, at least. But that was not all. The opposite side of the giant room was probably the most breath-taking of all - it was all solid glass. One piece, a single, continuous pane of clear glass to outer space. Manhunter took his eyes off Jason and looked at the room. Yes, it was indeed beautiful. Jason moved of his own accord, hands brushing the edges of worn books, looking up up to the solid oak beams, painted white, the rich upholstery of the couches that lay tucked in various points of the room - it.was.gorgerous, and Jason, for the first time, felt regret. It was small but present - regret that he'd never spent more time in this glorious place. Another thing he missed out on. Tears were coming and Jason straightened up quickly, adjusting his glasses. He couldn't afford to regret, not now. Turning to Manhunter, he nodded and briskly made his way out of the room.

Outside, Superman had paused from fiddling with the north tower satellite to watch the Hood. His reaction had been..surprising. Superman stared at the man he'd come to hate - a part of him was reminded that this might be the real Jason Todd he was seeing, but he pushed it aside. That Jason Todd died a long time ago. Superman watched Jason straighten up and leave the room - something had afftected the man here. Superman retuned back to his work. He would store that memory for later.

 

 

Manhunter led Jason up another level to the second floor. Something had changed; the ease with Jason had appeared on his arrival to the watch-tower was now replaced with a tension that seemed to guard the man. Manhunter didn't push. He's unsettled, J'onn knew.

"Only the League has access to these two levels. You also have been granted authorised access; although you will be mainly based in Ashbeck and Pembroke rooms, there are a substantial number of empty rooms for you to work in should you wish. Toilet facilities are on the opposite side of floor. The third level is much of the same, with the exception of a seating auditorium and a large study room for private work if needed."

Jason said nothing.

"In the event that you require overnight stay, visitor accommodation is available on the ground floor, level G. Please inform either myself or Red Robin should you wish to such facilities".

Jason remained silent.

Manhunter sighed. They made their way to Ashbeck room, and the Martian paused at the entrance, face to the door. Jason waited. A few moments later, the Martain spoke.

"Jason."

Jason looked up, surprised that J'onn had addressed him by his name, not Red. He opened his mouth to retort but the Martian quirked a look at him, and he fell silent.

"It was not an easy decision, bringing you here to work on behalf of the League."

Jason smirked at that and crossed his arms, smugly. The Martian ignored him.

"It is true that we are in need of your skills. But, as you pointed out, you too need something from us."

Jason's smirk faltered a little, and the Martian continued.

"We have both much to gain, and much to lose from this..partnership. Yes, we are in greater need, but yours is something that is a once in a life-time opportunity. I cannot speak for the rest, but I am willing to put aside past events for the sake of the work ahead. I cannot tell you what to do; I have no right to do so, but what I can say is this: this too is for your benefit. It would be...wise, to bear that in mind."

Jason said nothing. The Martian had chosen his words very carefully, not to anger him outright, but enough to unsettle him with the truth. He needed this to work, more than he let on to the League, and the Martian knew it. The fact that it was only the two of them in conversation, out here in this strangely deserted hallway, meant that this so called truth would remain between the both of them, and not the League. He's giving me a heads up, Jason realised. He swallowed, at loss of what to say. He glanced at the Martian. J'onn still hadn't looked his way. Jason swiveled to face the door and nodded, once. A small, perceptible nod. Manhunter nodded in return, and swiping his own access key through the card reader, entered the room.

 

 

Ashbeck was a large room, but Jason couldn't tell at first. His view was obscured by the numerous stacked boxes across the back of the room, the columns of paperwork, six in a row, across the large oval table. Damn, thought Jason. Tim wasn't kidding; they were in a whole lot of shit. Seated at the table, however, was Hawkgirl. She looked at him, eyes narrowing, before standing, placing her mace against the wall and offered her hand in greeting.

"Red."

"Hawkgirl."

Formalities over, Hawkgirl nodded to Manhunter who exited the room. So it would just be the two of them now. This could get interesting, Jason thought. Before he said anything, however, Hawkgirl spoke, looking at him directly in the eyes.

" Let's get one thing straight", she began. "I don't like you. I don't like your methods. But...you're our best chance right now, so I'm willing to play ball, so long as you are." 

Hawkgirl jutted her chin at him, daring him to contradict. Jason laughed internally; he had to hand it to her, she had real guts. Jason had spent time catching up on what he'd missed upon his return to the world of the living. It appeared that Earth had been enslaved for a while by the Thanagarians; apparently, Hawkgirl here had been working as a spy, feeding info to her people. Naughty girl, thought Jason. He was aware of her tendency to hit things; he couldn't blame her, but it was clear to him: were she not in a fragile position of her own amongst the League, she'd be all too happy to dish out what she really thought of him. Jason concluded the matter: she was holding back on him. She couldn't afford to mess up, same as him.

He smiled back at her, sickly sweet, delighting in the way her eyes narrowed. "Sure thing, sweet cheeks."

Hawkgirl seemed about ready to tackle him before remembering her own position. Taking a visibly deep breath, she started, pointing out things around the room.

"Here is all the paperwork regarding the IGC'S ruling and the terms of the deal we made with them. The second row contains the United State's acknowledgement of the deal, specifically highlighting the non-involvement of the rest of Earth. The third row relates to the confirmation of materials we will be receiving to aid reconstruction efforts in Xan and Gol, but mostly Xan." Hawkgirl moved round the table, dipping her wing towards the various items as she spoke. She beckoned Jason to follow with a small nod.

"On this side, we've tried to put down all the important upcoming dates: meetings with the IGC, meetings with Xan and Gol, both separately, together and in front of the IGC, meetings with various city officials, updates with the US cabinet, all those sorts of things". Jason scanned over the work. This would be one heck of a challenge. Do-able, of course, but he'd need to go through all of it, critically, bit by bit. Sometimes all it took was a slight change in wording to throw out an entire contract. He had his work cut out for him.

Hawkgirl abruptly turned from the table and made her way through a large, open doorway. She didn't beckon him to follow, but he did, rolling his eyes. What a drama queen, he thought. "This is the Pembroke conference room. We've opened up these two conference rooms to give you more space to work in - this is your main base. This room in particular has the added benefit of being able to place direct lines of communication off-world, whether that's via conference call, audiovisual-whatever, you can do it from here. Red Robin will tell you more about it; he should be here any minute from now."

They waited in silence, Jason looking about the room. Hawkgirl gritted her teeth and crossed her arms before she spoke. "After Red Robin has done his little demo, we two are to sit down with you to see if you need anything else" The woman seemed to be in physical pain, jaw clenched. Jason grinned wider. He had a feeling he'd enjoy being around Hawkgirl - pushing her buttons would be very entertaining, for sure.

"So you mean, I dunno - let's say, I wanted a coupla drinks here and there, bit of take out now and again - a few errands to run, - all legit, of course, photocopying, filing - you'd have to do it?" Jason's head was now cocked to the side and he smiled sweetly. Hawkgirl turned red; he glanced down and saw her hands clenching and unclenching.

"No, I mean with regards to the work, you prick." Jason wanted to laugh out loud. This was too much fun.

"Ohhh, that makes more sense. Don't worry, its cause you've not been around us humans for too long. You'll fit in soon enough, I'm sure."

Jason's smile was sugary sweet, and Hawkgirl, he swore, was about to throttle him - the jab was easy enough to understand- when Tim walked in, decked out in his Red Robin regalia. Reading the situation quickly, Red Robin placed a hand on Hawkgirl's shoulder and walked her out, ears blushing as she muttered Thanagarian curses under her breath. She had taught Tim a few curse words, the meaning of which had left him red-faced to the hills. They reached the door and Tim stopped her, speaking quietly.

"I'm sorry about him, Hawkgirl, but listen: He's going to push your buttons, he'll do it to everyone. We knew this beforehand. If you keep on reacting, then you'll give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of you." Tim paused, watching if Hawkgirl was taking it all in. Her head was turned to the side, but her face was taut. Good. She was listening. Tim continued. "Keep your cool. Don't let him see you affected by anything he says - as soon as he does, he'll keep going till you lash out. You wanna rise above him? Stay cool, remain neutral, give him all the facts, smile when he's mocking, and if you feel yourself about you lose it, walk away."

Hawkgirl turned to look at him. She nodded, taking a deep breath and exhaling, before giving Tim a quick kiss on the cheek, and walked away. Jason watched the encounter, amused, and laughed loudly at his younger brother's flushed face.

"What? Is it something I said?"

"Not another word, Jay."

They started then. Red Robin led Jason through the entirety of the communication logs between the League, Xan and Gol - the damn thing came to three thousand pages! Jason was taken aback. Did they even fight at all, he wondered, running a hand through his hair. He flicked through the pages - he would need to sit down, along with all the other shit in the next room, and go through everything with a fine tooth comb. Tim showed him how to set up a direct line to the various off-world parties. Links to presidents, officials..Jason's mind was whirling. Apart from the paperwork, it seemed quite straightforward, but there had to be a catch, for sure.

Tim paused.

"Jay, the League are taking a big risk with you, in their eyes. They're going to want to monitor you every chance they get, especially with any communication leaving the watch-tower to space. They've asked me to tell you - and I'm sure they'll say it again and again - there has to be a member of the League-, no, Jay, don't give me that look, - there's gotta be a founding member present in the room whenever you contact the IGC, Xan, or Gol. Emails, audio, audiovisual, teleconference - whatever, they want to be here when you do". The catch, Jason realised.

Jason thought for a while. "So they wanna baby-sit me, huh?"

Tim raised an eyebrow at his brother "You can't blame them, Jay. You don't exactly have the best record for following the rules."

Jay had to smile at that. "Alright, Timmy, let's have it your way. Say they sit in while I talk with whoever on the phone, or face to face - so what? What difference does that make? They can't speak Xalanese, or Ghusalish, or any other language that might come in useful - so even as they sit in these meetings, what good is it? Unless they somehow have the ability to understand what I'm saying live,....wait."

Jason had stopped, stroking his beard. Tim paid attention. His brother was onto something.

"Tim...what if we could actually come up with a way that the founders could have access to the english translation when I'm speaking? I mean, I'm not doing this for them - if it means I get them off my back... but is it possible?" Jason's eyes were glinting. He was definitely up to something. But Tim was now brimming with mild excitement.

"Jason, I think you're onto something. Manhunter pretty much lives as a telepath...what if we could create something that uses your brainwaves, like, I dunno, your brain's live activity whilst you're translating languages foreign to English, and have it communicated instantly to the League?"

Jason was walking around the room now, nodding. "Yeah, kinda like your communicators. I dunno how, or even if this could work, but if we could somehow access my brain waves for a live translation into your communicators...this, this could work. The question is, just how much access would you need to my brain? No offence, but its not pretty and I'm not sure you guys couldn't handle it." Tim rolled his eyes at his brother's grin.

The boys were now gathering steam. Quickly, grabbing a sheet of paper, they began to jot down their ideas.

"Ok, so a communicator.."

Tim was sketching a few ideas, and Jason peered over him.

"No, use the existing League communicator.."

"Yeah, have it updated somehow.."

"with some sort of access, a channel maybe, into your brainstream.."

"the language part of my brain - live feed, but yeah, accessing my language centre"

"And how would the League receive the translation: audio? visual-"

"nah, both ways are too distracting. How about- how about they just have access to the translating part of my brain, you know? like, they instantly understand what is being said, not words suddenly appearing in thin air. Jason walked about the room.

"Yeah, I think this could work Jay, I think so! I'll have to talk to Manhunter, probably Batman, but yeah man, great idea!"

Tim was smiling now, far too excited for his own good, and Jason couldn't help but roll his eyes. He sighed.

"C'mon pipsqueak, we've got to finish this."

Both men continued with communications. By the end, Jason knew how to access the communication centre and place direct calls, video conferences, through all sorts of fancy gadgets. Hawkgirl came back a little while later, a neutral face, and sat down with them.

"As mentioned, Red, we've been asked to find out if there is anything outstanding that you require," her voice even, cool, professional. She'd taken Tim's advice.

Jason looked at the reports and began to think. He wasn't sure of what they would need, not just yet anyway. He wanted to know exactly what the League had on hand at present, and even then, they didn't seem too sure. Without knowing specifics, Jason could not ascertain the necessity of any additional needs.

"Thank you for compiling all this," he began, and the small shock that flickered across Hawkgirl's face warmed him dearly. He could play nice, too.

"I realise that this must have taken quite a while, and I thank you for your efforts. But" Jason paused before continuing.

"Until I've gone through all this, and know, for now, exactly a. why the League went out to space in the first place, b. how things escalated, c. the IGC's ruling and d. the resources the League has available at present, then I can't tell you what else I might need. I'll need a couple of days to go through all this, and from the brief look of it, a lawyer too. Someone who has specifically worked on behalf of the League as a whole - someone known to both the League and the government. Law isn't exactly my specialty - the lawyer is to make sure all this shit is for one, legal, at least within decent standards, the IGC does have the final say after all and the US has given them that leeway, two, ethical and lastly, fair, though according to what you've said already, you're already on the wrong end of the stick."

Jason sat back, hands clasped on the table. Red Robin and Hawkgirl shared a look before returning their focus on him.

"I know you want to keep it in the house, but remember - my job is to act as the middleman. I'm the peace-maker, not your lawyer. Get someone you've worked with before, as high up as possible, preferably known to the US security cabinet - Slap an NDA on them, stick national security on their ass- do whatever you have to do, but they need to review these documents with me. Once they've done their job, they can go."

The two Leaguers nodded.

"Speaking of me, you'll need to formally introduce me as your ambassador to the IGC. Get Xan and Gol up to date on the situation as well- they'll want to know who they're dealing with. Do you have the final dates as to when the repair work is meant to start?

The two shook their head.

"The IGC would like us to formally accept their penalities, which the League have only agreed to in the interim. They gave us a period of four weeks to assess their terms and appoint an ambassador. We have just over two weeks remaining before we present out final offer." Tim finished.

Jason stood up and stretched. It was almost one o'clock. He walked around the room.

"Okay, so we have about two weeks. Two weeks to get ourselves up to date, to make sure we aren't blindsided by anything else. Fine."

Jason strolled leisurely, holding his hands behind his head. "I'll need coffee. A whole lot of coffee," he muttered to himself.

Turning back to the Leaguers, he made his decision. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to get a headstart on all this. Today. It'll take a week or so to properly go through everything. In the meantime - Hawkgirl, you can update the league on our discussion, and Red, after lunch, if you can talk to Martian about what we discussed?" Hawkgirl looked between the two, curious.

"Good. I think some lunch is in order."

With that, the meeting was over. Hawkgirl nodded to them as she left. The two men watched her leave before turning to each other. Lunchtime.

 

 

Jason knew it would be weird, walking into that giant cafeteria, surrounded by people from all sorts of places; those who could fly, melt liquid with their eyes, those with superstrength, actual aliens! He walked in with Red Robin, and became the centre of attention. Again. One of the only good things about being stared out was the amount of attention he was getting from the ladies. All gorgeous to boot, too. Tall, short - they were all stunning, and Jason would give up his life in a heartbeat to spend time here, if not for the fact that he hated the League and their pretentious, self-righteous bullshit. He walked confidently among the swiveled heads and the stares; he had a security pass on his person - he wasn't a trespasser, or a criminal, he was Red, a League specialist. Specialist of what, no-one knew, but still. He had a right to be here. Jason smiled to his brother; he could see the squirt roll his eyes in response. He leaned in, and in a low voice, spoke.

"You do know, Red Robin, that your "cool" points, or whatever you young shits call it these days, has gone up by, like, a thousand" Jason smirked at his brother.

"Pssh, please. They were all over me even before you were here. You're just an accessory" Tim snarked playfully.

Jason burst out laughing, the deep sound earning even more stares. "Whatever you say, frat boy."

They collected their lunch and sat at one of the tables, in the corner, away from prying eyes. Tim had collected a variety of sorts: two large sandwiches, a vegetable soup, crisps, and a sizesable selection of spring rolls that left Jason confused. Where had the bugger got spring rolls from? Jason tried to help himself to a few, but Tim slapped his hand away, claiming that only good boys were allowed spring rolls. Jason scowled. No way would he give Tim the satisfaction of laughing, but on seeing Tim's face, he couldn't help it.

As the boys laughed away, the Flash watched them, stood on the top floor balcony. He studied Red. The two brothers were clearly close and it was strange seeing the notorious Jason Todd, angry dead boy turned killer, sit contentedly with the much younger, more innocent Tim, relaxed, eating, not seemingly bothered that he was in the midst of the entire League. The League that had dedicated a whole subdivision into his arrest. Flash studied them once more. Tim had done something to Jason. If his suspicions were correct, Tim had most likely been in contact with Jason, probably over the two years he'd gone missing off the face of the earth. Whatever had happened during that time was anyone's guess, but the Jason in front of him was a Jason few, if any, had ever imagined. It felt...different. A strange sort of comfortableness. Jason Todd appeared..happy. Flash's stomached rumbled. That's why he came here, he remembered, as he made his way down.

 

 

The boys parted ways after lunch.

Jason would spend the rest of the afternoon till the early evening organising documents, reading page after page of information. After each pile, he would take a single sheet of paper and jot down the salient points, before attaching that sheet to the top of each pile. Doing so would help re-jog his memory for next time he read it. He had removed his jacket in the process, rolled up his sleeves, and increased the brightness of the room as time went on. By seven-thirty, he was close to finishing up on why the League had been requested to help in the first place. He took a break, yawning, stretching, shaking his leg one by one as he walked around the room. He needed some fresh air. Closing the door behind him, he walked slowly to the library.

Tim, on the other hand, had spoken to Manhunter after lunch. The boy's- no, Jason's idea was an excellent one, according to the Martian, and quite feasible, too. It would take Jason coming down to the medical bay for a few brain scan readings, along with a few telepathic sessions with Manhunter, to see if a common brainwave between them could be channeled, but the overall idea was a very good one indeed. The Martian had hummed and nodded in agreement. He would need Batman's expertise in modifying their communicators - the man had commissioned them, after all, but J'onn was certain they could have the communicators up and running soon, certainly before the IGC's deadline. The Martian had watched Tim leave for the portabay; the boy was apparently needed for a meeting in his father's firm. J'onn had held reservations about Tim's involvement in Wayne Enterprises, but Tim was not his child. Furthermore, the boy was clearly outstanding for his age; on par with most adults several times his age, and, judging by his fathers more frequent appearances in League meetings, could handle demands of his work at Wayne Enterprises. If it was good enough for Bruce, then it was good enough for J'onn. The Martian read through the few ideas the boys had jotted down. Yes...it was possible. Turning to his right, he dialed a few numbers and waited for the medical laboratory to answer.

 

 

Jason strolled down the corridor. There were few milling about now, as he glanced at his watch. eight-fifteen. Time had really flown by, and his neck felt sore. It would hurt like a bitch in the morning, he knew. Jason made a mental reminder to ask Hawkgirl for a taller chair tomorrow; that's what he got for being so tall. He walked quietly, stopping to look at the few paintings on the wall, reading inscriptions here and there. The watch-tower was truly amazing, he thought. He made his way down to the first floor, where the library beckoned him. One quick swipe, and he entered. He stood still for a second and breathed the air of the old with the new. It felt so comforting to him, and the desire to curl up on one of the plush couches, or climb the solid white beams, book in hand, lost to the world, was strong. He listened for movement - the air was still. Good. Making his way through the shelves, he found an old copy of Dicken's Great Expectations. All he needed was a cup of hot chocolate, his pyjamas and the adventures could begin.

 

 

Jason didn't know how much time had passed, but he'd been caught up in Pip's freedom when he heard movement. A quiet heavy shuffling. He paused, unsure - his security clearance extended to the library; no time limit had been specified. He sat, still deciding what to do, when all of a sudden, a pair of red boots came into his view. He stared at them for a second, wondering where he'd seen them them before, why they looked so famil-oh. Well, shit.

Superman.

He looked up, bracing himself for the shouting, blows - anything, he wasn't too sure at this time. But Superman wasn't looking at him, at least not yet. His head was bent, and the man was rubbing his neck. Ah. Jason knew how that certainly felt. His other hand was slowly browsing through the shelves. Jason remained still, watching. Superman looked exhausted. Worn out even - was it possible for him, the man of steel, to even look like that, Jason wondered. He seemed to be moving for the sake of moving - it was as if staying still would put him to sleep on the spot.

And then Superman looked up, and caught his eyes. Straight in the face.

Shit.

 

 

Both men stared at each other for what could have been all eternity. Jason didn't care about the specifics; all he knew was that at that very moment, Superman, the guy who'd hunted him for almost a year, the guy he'd mocked and taunted and damn near spat on, was just a few metres apart. His heart began to quicken, wildly, and he knew Superman could hear it too. Superman, the guy who could crush him with a flick of his finger, was right here, and there was nothing he could do about it, not if he wanted to live anyway.

No-one said anything.

Superman, on his part, didn't move. Jason Todd, the Red Hood, was here, shoeless, sitting curled up in the ball - it would be comical for a man his size, had he not been reminded of their history - reading. Not all rage and murder, but sitting calmly. Reading. He had a pillow behind his neck. Ah, Clark thought. Sore neck. Probably because of all that paperwork, he reasoned. He looked peaceful, and as the two pairs of eyes had met, Clark saw a flicker of fear pass across the man's face before his expression smoothed out. Fear, mused Clark. Wait. Did Jason really think that Superman would do something to him, here, in the library? Clark would have laughed if the possibility had not been likely - he'd chased Jason through apartment blocks, for pete's sake, -a library was nothing. Clark wanted to do something. And yet, Jason sat, still staring at him, book in hand. Great Expectations, if Clark read correctly. He waited for the snark, the cocky grin - but the man still sat, still as a statue, eyes completely on him. Superman felt..unsettled. Was Jason really that afraid of him? After everything - afraid, really? It bothered Clark. He supposed he should have been happy, glad even, that Superman was having such an impact on the Red Hood, but, alone in the library, in the midst of outer-space, Clark couldn't bring himself to rejoice.

"Are you just gonna stand there or...." Jason trailed off, eyes still on him.

Clark jolted out of his musing.

Sighing quietly, he turned to the shelf, plucking a book at random. With Jason's eyes still glued on him, he made his way to the far end of the couch, one of his favourites - he wasn't about to retreat as if he were _scared_ of the guy, no way-, the same one where Jason Todd currently reclined, and sat down, feeling the seats squeal in protest at weight of his large being. For a long, long moment, they didn't move. Superman closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the couch. He'd spent much of last week with his parents, quiet, wrapped up in guilt. He'd hurt Bruce, frightened his friends and made a complete fool of himself. He hadn't want to see them, and so he'd taken off to Kansas, home to Ma's cooking and his father's stories, trying to push down the anxiety he felt. Diana had visited over the week-end and had given him a real tongue-lashing out in the fields whilst he listened, head bowed, ashamed. She'd later stayed for dinner with his folks. That was Diana; rebuking fiercely and generously giving her love, all at the same time. Clark opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, thinking.

Today was the first time he'd been back since The Incident, as he'd named it. He couldn't look at Bruce in the face, absolutely not. It had been a tiring day. His muscles hurt. His neck hurt. As he sat, letting his muscles finally relax, it seemed to dawn on both of them - there'd be no fighting tonight, at least from Superman's end. He could hear Jason's heart beat slow at the realisation, and a tiny part of him felt glad. Relieved even. It was all strange, he thought. Superman should be furious at even seeing Jason Todd, and yet here he was, sharing a couch with the man. Clark was too tired to feel confused. He didn't have the energy to think. He still needed to write a short report the repair work he'd done, and Perry, his loud, cigar chewing boss at the Planet, wanted him in tomorrow morning, nine am sharp, to review an article he'd written the week before. Investors of time, or something like that - Clark couldn't remember right now. All he wanted to do was rest, and a light bit of reading would do just that. Opening his eyes, he gently took the book he'd selected from the shelf and began to read. "Okonkwo was well known throughout the nine villages and eve-" ah. Chinua Abeche, author of Things Fall Apart. He'd written an essay on the book early on in college. It was one his favourites.

Beside him, Jason had once again turned rigid at the opening of Clark's eyes. It was clear tonight would be a peaceful night, and Jason was in no mood to provoke the man. His head felt heavy; all that reading, he surmised. On seeing Clark pick his book and start reading, Jason watched a little longer. The man obviously knew he was there, but didn't look at him, not once. Jason didn't know what that meant. Deciding that the staring was getting a little to creepy to be comfortable, he turned to his own book and carried on from where he left. Pip's freedom, ah, yes, as Jason's mind once again was lost to the world.

 

 

Jason jolted awake. What on earth? He fumbled for his watch, eyes squinting even in the dimness of the room. Ten-fort- what?! He shook his head, trying to clear the sleep off him. Damn watch-tower, fucking up circadian rhythms and shit.

He began to stretch his legs out on the couch in front of him when he froze.

Superman.

Shit.

But the man was asleep now. Snoring a little, in fact. His book was laid on his chest and he was slumped over towards the armrest of the couch.

For the second time that day, Jason was left speechless. How he'd managed to sit with Superman, on the damn couch, just the two of them, and read quietly - it was a damn miracle, it had to be. Jason blew out the deep breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He needed to go home. He'd forgotten about dinner; the work upstairs had stolen his attention. Placing his book on the small table beside his armrest, he reached down, putting his shoes on. Sleep was calling him.

Unaware to him, Clark had opened his eyes at the movement and watched Jason put on his shoes. Clark had never been asleep. He'd slowed his heart beat down, and snored lightly, deceiving the man into believing he was sleeping. Clark had been curious into what Jason would do - would he take a picture? Caption it crudely and post it online for his humiliation?

But that didn't happen at all.

Clark had felt Jason's eyes glued on him during the first few minutes of his charade. But gradually, Jason had resumed his reading. No pictures, no snide remarks, nary a phone in sight. And so Clark had taken time to rest, away from demands and expectations, and Jason Todd, former criminal, now "ally", sat just under a feet away, and read, seemingly lost in the world created by Mr Dickens. Clark closed his eyes as Jason sat back up, shoes on. He felt the man's eyes on him once more, before his footsteps filtered away, and heard him mutter "well, that was unexpected". The room was quiet once more.

Clark sat back and rested a little longer, a small smile on his lips.

The report could wait.


	7. It's about time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Tim talk.

Eleven - thirteen am, Tuesday.

Jason had arrived home late last night, tired and hungry. He'd gone to bed, tossing and turning over the events of the day. Seeing Superman, sitting with him- all unharmed - that had been outright weird, and it left Jason with a strange feeling in his stomach. Superman was the very embodiment of the League, and for him to have dozed off so peacefully like that in the man's presence was very unsettling for Jason. Sleep did not come easily and Jason had finally given up around five thirty. He moved about sluggishly, knowing that any further efforts made to sleep more would be futile. The thought of breakfast had made him nauseous, and Jason decided that an early start would clear his mind much quicker. He'd finally left home just before seven am, arriving to a eerily quiet watch-tower. His shoes had echoed too loudly, and he'd winced at the sound. Jason made his way through the Lower hall, back to Ashbeck room and sat down heavily. Rubbing at his eyes, Jason started with the next pile of paperwork. The words had swam in his vision at first, but as he moved to open the blinds fully, the rise of the dawn filled the room, and reading became much easier. His mind began to focus as he read, jotting down points on a separate sheet of paper.

Done. Jason had completed the first important pile: figuring out why the Justice League had been requested to help. Jason moved the two piles to the top left of the table, shifted them together and placed on the conjoined column, another plain sheet of paper, with the word "WHY" written on it. The 'WHY' was exactly that - why were the League asked to help, but not just that - why hadn't any of the other planets closer to Xan and Gol been asked? It was peculiar. It wasn't as if the League were particularly outstanding in comparison - on Earth, sure, but out in space? Negligible. There were peoples who were arguably of similar strength to even Superman, peoples whose advanced technology made the League's own look like child play - these were people who, judging by Tim's account, were well adversed in strategic planning and military defence, so - why? Jason looked at the pile he'd just put aside. There was more to the story, he just knew it, but without any solid proof, it would all be speculation. He looked the rest of the paperwork. If the League were to meet the deadline in time, he'd have to work, fast.

Eleven - thirteen am. Coffee break.

Jason continued working. If his suspicions were correct, as small as they were, then the League might have more than just a "penalty" to worry about.

 

 

Down in the basement, Batman was in the south side of the hangar, bent over the engine hood of an Ealing eight fifty-eight space jet, one of three the League currently used for overseas missions. The younger Leaguers had been on a training mission in East Asia, led by Green Arrow, and they had arrived back on the watch-tower tired, dirty and smelly. The plane was even worse; a smoking engine, damaged repellers, mis-aligned wheels - the list went on and on. Batman had been close to strangling the man; Green Arrow, sensing that now was not the best time to joke around, had for once taken the matter seriously and apologised, offering to pay for the repair. Batman had dismissed him with a silent whoosh of his cape, surveying how best to tackle the work. The jet itself cost close to thirty million dollars, not a small amount, even for a billionaire, whose funds were mostly tied up in investments, and its maintenance was equivalent to the running of a large city each year. The engineers had wisely steered clear of the Bat; hearing the exchange between him and Green Arrow had been enough to keep them well on guard. A pissed off Batman was akin to suicide; Batman on a good day was someone to be weary of.

Bruce removed his cape. Already the heat generated in the hangar was making his suit slick with sweat. It would be difficult to move around in, he decided, and took off to the changing rooms, opting for a lightweight, gore-tex jumpsuit, a waterproof, breathable fabric specially engineered for the League's use. Ah, much better. As Bruce got to work, oil stains already greasing his fingers, his mind drifted back to last Friday evening when Tim had finally come to the Manor.

 

 

Alfred had made a lovely dinner that evening, but Bruce couldn't eat much. His two other boys had glanced at him frequently, but he couldn't quite meet their gaze. Damian, he knew, had looked to Dick questioningly, before looking at him. Bruce was grateful for his eldest; Dick had been patient with Damian, explained that the Hood was back, but Damian was still furious in the end. He had every right to be, Bruce surmised. Jason had shot his boy right in the chest; a little to the left and Damian would be outside, buried in the grounds. Bruce could never forgive Jason for that, never. Damian still had nightmares about the incident; Bruce sometimes lay awake listening to the boy's tiny cries as his elder brother held him close, stroking his hair. He was sure that madman had actually laughed, laughed as he'd stood over Damian, dying on the floor, gasping for breath. Bruce felt the anger rise within him. No, Jason was not to be forgiven.

Bruce looked at his watch. Tim had agreed to talk, and in less than an hour's time, he'd be here. Bruce sat playing with his food, attracting Alfred's glare in the process, and with an apologetic smile, tried to stomach a few mouthfuls, but the damn food refused to go down. Eventually he'd given up and retreated to the living room, resting in the armchair furthest away from the door. If he sat too close to the entrance, Bruce thought, Tim would feel trapped. He wanted his son to speak openly with him - Tim would be able to read every little thing, a son taking after his father. Bruce sighed. He sank fully in the armchair, glass of water pressed to his forehead. It felt cool, and helped to settle the anxiety he felt beginning to rise. Would Tim show? Or would he claim yet another WE excuse? They had wrapped up the final details of the patent contract earlier that day, shaken hands with the investors - it was a done deal.

And yet Tim had decided to go back to his own apartment. Bruce wanted to tell him to stay for dinner, but on seeing the way Tim avoided his eyes as he packed his briefcase, Bruce decided against it. He realised that the boy would need time to prepare himself for their talk this evening; again, like father, like son. Bruce looked at his watch. Seven forty-six pm. Fourteen minutes to go and Bruce was nervous. He knew there'd be a possibility that neither would have they answers they waited for, but Bruce was not going to back down. He had made the same mistake with Jason twice; he failed to tackle Jason's problem with anger and quick resort to violence as a young boy, and when he had returned as the Hood, allowed him to run rampage across the city, in the small hope of 'giving him space' - well, "giving him space" had turned things from bad to down right ugly. Never again. Tim needed to understand that Jason, whatever he saw in him, was at the heart of it, a man who had no problem with violence, a man forever changed by the past, by the pit, and it was only a matter of time before his "brother" turned on him.

As Bruce thought to himself, Dick and Damian entered the room. Bruce looked at them, eyebrow quirked. He'd specifically told them to stay away tonight, that it would be only him and Tim, but they were his kids, and he should have known better.

"I thought I made it clear earlier that I was not to be disturbed tonight."Bruce looked between the two of them. Damian looked lost between obeying his father, the one he held in such high esteem, and standing resilient, too old to be told what to do at ten years old. Dick on the other hand looked straight at him. Ah. So this is how it's going to be, Bruce thought.

"Sorry Bruce, no can do. Tim's our brother too-" Dick ignored Damian's protest at this statement and continued "and we have every right to hear what he has to say."

"No, and I mean it. No. Things are already far too complicated, and I don't need Tim feeling like its three against one. He's already spending more and more time away, and getting him to talk these days is like drawing water from a brick. I need to hear Tim's side of things and I can't afford for any of you to rile him up."

Bruce said that last bit to Damian, looking straight at the boy. Damian looked away, rigid. Bruce could understand that the boy, as a result from his upbringing with the League of Assassins, felt that his place in the family as the only biological son should be far above the rest, Tim especially. Dick, the boy could excuse; he had proven himself a second father, doting older brother, and proudly encouraged Damian. Tim, unfortunately, was in Damian's mind a direct threat to his legacy as heir to the League and Wayne Enterprises, and Damian made it a high priority in making Tim's life a living hell. Bruce, in his desire to make Damian feel more welcome within the family, had failed to put a firm end to Damian's attacks on Tim. Now, Bruce felt torn between his two sons and he absolutely hated it. They were close to losing Tim, Bruce knew it, Dick knew it but failed to properly grasp it, and Damian was elated.

No. Bruce shook his head. He would not be moved on this matter.

"No. Don't even think about walking to the kitchen and getting some water, only to "drop in." Bruce directed this at Dick before continuing. "You will stay away. You will allow me to speak with Tim as an father and son. If Tim is ready to talk to you also, then he will let you know. Until then, do not interrupt."

"I'm not a kid anymore, Bruce! I'm twenty-four years old, and I'm saying that I want to hear from my brother! Everytime I try to talk to him, he's busy, always so busy. If this is the only time we can hear from him, and especially about his contact with Jason of all people, then we should hear it. We have a right to know if Jason is planning anything against this family - what if he's just using Tim, turning him against us? Looking how distant Tim's become, and he's usually pretty irritated whenever he does speak to us. Do you want him to turn out like Jason? No? Then sometimes, being a father means doing things you don't like for the better good of your kids, Bruce, all of them!" Dick's voice was loud now, and he stared angrily at his father.

Damian interrupted, clearly piggybacking on his elder's brother's steam. "Todd is a madman, Father. I do not care about Drake, but I refuse to let any outsider destroy the only family I have. Todd cannot be allowed to infect this family through Drake's stupidity. If he cannot see it, then we will have to make him see it". The boy's voice was haughty.

Bruce didn't like this. He knew Tim would feel as if they'd ganged up against him, on purpose. The boy already felt like an outsider; he'd reduced his patrol time with them, often opting to go alone. He hardly ever came by to the Manor nowadays, and Bruce had noticed the growing wedge between Tim and Dick. He could see why: Dick, whether he'd meant to or otherwise, had gradually shifted his attention from Tim to Damian, choosing to spend much of his free time with the boy, and after work as a Bludhaven cop on the weekdays. Tim had seen all this yet remained silent. The wedge had finally become apparent to Dick one evening, just before patrol. Tim had been with them night, rare - he usually chose to patrol before them, or hours after. They were all in the Cave getting ready; Tim at the computer, looking at the shipping routes a number of illegal poachers would be using that night, when Damian had siddled up to Tim, whispering something to him all too quietly. Bruce had just finished suiting up as Batman when he watched Tim suddenly storm up from his chair, startling Damian, who backed away in surprise. Tim's face had gone red and he began screaming at the boy - the intensity of his rage had been mind-blowing. Quiet, kind spoken Tim was nowhere to be seen; the stranger in front of them was terrifying, so much so that Alfred had hurried down from upstairs, pale as a ghost. Bruce and Dick had lost no time running over to Tim - it had taken the two of them to hold their boy back from reaching Damian, who was oddly enough frozen, staring at Tim in shock. Bruce couldn't make out what Tim had been shouting about, but things took a turn the moment Dick laid his hands on him.

"Don't touch me, don't you even dare," Tim had snarled at Dick, and for a moment, Bruce thought he was looking at Jason. It certainly sounded like him, and it shook him to the core. The rest of the Cave had gone silent, Dick wide eyed, hands up beside him, pleading with his brother.

"Tim-Timmy? Hey, buddy its just me Dick, you know, your friendly neighborhood bro-" Dick stuttered, reaching for his brother. He was scared. He'd never seen Tim like this.

Tim, on the other hand, was refusing to buy any of Dick's shit. He reached around Bruce and slapped Dick's hands away, eyes too bright.

"I said, don't fucking touch me. Don't you dare start now, being all big brother."

Dick was open mouthed, and Bruce could see the tears beginning to form through the confusion. This was quickly getting out of hand.

"Tim, stop this. Stop it right now, you know Dick is your bro-" Bruce ventured on Dick's behalf, but was fiercely cut off.

"Like fuck he ain't. Go ahead, Dick, tell Bruce how the demon here started as Robin. Go on, tell him about the nice little "discussion" we had, where you relayed your "concerns" about wanting to help that good-for-nothing little shit, and I, Timmy the martyr, gave into your request out of the goodness of my bleeding heart". Tim's voice was heavy with sarcasm. Dick for his part, was frozen to the spot, mouth opening and closing. Bruce looked at him. Dick hadn't told him any of this - he'd simply mentioned that Damian would be Robin from now on and that Tim understood, that he'd understand. But from what he was hearing, it was clear this wasn't the case.

"Dick, what's going on?"

"Of course you wouldn't know, Bruce! Father of year, please, you barely know anything that goes on outside Batman! I'm surprised you still have a family to come home to! Go ahead and stare, I'm sure not even after I've turned my back to leave, you two will be back mother-cuddling that son of a literal bitch, telling him to ignore little mean Tim, he's just jealous".

Bruce recoiled as if he had been slapped.

Dick gasped, face pale, and Damian, on his part, looked enraged at the blasphemy of his mother.

But Tim wasn't finished.

"I take care of all your shit, everything! The reports, the cases, the planning, WE, the League, everything. And you think you can stand there and treat me like a fool? Think the fuck again. We're done. You go your way, I'll go mine. Let me make it clear, right now: we're partners. professionals. No more than that, so cut the crap already."

Bruce felt himself sinking.

"Tim, son, you can't mean that-"

"Timmy, stop, please, you must not be feeling well, Bruce-"

"About time you realised, Drake. You have no place in this family." Damian bit out, spitefully. He was still far back from the corners, looking uncertain.

Tim went cold then. It was scary, watching him transform. He closed himself up: face turning pale, the quivering stopped, and his eyes dropped a darker shade of blue. His voice sounded flat.

"Fine by me", he said, as he walked out.

That had been the last time they would been together in the Cave. Tim had maintained a steady distance ever since. He was always courteous, polite - but never more than that. He almost always refused to eat dinner upstairs, heading straight back out the Cave to his own place. Nothing had been the same since.

 

 

Bruce's mind went back to the present, looking at his two boys. One red faced, persistent, the other looking cool, disinterested even. They made good arguments, but still, they had failed to grasped why it was so important to Tim, and to him, that Tim be allowed to speak in private. Bruce stood up, and straightened. Things had gone on for long enough.

At six foot two, he loomed over Dick, and all five foot ten inches of his son stared back, eyes blazing.

"If you can't understand why Tim needs to do this alone, then you aren't much of a brother."

Bruce didn't want to upset Dick, but it was the truth. His stomach lurched as he watched his son reel backwards from him, hurt.

Ding-dong ding dong, ding-dong ding-dong.

Dong  
Dong  
Dong

On and on the grandfather clock chimed.

Eight o'clock.

The three of them stood still for a moment, before a quiet, almost hesitant knocking could be heard at the door.

Tim was here.

 

 

In the end, Dick had left with Damian. He hadn't looked back; Bruce knew he'd be receiving the silent treatment for the next few days. But if standing firm and refusing the two to join them was the price to pay for Tim to talking to him, openly, without being coerced, then Bruce was prepared to pay it.

Bruce heard Alfred open the door. He heard Alfred's delighted voice, and walked to the doorway just in time to see them hugging. He smiled at Tim's flushed face, happy. That's more like it, Bruce thought. He made his way over to the pair, Alfred heading into the kitchen to prepare a pot of hot cocoa. It was just the two of them now.

"Hi, Bruce." Tim's soft voice broke the silence, and the boy was biting his lip. Anxious, thought Bruce. That couldn't happen, not here, not now. Bruce moved, putting an arm around Tim's shoulders and giving them a gentle squeeze.

"Tim. It's good to see you, son" Bruce kept tone warm, just as soft, smiling at his boy. Tim looked up at him and smiled back shyly, face now red. Bruce was full of love for this boy. Pressing a small kiss to his son's hair, he steered him gently to the living room, where Bruce and co had been ready to argue just a few moments ago. No sign of the boys. Good, Bruce thought. Bruce resumed his position in the armchair furthest to the door. Tim, surprisingly, quirked an eyebrow at him - he knew exactly what Bruce was doing. Bruce, sighing dramatically, moved to sit on one end of the large couch beside the armchair, and Tim moved in to take the other side. The space between them was a good size, Bruce analysed. Big enough that Tim didn't feel stuck, and yet small enough that the small gathering felt private, intimate. Alfred walked in then, placing two giant mugs of cocoa of the table in front of them, and a couple of sandwiches for Tim, which brought a smile to the boy's face. Alfred had winked in response before retreating, giving a knowing look to Bruce as he exited the room.

Tim smirked at Bruce, he'd seen the whole exchange, and laughed quietly as he watched Bruce roll his eyes. As if he could ever do that in front of Alfred, ha.

Bruce took his mug of cocoa and sank back into the couch, sipping slowly. He wanted Tim to feel as relaxed as possible, and it seemed to be working - Tim dressed in a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, sat cross legged on the couch, munching away slowly. Bruce waited for him to speak. Nothing would interrupt them.

A couple of minutes had passed before Tim spoke, sandwich still in hand.

"So. What do you want to know?" Tim looked ahead at the fireplace, chewing.

Bruce paused. It was a simple question. Answering with "everything" would put pressure on the boy. Instead, he sipped his drink, before answering with "As much as you'd like to tell, Tim."

That had been the correct response, Bruce knew. Tim had smiled at him knowingly, before speaking.

"Before I say anything, Bruce, I need something from you. First of all, this discussion stays between us, and by us, you know it includes Alfred." Tim watched Bruce's reaction.

Bruce nodded. He understood - Tim didn't want Dick or Damian to know what he was about to say. "Will you ever tell them?"

Tim paused at that, using one hand to push back a stray hair, and tucked it into his bun. "Not yet. Until I can see...a change, then no. That includes everything about Jason, by the way. This won't be about what's he's been through - that's for him to discuss, if he wants. I won't break his trust, Bruce, I won't."

Bruce agreed. "I can see that, Tim. I don't know if they'll agree with your point of view, and to be honest, my concern relates to any potential danger Hood could pose to this family, but, so long as you're safe, and this family is safe from his attacks, then I will agree that this all stays between us."

Tim considered this. He hadn't missed the way Bruce had called Jay "Hood" and he'd made his displeasure known, narrowing his eyes at his father. Bruce for the most part carried on, and Tim listened. Bruce wasn't being entirely unreasonable. It was not out of character for him to make his number one priority the safety of the family, and it was very Batman of him to want to assess the risk of any danger well before hand. Tim wasn't happy - Bruce did not explicitly say their conversation would definitely remain between them, but as long as the Hood stayed far from the family, then Bruce's lips were sealed. Tim knew it was the best Bruce would do in trying to keep Tim close and protect the family. Fine. It would have to do. Tim carried on.

"Jason is highly unlikely to bother you. I'd like to draw your attention to the last two years. The Red Hood has not been seen since, and not one member of the family apart from myself has had any confrontation with him, directly or otherwise. If Jason truly wanted to get back at you, he would have done so already, through me." Tim argued his point. Jason wouldn't hurt him; he was sure of it just as he knew Bruce dressed up as a flying Bat at night to fight crime. He continued.

"He's changed, Bruce. He's so much better than before - healthier, stronger - he's happy, Bruce. I don't want you to take my word for it, but at the same time, I'm not willing to risk Jay's improved stability by getting him to "re-join" the family." Tim spoke firmly now. Bruce was...taken aback. This was surprising. Tim was in fact protecting Jason. The boy was of the belief that Jason should be left alone; attempts at bringing him in, like a certain son he knew, would be detrimental to the man's mental health. Bruce did not expect that. He was sure that Tim would be here, asking Bruce for a second chance. He stayed silent for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts.

Tim watched his father. He would have smiled but he knew it would come off as mocking, so he kept his face neutral. Contrary to what the rest of the family expected, Tim was not about to drag Jason back into the family. It didn't matter to Tim that Jason wasn't a "Wayne" - a brother was a brother regardless. Tim had been testament to Jason's betterment over the last few years and it would take the uprising of hell itself to push Jay into "re-entering the fold", as Dick had done long ago. So long as Jay was safe, happy, and flourishing - that was all Tim wanted for his brother, and he didn't have to be a Wayne for it to happen.

Bruce spoke. "I...I understand your concern for Jason, and it..is admirable, Tim. But my concern is solely for your safety, which I cannot guarantee if you hide things from me, Tim".

Tim pushed back, a little more forceful this time. "Like I've said, Bruce, I'm fine. You can't take my word for it, I know, and you can't trust Jason's either. The only thing left is to see for yourself, but from a distance". Tim took a break here, getting up and walking around the room. Bruce had a feeling they would have more of these breaks during the course of their conversation. A small part of Bruce felt he should apologise for agitating his son, but he decided against it. Being concerned for his son's safety was not something to be sorry for, Bruce reasoned. He would just have to see for himself whether Jason had changed, if that was even possible. He doubted that.

"Alright Tim, point taken. I won't...monitor, but I will watch." Bruce said this in the hopes of pacifying his son; he'd come to his senses soon enough. He continued. "I will intervene if there are any threats to your safety, Tim. That I will not shift on, nor apologise for." Honesty is the best policy, so they say. Tim looked at his father, arms crossed. He searched Bruce's face, looking for any hint of deception. Satisfied that his father appeared to be telling the truth, Tim nodded, and made his way back to the couch.

"Ok. We've agreed that this all stays between us as long I-we're "safe". Cool. The second thing I wanted, Bruce, was for you to listen. Just...listen, alright? Make a list if you want, but just listen to what I have to say - you can bombard me with questions at the end. Can you agree to that?" Tim's face was pleading, and Bruce couldn't deny him. He nodded.

"Good. Ok, well, it all started a few years back. You know that Jason died at fifteen, and came back at about eighteen. Those three years of his life - I can't tell you about them, I don't even know the full story, and if I'm honest, part of me doesn't want to know. What we do know is that three years after Jay's death, a guy in a red hood showed up in Gotham and started taking down a whole lot of people- mobsters, drug cartels, sex traffickers - you know it, he did it." Tim looked at his father - would he interrupt? Bruce looked back at his son, face firm, mouth shut. No. Good.

Tim continued.

"Red Hood kept coming after us, hard. He was horrible: arrogant, vengeful, angry, and kept lashing out. We didn't get it at first - it was as if he'd popped out of nowhere. He knew all our moves, the skills - he was three steps ahead at every turn, and that got me thinking. He knew our names, and taunted us. Mocked us. Things took a turn for the worst when you found out who he was, Bruce. Jason was...enraged, I think, that you took so long to recognise him. I get it, but at the same time, it wasn't fair - how were you supposed to know a dead boy, one you'd buried by your own hand, had come back from the dead and was now causing mayhem all over the place? You couldn't know. I think..I think deep down, Jason also knew, but his anger never let him reasoned. He followed me and beat me up...I heard him laughing over me, but he didn't leave me for dead, Bruce. We all just assumed he did. But think about it - his shots had been brutal, and yes, he was sick enough to write his name in my blood on the wall, but think about it Bruce - why didn't he just kill me?"

Tim knew this was hard for Bruce, who by now, had closed his eyes tight. Tim softened his voice: analysing meant nothing to a father who'd stumbled in only to find his son close to death from a madman. He had to tread carefully here, or Bruce would be reminded of all the horrible things Jason had done and hate him enough to come after him, again. Tim spoke quietly this time and took his father's hand, squeezing it gently. He felt a small squeeze in return.

"Bruce...I'm sorry. I...I was in the Cave for weeks, in bed for weeks, but even when I was awake, I kept thinking - Hood could have taken the kill shot. Its quick, efficient, and brutal. But he didn't. And another thing - we reasoned that he wanted you, Bruce, to see me there, on the floor. But by the time you'd showed up, he was long gone. If he truly wanted to see you suffer, in pain - then why didn't he stick around? These questions kept swirling in my head, and I needed answers Bruce."

Tim still kept his hand in his father's. Bruce's eyes remained closed, and his lips were tightly pressed together.

"It took a while to recover, but I did. Unfortunately, Red Hood didn't stop there. We figured he wanted to hurt us, to break up this family, and we were right - he did. Hurting Dick directly meant nothing to him, but Jason had seen how much Robin kept close to Nightwing and vice versa, and it made sense that the best way to hurt Dick would be hurting Damian. We all remember that night too well, I won't go into it too much..it was bad, but whilst Damian recovered, I searched for whether there had been any CCTV footage . And there was."

Bruce opened his eyes, surprised. That night had been one of the most awful nights of his life. Had he not had other boys to look after, Bruce would have taken a gun and shot the madman himself, point blank in the head. Damian, his youngest boy, his baby, the one he'd missed years of his life, had been shot in the chest. Batman had stumbled upon the near deathly pale corpse of his son, and it had taken all his training not to collapse there and then. An hour of CPR, four hours of emergency surgery at Gotham surgery - and Damian made it, barely. He was placed in ICU for weeks, and if Dick hadn't been there each time, stopping him from leaving his son, he would have killed Jason. No regrets. Bruce didn't even think about accessing CCTV of the attempted murder - his mind was just focused on the boy waking up. The day he did, Bruce had held his boy in his arms, tight, and wept brokenly. Dick had let him have those few hours to himself, just he and Damian - him talking to his boy, about anything, everything, and Damian just listening, struggling to stay alert for his father.

"The CCTV didn't show much at first. It was pretty blurry, it took me a few hours to edit. And then it showed something. The Red Hood was by the north end, twelfth avenue, on top of the Reed housing estate. He didn't seem to be doing much, just sitting on the edge, head in his hands, not moving. And then Robin showed up."

Tim swallowed. As much as he hated Damian, he didn't wish death on the boy. 

"Da-Robin seemed to appear out of nowhere..he-he, I couldn't get any sound from the recording, but it appeared he was provoking the Hood. I know, that doesn't excuse anything, but then Hood got up suddenly and started screaming back...I swear Bruce, when I saw it, I too was shouting at the screen for Robin to back off. I don't how it all came to a head, but all of a sudden, Hood whipped his gun out..and..and.." Tim took a moment to himself. He loved Jason, but that didn't mean he was going to forget what he'd done. There were somethings you just couldn't erase.

"But then something seemed to jolt Hood. Even as Robin lay there, the Hood, Bruce, he-he ran over to Damian, and skidded beside him. His hands, his whole body was shaking..he was so agitated, he made as if he wanted to pick Robin up but he couldn't. He took off his hood and actually flung it over the building. I swear, I can show you all this. Eventually, he did pick Robin up and held him to his chest - he had his ear to his chest, and I think...his shoulders kept shaking Bruce,...I think he was crying."

Bruce stood up all of a sudden. He couldn't think, couldn't speak. His heart was hammering. He walked around the room, trying to take deep breaths.

Tim was silent.

Bruce walked over to the far side of the room, opening a window. He let the breeze wash over him. Eventually, he turned his head to Tim's side and nodded. He could hear Tim swallow, scared, but Tim carried on.

"It was only for a few seconds, picking up Robin, but then something had him spooked. It was pretty quick; Hood placed Robin back on the ground and ran right off the roof ledge, just mere seconds before Nightwing arrived." Tim sighed. "You were hard to talk to that time, I don't blame you. But I...I wanted answers. I was angry that we were being attacked like this, but at the same time, confused - it was as if Hood didn't know whether to be happy we were hurt or sad. Even when he was over my body, laughing, - he still didn't take a shot."

Bruce continued looking out of the window. Tim moved on.

"So...I tracked him."

Bruce whipped his head sharply at Tim, angry. He opened his mouth to speak but remembered their agreement: Tim would talk, and he would listen. Tim himself was looking at him, head cocked to the side- Jason's influence, most likely. He gritted his teeth and gave a short nod to Tim, prompting him to continue.

"I tracked him for weeks. Everywhere I could think of, the locations we'd seen him last; safehouses, cartels, dockside, bars - everything. I didn't get anything, not a single thing. It was by chance one night when I was wrapping up patrol, just making my way down a fire escape hatch in a back alley when I saw him, Bruce, across the street. It would have been too dark for him to see me, but it was definitely him: same build, same jeans, chain smoking - the light outside the bar he went into helped illuminate everything. I watched him toss his helmet on his motorbike before he went in, and I knew it then - that was my chance, my golden opportunity. As soon as he went in, I placed a couple of trackers on his helmet and at various points on the bike."

Bruce looked like he wanted to kill him, but Tim soldiered on.

"I tracked him for a few more weeks, trying to establish a pattern. He didn't really have any. He went to a different bar almost every night, though he didn't leave with anyone. He slept in safehouses all over town, though Crime Alley was the most common. Didn't have any friends, no contacts. Hardly went out during the day. I still wanted answers, so... no interruptions, remember...one night, I broke into one of his safehouses and waited.

Bruce looked about to burst. Tim was in real trouble and he knew it.

"I had a few materials on me and I just waited. I had calculated the statistical probability of him returning to the safehouse I'd chosen - twenty-three percent, not much, but it was still higher than the other places, so I took it. I waited for hours, until eventually I heard the sound of the fire escape being used and a window opening. It was him." Tim looked away, smiling at the memory, at the shock of Jason's face. He loved teasing Jason about it, and Jason let him.

"The shock on his face, Bruce, I swear-" Tim broke off, laughing quietly. Bruce, despite being absolutely furious at his son's apparent lack of care for his own life, had to chuckle. It was hard not to laugh at the thought of tiny Tim, waiting in a dark apartment, and the look on Jason's face. Both Waynes chuckled, and the room turned comfortable.

"Jason stared for ages, so long I thought he was a statue, frozen in time. Eventually he moved though, but listen to this Bruce - he didn't say anything. Didn't shout, didn't scream, didn't point his gun, nothing, but I bet half of Alfred's sweet potato he wanted to." Tim was grinning now, and Bruce could not keep his face still. "He actually sighed Bruce, I swear it, all dramatic and shit, and went into his room to change. By the time he re-entered the living room, he'd showered and put on fresh clothes. You won't believe this bit, but I swear it, I swear - he came and sat next to me on the couch - I'd set up two bowls of popcorn and Shawshank redemption on my laptop. Nothing wrong with a classic, right? I took a bowl and pressed play - I was curious to see what he'd do. Bruce...he..he sat still for a moment, I think he was still in disbelief, but he took the other bowl and watched the movie with me."

Bruce gaped at his son. No way. Not possible.

Tim read his father's expression and laughed.

"No lies, I swear Bruce. I kept looking at him for a while to see how he was enjoying the movie but not once did he look back at me! He was so invested in the movie, and I couldn't find it in me to disturb him. I was kinda tired from waiting for so long so I fell asleep."

Bruce stared wide eyed at his son. Tim had broken into the house of a madman, sat and ate with the madman, and fell asleep in the house of said madman. Yes, Tim was dead meat. Bruce just had to come up with a suitable punishment. Tim continued as if he'd seen nothing on Bruce's face.

"In the morning I woke up to find a comforter on me. I think it was his. I could see into his room from where I sat, and he was sleeping. Snoring even. So I left the laptop and the movie there and went home. Later that evening, I tried turning on my tracking device to locate his movements but there was nothing. He'd found them. I went to the safehouse and it was empty. But, on the floor in the middle of the room was a little white card, and on it was written "Shit movie, better luck next time."

Both men laughed loudly at that. That was Jason, alright.

They quietened again, before Tim spoke. Bruce sat back down and helped himself to one of Tim's sandwiches, ignoring the boy's scowling.

"It went on like that for a while. I would try to catch sight of Jason - I extended my patrol route to include a little of his, sorry." Tim winced at Bruce's glare. "Eventually, I would find him and track him, and after a few days, I'd enter the safehouse I thought he'd most likely be in. If I was right, I'd catch him entering the safehouse through the window or the fire escape and we'd watch a movie and eat. Popcorn, then we started ordering pizza. On one or two occasions, I'd find Jason had actually coooked in advanced - man, the guy can really cook. Sometimes I'd find one or two DVD cases already on the table whenever I broke into his safehouses - he was giving me suggestions. But we never spoke during these times, not to each other. We laughed, sure, but that was it. If it was the wrong safehouse, and I was wrong a few times, then I'd find a small white card on my patrol route, usually the next day, with the words "Better luck next time, shorty" on it."

They smiled at that.

"It carried on like that for a long while. One night was different though- I guess Jason finally wanted to know why I was doing all this. So, as the usual routine - I break in and wait, he comes in later, showers, sits down on the couch, and we watch a movie and eat. But as I reach over to press play, Jason spoke. One question, one word."

Bruce knew it already.

"Why. That was all he said. He wanted to know why. And for a few seconds, I..I was speechless. I didn't know what to say. Why was I doing this, Bruce? A guy who tried to kill me, Damian, you? A man who'd spent months causing all sorts of problems, making life difficult with the GCPD, and here I was, sat in his dingy safehouse, about to eat with the guy, watch a movie with the guy?" Tim paused here. Bruce looked at him. Tim looked lost in his thoughts. It was indeed troubling.

"But do you know the worst part, Bruce? It wasn't so much why I was there, no. It was why I felt comfortable, Bruce. Why did I feel pretty damn comfortable, relaxed even, with a guy like Jason? I barely knew anything about the guy. He still killed criminals in cold blood. Nothing about him changed when I came on the scene, he didn't suddenly "alter" his ways to protect my innocence, you know - and yet, he here was, sharing his food with me. His space. We were spending time, his private time together, and not once had he complained, or pushed me away. And yet, we had never spoken up until that moment, we barely looked at each other". Tim gazed at the fireplace, his voice low.

Bruce felt lost. He didn't know how to answer Tim's questions. He had noticed Tim gradually slipping out of the picture, but when had it come to this? That his own son felt more comfortable around not only a stranger, but a murderer. He didn't know what to say.

"So, after a while, I answered him. I told Jason that honestly, I didn't know. Anyone with half a brain would think the whole arrangement complete idiocy, yet it felt...comfortable. Right, you could say. I told him I didn't know why, but, for some reason, it was the best fun I'd had in a long, long time.". Tim paused. Bruce sat still. He wanted to hear Jason's response.

"Jason said nothing. He looked at me for what seemed like ages. Then he nodded, just once, and pressed play on the laptop." Tim was shaking his head now. "I was so confused, Bruce - I was starting to think that maybe it had all been a mistake - but why did he continue the movie? As I sat there debating, worrying, Jason spoke. He actually spoke! He told me to "watch the movie, pipsqueak, or we'll watch one of mine instead", and Bruce, I gotta tell ya, Jay's got shit taste. It's not his fault though."

Bruce sat, shocked.

"After that, it was like a dam had broken. We spoke little, not a lot, just movie quotes, snarky commentaries, but it was something. Eventually, we were having short conversations. Nothing too deep. Nothing to do with Batman, Robin, Wayne, you - de nada. Just movies. I didn't push about what had happened to him, or what he did outside patrol time, nothing personal like that, and he didn't ask me anything about how I came to be Red Robin, or any of you guys. Time passed and now we were progressing to have small dinners, not takeout anymore. Sometimes he wasn't in the mood to watch a movie, so I'd plug in my headphones instead, and he'd be right next to me, reading a book.

"The more time we spent together, the more I learnt about him. Jay constantly had bags under his eyes. I realised why we only met a few days apart each time: he didn't sleep at night, and the cumulative effects would eventually result in him passing out, around day five or six, where he'd sleep for more than twenty-four hours all in one go. Only then would he prepare stuff for us to watch when I came over. Jason never mentioned it, but he knew I watched him, and I think the reason he never called me out on it was because I respected his privacy. I didn't demand, or push - it was obvious that guy was trying. He made sure that we only spent time together when he was refreshed and in a more stable mood. Bruce, the fact that Jay would go to such lengths told me that a. He enjoyed the company - its not easy to live when you've been declared dead by the state, b. There was more to him that met the eye - he couldn't just be a crazy, murdering loon and c. Batman, Robin, - he wasn't interested in that, and I don't think that has ever been the case."

Tim turned to Bruce now, eyes sharp.

"Alfred told you about how Jay had woken up in his coffin, screaming for you, right?"

That threw Bruce. He opened his mouth to speak, but nodded. His throat felt tight.

"Jason didn't call for Batman, he never once did. He called for Bruce. Whenever he attacked us, he would call us by our actual names- yes, it pissed you off, using names in the field, but it was also this: Jason didn't want to deal with Batman, Nightwing, even Robin. He wanted to rile Bruce, get across to Dick, anger me, annoy Damian. But you,-you never understood, Bruce. You kept showing up as Batman when all he wanted was Bruce."

Tim shook his head and turned to the cushion beside him. He picked at it absently.

Bruce, on the other hand, was having trouble remaining focused. Had he misunderstood Jason this entire time? He thought back. Jason had always said "Batman" in such a hateful tone, but whenever he called "Bruce", he screamed it. Bruce. Jason had always been too emotional, temperamental - how had he not picked up on this?

Tim continued speaking, still picking at the cushion.

"I don't blame you, Bruce. Sure I'm angry at you, and I haven't forgiven Jay for all he's done. He was such a... a mess, and he made our lives a misery, but the reason he eventually stopped attacking us, getting our attention, lashing out at you - he'd given up, Bruce. He gave up because you gave up on him. We remained in contact though, even after he showed up less and less on our radar. On rare occasions, we patrolled together, and you know what? Jason's smarter than you give him credit for. That brash, on the feet thinking - that's all a front. I studied him Bruce. He's got both: brains and brawn. Sure, we worked on a few cases together; I did most of the heavy lifting. But he always left me shocked by the amount forethought he displayed. Jason seemed to know what I was thinking even before hand, which made me realise something important, Bruce. All that he did in the first year of his return - disrupting the drug trade, starting war with Black Mask - that was all child's play, Bruce, and I don't think you realise how badly you've, no, we've all underestimated him. 'Cause I watched, and I studied the man - if Jason truly wanted, he could have the entire drug world of Gotham up and running under his command within a week. He's that good, Bruce. Real unpredictable."

Bruce was lost for words.

"So back to it: we grew closer. Helped each other. Watched out for each other. Gradually bit by bit, he opened up to me. Nothing major. Just things he liked - he didn't know much, he'd spent a year brain dead, and another few years with the League, but I introduced him to a few things. Youtube. Music. Movies: classics, then the modern. He loved the classics - shawshank was a particular favourite, as was one flew over the cuckoo's nest, 12 angry men, but some of the modern stuff really blew him away. The notebook had Jay bawling like a newborn babe; even when he telling me to shut up, his eyes were streaming. He later claimed that someone had left onions all the the apartment. Zootopia was a pretty good hit with the guy; he quotes that movie like nothing I've ever seen before."

Both men chuckled.

"I helped him adjust to life, and the more we hung out, the less he focused on the killing. Revenge, all that jazz. The biggest change came when Joker was finally killed. I swear, it was like seeing a whole new person, Bruce."

They were quiet at that. The day the news came that the Joker had died made worldwide television. Apparently the bastard had died, of all things, from slipping in the bathtub and striking his temple against the corner of the basin sink. The madman had bled out in minutes, pathetic by all standards,; by the time the paramedics arrived, he'd been long dead, and the citizens of Gotham held an crime free day in celebration. Normally Jason was the one who gave Tim the go-ahead to visit, but that day, Tim had rushed from the Manor over to the safehouse he'd seen Jason last. He met a broken shell of a man, sprawled in front of the laptop they used to watch movies, crying. Tim had said nothing; he'd moved without a single word over to his brother, holding him, just letting the man weep. Eventually, the cries stopped, and they'd sat there, watching news cycle after news cycle. Tim didn't leave Jason for that entire day. Dick had called to know his whereabouts, but Tim had disconnected all tracking devices. Jason was the priority. Jason came out of the shower, and Tim was left blown for words at the change. The man no longer stooped - he walked from the bathroom a little taller now. His eyes, though puffy, looked calm for once, and Jason had smiled - smiled! at him, before offering him breakfast. Tim didn't need to ask if his brother was alright, he didn't have to. That day was a real turning point in their relationship, and Tim had wished more than anything, that Jason had been given help when he first arrived in Gotham. They'd all been so focused on stopping him that they had neglected to think about the why - the why of all this.

Tim carried on. "We stayed in touch even after he left Gotham for a while to go abroad - I think he reasoned that he'd give you one more chance, Bruce. Of course, I can't exempt him from blame for killing all those people: Russia, Dubai, South Sudan, Mexico, Chile...- I won't excuse his actions at all, and I believe the League was right to track him, I told him that. But when you called off the warrant for his arrest, and called him an "attention seeking child"...Bruce, you drove the nail in the coffin, so to speak. It was that confirmation that said it all: that to you, Jason was long gone. He did give up before, but I think a small part of him held out, in hope, but after that League press briefing, he was done. He left Gotham, for good - and no, I won't tell you where he lives, don't even think about asking, and never left back. Nor can I tell you what he's been up to for real over the past two years, he won't even tell me fully."

Bruce was cold inside. He was still angry, hurt, but a growing part of him felt guilty. He wanted to suppress it; he tried to out-reason it, but it didn't work. He still believed Jason Todd, the boy he once considered his son, was dead, but, listening to Tim, he realised he may have been too..narrow minded in his assessment.

"So that's where we are at the moment. I've given you the shortened version, really. There is still much you don't know, others..involved, and that's for Jason to discuss, not me. As for Jay's travels to Xan and Gol - again, that his secret."

Tim paused. The League of Assassins, Talia, Damian, Alfred, the Ghosts, multi-verse travel - yeah, Bruce didn't know shit. Tim had also made sure Jason knew of this little "talk" beforehand, and they had gone over the things Tim would talk about, and the many, many things they'd keep between themselves. Tim was certain he himself didn't even know up to half of all the shit in Jason's life. He didn't push though. If Jason wanted him to know, he'd know.

"What you need to know is this, Bruce. Firstly, I love you. I love this family, even the little demon of a child, and heaven help those who decide to mess with us. But I also love Jason - he's my brother, and whether you consider him dead, or lost - whatever, he was the Robin I grew up admiring, not Dick. Don't make me choose, because I'll never forgive you if you do. Secondly, I will keep seeing Jason. Its's good for him, and it's good for me too. I haven't felt....part of "us" for a while now, and there's a lot of things that could have been handled better. I don't want to hold grudges, but you've got to understand Bruce - and you can tell this to Dick too - things won't magically improve overnight. They didn't happen all of a sudden either. It will take time to feel like I..belong, that I'm not a "pretender"..tha-that, I've not been left to the side."

Tim paused. His eyes were filling up with tears. How embarrassing, in front of Bruce, of all people.

Bruce moved closer to his son and pulled him towards his chest. Tim wiped the traitorous tears away, catching his breath before speaking again.

"I don't blame Dick, not for everything. Hell, as much as I hate your kid, its not all his fault. He didn't exactly grow up with all roses and shit, and I wasn't exactly the most welcoming either, but God, Bruce..I don't know. I need...space, I need time. Forcing me to be here will make me resent you. I'll end up hating you, hating the brat, and turn bitter towards Dick - I don't want that, and I'm sure Dick at least wouldn't. What I'm saying is, Bruce.. I-"

Tim let out a sob against his father's chest. One sob. Another sob. And then he was crying. The pain, the betrayal, the loneliness he'd felt within his own family, the outsider - Damian liked to call him that- it was all coming out now. How could Dick replace him, with Damian for crying out loud? A spoilt, rude, arrogant, horror of a shit - seeing them talking together, training together, going out to the park - it made Tim sick, and he hated the younger boy all the more. If not for Jason, Tim realised - if not for Jay, finding someone who "got" him, someone who appreciated him, made him feel at least human, wanted - Tim had a feeling he might have attempted suicide. He hadn't known how severe his depression had become when Jason, oh, the irony- Jason had sat him down and made him spill, everything. Jason was the one who had checked up on him constantly, even in the early stages of their relationship. It had been Jason who'd taken the extra effort to find out some of his favourite dishes and store the ingredients in a few of his safehouses, as crappy as they were. Jason was the one who made sure he slept well, ate well, who would act as a sounding board for his rants when Damian had really worked him up. None of the Bats knew just how deeply Jason and Tim relied on each other.

Eventually, Tim' sobs subsided.

"You don't have to like him, Bruce. In fact, if you really want, you don't even have to be in the same room with him. But Jason is the best the League has for now - he's smart, highly skilled, far more intelligent than you or anyone else give him credit for, and has the resources to help you guys out of your mess. But-"

Tim sat up now, wiping his eyes dry. His red nose reminded Bruce of a little baby reindeer.

"If you drive him away Bruce - if, for any reason, you make it so bad for him that he leaves, and I lose contact with him, I swear on my own dead parent's graves- I'll never forgive you. After everything I've told you tonight, you can't be that emotionally constipated to work out how much we've helped each other. Jason has many a time been the only thing from stopping me from taking more..permanent solutions against myself."

Tim felt his father still against him.

"I'm warning you, and I hope you drill it into Dick's skull. I'm not asking you to bend over backwards for Jason, but just..allow the man to do his job, and when he's finished, let him walk away. If he wants to reach out to you, he knows where to find you. Jason has come too far to let down by you, by the rest of you, again, and I won't stand it."

Tim's voice was cold, strong. Bruce listened intently to every word.

"I lose him, Bruce, you lose me."

The final nail in the coffin.

Bruce stared back at Tim, who looked back at him, defiant. He searched his son's face - Tim was not joking. He nodded in acknowledgement; if he had to play ball with Jason in order to keep his son, and keep him happy, then Bruce would do it, no matter how humiliating it would be.

They were silent now, Tim resuming his position against his father's chest, listening to the strong heartbeat.

Bruce placed his chin on his second born, speaking quietly.

"I've heard you Tim. Thank you for coming here tonight and speaking to me. It must have been difficult for you, I can see that now, and I'm so sorry. So very, very sorry, my son, that it has taken me this long to sit down with you and hear you. I...I cannot imagine how you must feel, and, knowing how alike we are...words are not enough. As you've said, things can't be healed overnight....it didn't happen yesterday and it won't be solved by tomorrow, but I swear to you, Tim - on the lives of Thomas and Martha Wayne, my parents, your grandparents - you are a part of this family. Come hell and high water, no matter what it takes, even if I have to spend all my life convincing you of this fact, I will. That you felt so alone even within your family.... it kills me Tim. It's not right. I swear to you, your place is here, you are my son, and nothing can change that."

Bruce spoke softly, holding the boy even tighter as he cried. Bruce closed his eyes and rocked the boy, using his thumb to dry Tim's eyes. He swallowed, and tried to speak, voice cracking.

"Jason...I, I have made many mistakes with him. I am hurt, angry, but tonight, hearing what you've said - I realise that there was much I should have done and I didn't. I don't even know where to go from here, if I'm honest, but I've heard you Tim. I will respect both yours and his decisions - I will do my best to be civil towards Jason. I can't promise that I won't get angry, or even that we won't come to blows, but I can tell you this: if Jason being in your life has helped you this much, and if it means you being alive, my boy, then I will be cordial to him, regardless of what happens between us. Is that acceptable to you?"

Bruce looked down at his son. Tim looked up, and nodded, before placing his head back on Bruce's chest. It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough for now.

 

 

In the next room, Dick had sat glued to the wall. He'd sent Damian off to bed a few hours earlier, and had crept down to listen in on their conversation. He didn't know how else to reach Tim, his younger brother, and if he were able to gleam anything tonight that could help him, so be it. He'd joined them just as Tim started relaying how him and Jason had kept in contact. On hearing his younger brother's cries, his admission of near suicide, Dick had sunk against the back of the wall, tears streaming down his own face. How had he missed this? How did it come to this - that his Tim, young, sweet, kind, hard-working Tim, the one who went the extra mile without expecting thanks - how had he managed to lose him, and to Jason of all people? Dick knew that there had been a growing distance between them but like many things, he'd underestimated it. He'd used excuse after excuse as to why Tim shied away from Patrol with them, or excused going out with him - "Oh, maybe he's tired" "Tim's just working too hard" "He might just need a break". The list went on. Dick sat back now and thought - it was no secret that Damian hated Tim, and vice versa. Dick and Bruce had been more hard on Tim as the older brother; rarely had they told Damian off for the awful things he said about Tim, to Tim. Damian hadn't just said it - he'd shown his hatred clearly: attempting to stab Tim in the eye as he slept, rat poison in his coffee, oil lining Tim's bathtub, deliberately disobeying Tim's orders on the rare occasion they did go out together, deleting important presentations right before board meetings at WE - and many instances more. The attacks has lessened now, but they weren't easy to forget.

Dick didn't know what to do. If he approached Tim and confronted him about some of what he'd heard tonight, Tim would lose his shit. Probably never come back, Dick thought. He could see why Tim hadn't wanted himself nor Damian to hear him tonight. At the same time, if Dick chose to keep quiet, and pretend that everything was a-ok, which it wasn't, then nothing would change. Tim would remain feeling like an outsider.

Dick was desperate now. Tim didn't want to talk to him, and from the way Bruce spoke, it was likely Bruce would refuse to tell him what he and Tim had spoken about. Alfred would never. Dick racked his brain; his brother had a couple of friends, many more acquaintances, but who was close? Anyone? Who did Tim tell-oh.

Jason.

Jason would know, of course.

The Red Hood, a murderous, trigger happy loon, was now his precious younger brother's confidant. Even before Dick had sat in and listened, he knew - he hadn't forgotten their little "performance" at the watchtower last week. No. That madman could not be allowed to come near Tim any more- who knew how he would use Tim's personal information against him? Against the family, even?

No. Dick had made up his mind. Tim, in his lonely state, may not have realised it, but Dick saw Jason for who he really was: an opportunistic parasite, and he'd be damned to lose his brother to that man.

Dick stood up, wiping his face dry, and headed up to own room.

He would speak to Jason.

He was getting Tim back.


	8. A costly mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason pushes himself to meet the IGC's deadline. Dick decides to pay him a little "visit".

Over the next few days, Jason worked steadily. His days started earlier, and rarely was he leaving before midnight, all the attempt to get through the mountain of paperwork sitting in the conference rooms. Jason had dutifully avoided the library since that Night; the name he'd given to the night he'd come face to face with the boy scout himself, and he was not keen on a second round. In fact, now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen Superman around at all, which was kinda weird. Jason hardly ever saw the other members of the League; just the other day he'd met the Flash in the hall on his way home. For once, the man was actually walking, and as they had passed, he'd thrown Jason a small smile and a nod, before speeding off. Jason had looked back at him, perplexed. What was that about? He stood for a moment longer before making his way down to the Portabay.

Jason closed his eyes as he stood on the transmission platform, swaying. He was exhausted. Every waking moment had been spent reading, highlighting, making notes - at one point, the information just refused to go in, and he'd resorted to drawing spider-diagrams on the whiteboards he'd requested. Speaking of requests, Hawkgirl had delivered a taller chair for him, which worked wonders for his neck and subsequently, his concentration. The work wasn't physically demanding, no - Jason had been in missions far worse, in awful conditions, but it was the monotony of the situation, spending hours upon hours just reading, that wore him out. The League, for once, had done what he'd asked and brought in Greg, a supposedly top of the range lawyer specialising in contract law.

Greg had arrived early on Wednesday; a small, receding man with round glasses and a badly fitted suit. Jason felt a surge of irritation when he'd first met the man, but as it turned out, the two got on well. Greg had been a fantastic help; he'd sat diligently with Jason and went through each document pertaining to the IGC's ruling. It had taken an entire day and Jason, in frustration, had looked out the window several times, wondering why he'd agreed to help in the first place. But by the early hours of Thursday morning, the two had finished and Jason had bent down and hugged the man, tightly. He could have wept for joy right there and then, but remembering himself, he straightened up, shook Greg warmly by the hand, and led him to the exit. Approaching the end of the week, Jason felt like setting the whole damn room on fire; he'd be happy if he never read another book ever again. Well, not ever again, but for a good ten years at least.

And now it was Thursday, one twenty in the afternoon. Jason had planned an early finish for the day; by six, he hoped to complete his study of the list of materials available to the League. There were a few items that Jason thought might benefit them, including an Urqu, a special type of energy converter Jason had picked up on one of his multi-verse travels, and Limpra, a unique material native to Limpopo, of the planet Annatto, that would provide an extra layer of filtration against harmful radiation. The material was designed to adhere tightly onto a surface, so would fit onto the wearer like a second skin. Breathable, extremely light - it would work well under League's own uniform. Jason had a couple of suits commissioned from the material should the League require them. No, Jason reasoned - this wasn't for them; it was part of the work he'd agreed to do. He didn't have to like a person, or contact, or lead, to get a job done. His work with the Ghosts had taught him that. A job was a reflection of your work, and Jason would make sure he did an outstanding job, a job so well done that the League would always be reminded that the Hood, the Red Hood, saved their assess when no-one else could.

Jason was jotting down a few notes when he heard a knock at the door. Not bothering to look up, he shouted "Come in" - he hoped get rid of the person quickly. Now that Jason was engrossed in the reading, he disliked being disturbed. The door opened as Jason looked up with a loud sigh, snappy tone at the ready. His mouth opened and once again, Jason Todd was left speechless at the sight of Wonder Woman. Diana smiled at him warmly, as if it were every day Princess of the Amazons paid a visit to a man like him. Jason felt annoyed. Why did she still have this effect on him? Sure, Wonder Woman had once ago been his hero, but now he was a grown ass man - in fact, he was taller than her! Jason let his annoyance bleed into his tone. He kept his face neutral as he looked at- crap. He wasn't wearing his glasses. It would be harder to conceal his emotions without a front. Jason cursed inside.

"Can I help you?" Jason's tone was a little biting.

Wonder Woman smiled at him, even bigger than before. Damnit, Jason thought. She could see right through him and they both knew it.

"It is good to see you, Jason. I'm sorry I wasn't available to welcome you to the watch-tower."

Diana walked towards the table, hands clasped behind her back. She surveyed the documents before moving over to the opposite end of the room, looking at the sheets of paper Jason had pinned to the wall, and the illustrations on the whiteboards. Jason couldn't help but watch Diana - her presence could command a room. He tried to focus on the work in front of him but it was no use, Diana was too distracting. Jason found himself growing pissed. Of all the people who could leave him so...unsettled, unsure of himself, why did it have to her? He gritted his teeth and tapped his pen repeatedly on the desk, wanting to her to get the message. Diana on her part, seemed to relax even more. She took her time, reading, hmming her approval, nodding even, and Jason could feel his irritation growing.

Diana abruptly made her way towards him, looking at the documents on his right hand side. Jason stubbornly refused to look at her, instead staring at the bland wall in front of him. Her shadow towered over him and his work, and he caught a whiff of her perfume. Jason froze. It was the same one, all those years ago, the one that had lingered on his tux, despite several cycles of dry cleaning. Peaches, cream and roses, a combination only found in heaven. Tears sprang to Jason's eyes and he looked away from her, staring at the door. He could feel her eyes on him, gazing in that...way she always used to do, and it made him sick with guilt. Jason couldn't stand it. He hadn't quite forgotten Diana during his time as the Red Hood. He'd deliberately kept out of sight, thinking it likely she would search for him, and Jason refused to let that happen. He couldn't soil her memory of him with all the atrocities he'd committed as the Hood, despite being proud of his work. Diana wouldn't agree; she'd be disappointed, her tone would get all soft, and her eyes would go round with worry. Jason kept his head fixed on the door now. He wanted to run, to move - anything, but he found himself glued to the spot. Jason didn't want to go down this lane, he couldn't, but a part of him, a stupidly growing part, wanted to reconnect with the woman he'd called Mother.

Diana, on her part, simply watched her son. She was well aware of the effect she had on him, but knew that trying to reach him too soon would push him away. Even now, as Jason sat, light blue shirt, grey trousers, Diana could see the tension in his posture. The grip on his pen was too tight; the ink had already begun leaking onto the sheet. She traced his jawline with her eyes; clenched - he was not happy to see her. Diana dared to move a little closer, and the boy seemed to morph into rock - eerily still, as if moulded with the passage of time. Diana stopped where she was; she knew she was too close to him, enough to see the mass of curls on his head. If she leaned further, she would be able to see the curve of his nose and the freckles that decorated it. Jason, her boy, had grown into a fine young man, and despite all the news she had kept hearing about him, her heart was glad that the boy was alive and well. Diana spoke softly, and bit back her laughter at the small jump Jason tried to quickly conceal.

"It is truly good to see you, Jason. I tried to look for you, but it was clear you needed some time alone."

Jason dipped his head now. They both knew that was a straight up lie. Jason had hidden himself from her, pure and simple.

Diana watch Jason shrink into himself. From where she stood, she could see the ends of his eyelashes - Jason's eyes were closed, firmly. He was hurt, but Diana needed him to know that she had tried.

"It would be nice to talk to you, just the two of us. I realise this is a lot to ask for, but please, Jason, will you consider it? Afternoon tea one day, perhaps?"

Diana waited, holding her breath. Their relationship, if there was still one, would be determined by Jason's answer, right here, right now. Diana did not want to imagine the crushing disappointment she'd feel if he refused her request.

Jason stilled. Could he deny Diana? She was Wonder Woman, the woman he'd looked up to, adoringly, the one he'd called Mother for the first time, one afternoon several years ago. He still remembered the heat his cheeks radiated as he'd realised his mistake. Jason had turned away, unable to bear the shame of her correction, her denial - who would want him as a son? But Diana did no such thing. She'd gasped at the term, before lifting his face to hers. Her blue eyes were lighter than usual, and she kept blinking. Jason would memorize that slow upturn of her smile for all eternity, the way it seemed to enroach across her face, and Jason had been startled by the way Diana had pulled him to her chest, hugging him so tightly he felt himself going faint. Diana had let him go then, apologising as he took hungry breaths of air. But Jason had recovered quickly, and hugged her back just as tightly. Neither knew how long they had remained in that embrace.

And now Diana was here, asking to once again be a part of his life.

Jason struggled to decide. He had improved immensely over the last two years, by himself, with Alfred and Tim, with work - could he afford to let someone else in? Diana was lovely, but she was also League, and close to Bruce. If it came down to him or the Batman, who would she choose? He pondered over her request. Talk, just the two of them. How much did she want to know? Who would she tell? He had trusted her with all his being as a young boy, but Jason was no boy, and he was no longer the attention starved child Diana had chosen to love. He had to be smart about this.

But Diana. That day, meeting the League for the first time, seeing her - it stirred up memories he thought buried and forgotten long ago. Jason didn't know what to do. He put his head in his hands, trying to think. This was not a matter of logic, or reason, he concluded. This was of the heart, and Jason didn't think he could live with himself if he didn't at least try. For Diana? Yes, he would try.

Diana was still waiting, silently, for his answer. She hadn't moved from beside him.

Jason lifted his head and looked at the ceiling, sighing, shaking his head slightly. Already, at the corner of his eye, he saw Diana beginning to smile. She probably knew he would say yes, Jason thought. Too damn gullible for his own good.

"Al-alright, fine. Just us. No-one else. Not...not now. When I've finished with you guys, when this is all over, then..maybe, yeah. Afternoon tea."

Jason didn't want to look at her but he did, and what he saw made him look away, blushing. Diana looked too happy, eyes sparkling, and it left him uneasy with guilt.

"Just you. I mean it. I..its not easy, I don't allow just anyone in, Diana. If for any reason I suspect anything...I won't like it, but I will shut you out."

Jason said this looking straight up at her, eyes hard. He was serious. Diana meant...a lot to him, but if her being around affected the progress he'd made over the last two years, then Jason would act swiftly - he was prepared to cut her off if necessary. It would be painful, difficult, but he would do it. He would never get over it, but it would be done all the same.

Diana's expression turned sad. She put one hand to his shoulder, then to his cheek. Jason stiffened slightly, but he allowed the contact.

"Thank you Jason." Such a simple statement, yet it held so much, and Jason knew Diana was telling the truth. She was aware of the opportunity he was giving her.

Jason nodded, not trusting his voice. Diana had leaned forward then and placed a small kiss on his temple before walking out. He closed his eyes once more and bowed his head. The memories were coming in too fast. He was losing control.

Jason would spend the next ten minutes wiping back tears before continuing his work.

 

 

It was now almost seven in the evening, and Jason was close to finishing. He'd stayed a little longer than planned, but it meant tomorrow he could start with reviewing the communication logs, and footage, a nice change from all the reading he'd been doing. Jason reminded himself to bring in some popcorn; there was no reason as to why he couldn't have a little fun at the League's expense. If he could finish the logs by the end of the week, it would leave next week free for him to collate his findings, present them to the League and come up with a plan of action, right before the deadline. The last push, Jason told himself, as he made his way through to the end of the pile. His wrist was tender from all the writing but he had no choice. Deciding for a little extra motivation, Jason dug into his sports bag and fished out his iPod, grinning to himself as Earth Wind and Fire's Fantasy started playing, another band Tim had introduced him to. That's more like it, Jason thought, as he continued reading, his head bobbing to the music.

 

 

Dick's week had been terribly long.

He'd spent the week-end at the Manor after Tim's visit, deep in thought. He'd sent a text message to his brother, one of those silly jokes off the back of his favourite cereal, Froot Loops, hoping for a response, but none came. Dick had checked his phone almost obsessively, to the point that Damian had kicked him of his room for not paying attention during their weekly Sunday-morning reading sessions in bed. Dick had thought about phoning Tim, all fake cheer and false smiles, but the cries of his brother played in the back of his mind, and the suggestion disappeared in an instant. Tim wouldn't appreciate the phone call, he reasoned. He was too much like Bruce; Tim would need time to settle himself after opening up so much. A part of Dick told him not to be silly, that now would be the perfect time to reach Tim; his walls were down. But that was the downside, wasn't it? Tim would know immediately that Dick had listened in; his brother was scary like that, and Dick would be shut out more than ever.

Bruce's advice was right. Though it pained Dick to admit, Tim was not the kind of person that could be swayed so completely by hugs and happy smiles. The boy would need time and space. They had been growing apart; Dick had known from the beginning, but he, like Bruce, felt torn between Tim and Damian. The desire to draw one brother resulted in the pushing out of the other. It seemed inevitable to Dick. What he had not accounted for, however, was how badly Tim would take the adjustment. Dick knew Tim to be one of the most understanding people he'd ever come across; he had assumed that Tim would understand, and had counted on his brother's cooperation in helping Damian. And there it was: Dick assumed. Dick assumed Tim would be okay. He assumed he would be fine. He assumed the nasty attacks by Damian, both verbal and physical, would roll off Tim like water on a duck.

But Dick had forgotten that words weren't just words; actions too mattered. Dick had noticed the silent resignation on Tim's face whenever the boy caught he and Damian spending time together. And with each occasion, Dick saw his brother slipping away more and more. In his desperation to hold the family together. Dick had let Tim slip through the cracks. The last time he'd spoken to Tim on the phone was almost five months ago. Five months! Dick had sat on his table that Saturday afternoon, lost in his thoughts. What kind of brother, no, person, behaved like that? He had scrolled through his messages: the last text message was three months ago, a "that's fine." from Tim, who he'd asked to look over a few reports whilst he'd taken Damian to the city's Arts and crafts market. Dick could have reviewed the reports later - then why had he given them to Tim?

Dick went to speak to Alfred, but the man had looked at him, sad. The smile was there, grandfatherly as usual, but it wasn't as warm as it used to be. Alfred obviously knew what had happened; Dick didn't understand why he was surprised. Alfred knew everything. "Give him time", that was all Alfred would say. But Dick didn't want to wait, not any more. He'd already let Tim drift away, foolishly, and Dick knew he was close to losing his brother. Tim, the little eight year old who'd followed him around devotedly, with his little camera, the one who lit up at the chance of spending time with his big brother, the laughs that would escaped the boy when Dick dared to tickle him - Dick closed his eyes. What had he done?

Bruce, through all this, had remained as silent as a rock. He had pointedly refused to tell Dick anything, even though they both knew Dick had overheard the conversation. Bruce had yet to lecture him on his disobedience, but it was obvious the man was displeased. Dick still remembered what Bruce had said that Friday evening- "If you can't understand why Tim needs to do this alone, then you aren't much of a brother". Man, that had hurt. It had sent Dick reeling; he'd rather Bruce had slapped him instead. But as Dick sat in his room, watching the sun go down, waiting for patrol, he knew deep down Bruce was right. His desire for Tim to open up to him was nothing more than selfishness on his part. Dick appraised himself: when was the last Tim he'd actually asked Tim what he wanted to do? It was always him, the dickhead, who would suggest an activity for the family to do - movie nights, for instance- and Tim would follow like an obedient puppy. Sure, Dick was keen to find out what Damian liked to do. The boy had been with them for over a year and already, Dick knew more about him than his own father. The younger boy loved to draw. He enjoyed reading, not as much as his art, and held a love for animals so deep it made Dick's heart burst with joy. But Tim? Dick drew a blank. Favourite movies? He didn't know. Alright, think Dick, he'd told himself - what does Tim like to listen to? His mind scrambled for answers, but none came. Food! Tim could out-eat everyone, eat for England even, but what was his favourite? Dick sat there, unable to answer, and the shame washed over him.

Dick had plucked at the hole in his sock. Yes, he had failed as an older brother to Tim. How was it that Tim had felt so alone, so unappreciated, that he'd sought out none other than Jason-fucking-Todd, of all people? Dick grew angry; Jason Todd, sleazeball, dirtbag, deranged son of a bitch - that's who Tim chose to turn to? Confided in, spent time with, even ate with? Dick shook his head. He couldn't believe it, honestly. He was certain that Tim had only reached out to Jason in desperation. Tim, the logical, sound Tim he knew would never even contemplate such a thing. Dick knew it; yes, Tim was not thinking clearly. All he had to do was make Tim see, to make him realise, and everything would be better again. Well, not back to normal, but Dick thought: if he could show Tim who Jason really was, then he could finally take back his place as older brother; Tim would draw close to him once more, and this time, he would never let go. Now all he had to do was get rid of Jason. Dick recalled the fights they'd had; Jason had been beaten more times than not, his emotion blinding him to reason. It had been easy to provoke him, his anger predictable. Dick was sure that despite Jason's new appearance, underneath it all, Jason was still the same. All bravado, weak follow-through. Dick felt the confidence growing within. He had beaten Jason before, many times. He would do it again.

Dick couldn't wait patrol and the weekend to end. On Sunday, after bidding his goodbyes, Dick drove the forty minute journey back to Bludhaven, home to his spacious but very messy two bedroom apartment. Tim had never spent the night at his place, and Damian had quickly claimed the guest room as his, filling it with paintings, art supplies, and pet food, though Dick didn't have pets. Dick scoffed down a bowl of cereal before turning in for the night, a plan in motion. He would to confront that prick, Jason. Dick had no idea where he lived; Tim probably knew, but there was no way the boy would tell him, and Hood hadn't been seen in Gotham for more than two years, safehouses all empty. Dick was aware Jason had been working at the watch-tower; apparently the man kept out of sight for most of the time. Dick checked his work schedule; he was rota'd for two night shifts on Monday and Tuesday, and he'd be free until Saturday, when he'd have to work a short shift. He would need to recover from Tuesday's night shift, so all day Wednesday was out of the question. Thursday. Dick scanned the calendar on his phone, looking for any appointments. Perfect. Thursday. He would confront Jason on Thursday.

 

 

Eight fifteen pm.

Jason was writing the final section of his notes. He felt relieved; that he'd been able to complete close to ten thousand pages worth of complex documents felt like sweet victory. Jason thought back to the pasta al fresco he had waiting at home. A few platefuls of that, salad, some wine...yes, Jason couldn't wait to go home. He'd achieved a lot that day, and was right on track to completing everything by Sunday evening. Jason sat finishing the very last paragraph his notes, ready to throw on his jacket and call it a night, when suddenly he felt a presence..a bit like someone staring at him. He looked up sharply, and there, at the entrance of the room, stood a lithe, stupid mass of black and blue. The blue caught his attention for a second, before he shifted his eyes to the owner of the giant babygro. Fierce blue eyes.

Nightwing.

Jason glanced at him up and down. Jaw taut, arms crossed, unsmiling, position braced for...a fight. Jason smiled, putting his pen down. His night just turned a whole lot more interesting.

There was silence for a while. Neither man said anything as they looked at each other. Nightwing had yet to enter the room, arms still crossed in what he thought looked menacing. Jason had to bite the insides of his cheeks to stop himself laughing. Shit, the guy was still standing there - he reminded Jason of one of those angry little toddlers on the verge of throwing a tantrum. Jason shifted in his chair. Don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh, he chanted in his head. But the more Nightwing stood there, like an angry rabbit, the worse it got, and Jason could stand it no more. He burst out laughing, the kind which emanates deep from the belly. He didn't know how long he laughed for, but the longer he did, the more Nightwing's eyes narrowed, and the funnier Jason found it. By now he was closing to falling out his chair, and tears leaked from his eyes. He just couldn't help the comparison. Fuck, now he's turning red, Jason thought. Looks like a bloody cabbage patch doll, and the thought set him off even more. Jason's face was red but he didn't care. He hadn't laughed like this in ages. Nightwing looked ready to murder him right where he sat. Uh-oh. Jason let his laughing gradually subside before straightening up, wiping his eyes. He still smiled though, wide and mocking, and held his hands together behind his head, leaning back on his chair.

"You leaguers sure do love to stare. First Superman, and now you? Nasty habit, I tell ya." Jason grinned. He was having way too much fun.

Nightwing moved then, furious. This wasn't how he'd planned it. Jason didn't look nervous- he wasn't expecting this, at all. It was humiliating.

Jason moved one hand from behind his head and held out his hand in a 'stop' sign. Nightwing, the dipshit, actually paused mid stance. Jason smirked. What a tool, he thought.

"Nuh-uh. Not in here. This ain't the movies, pretty boy." Jason drawled. "No way in hell are we kicking shit and messing up what's taken me almost five days to complete. If we're gonna do this, then we'll do it like grown ass men. Outside."

Jason stood up suddenly, without warning. Nightwing didn't expect that either - he'd forgotten just how tall Jason was now, several inches on him for sure, and Dick was forced to retreat backwards into the hallway. Jason followed him, almost casually, still with the shit-eating grin, hands in his pockets. Nightwing entered a nearby conference room; empty, and made his way in. Jason watched Dick. What kinda dickheaded fight is this, he thought, about to start laughing again. Jason said nothing though, eyes on Dick. Dick was an idiot but he was a Bat-trained idiot. Jason wasn't afraid - in fact, he was kinda excited. Jason had changed, a lot. The fights he'd had with the Bats all those years ago were an embarrassment to his memory. All that training: Bat training, League of Assassins, the All-Caste, for fuck's sake, not to mention his sick-ass street fighting skills he'd developed as a young boy - and he couldn't even take down a pansy like Dick? Jason shook his head at the memory. He'd been out of his mind when he fought the Bats; the Pit made him unstable, and his emotions had severely overridden every ounce of his costly training. Never again. Jason knew he was better, by miles. He'd had far more training, he was more disciplined, relied on his brain more, and had used his talent for unpredictability to his advantage. Jason looked at the man he'd once thought of as brother. Dick looked taken aback. Confused even. Jason smirked. The man was now realisiing that this fight wouldn't be like all the others, when Jason had been weak with rage. Nope. Not today.

Dick spoke.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?". Dick growled.

Jason stared at him - was-was that his best Batman impersonation? Well fuck me, Jason thought, better answer the man. Jason leaned against the wall, relaxed, and took one hand out to blow on his nails, appearing bored.

"Dunno what you mean." Jason answered flatly, stretching one hand in front of him, admiring his nails. Clean. First impressions always count.

Dick, on his end, was enraged at the way Jason appeared disinterested. Launching himself at the man, he curled his fist, prime, and aimed straight for Jason's jaw.

But Dick had underestimated Jason. Jason was more than prepared, far more than Dick had presumed. With a twist too impossible to be human, Jason used Dick's momentum to flip the man hard over his shoulder, flinging him straight against the wall. Dick was left stunned by the move. Ordinarily, being flung over an opponent's shoulders would give Dick enough strength to land solidly against them, putting them in a headlock and slamming them to the ground, WWE style. Dick found himself flying and he braced for impact, only colliding with a small thud. He got up, shaken, angry.

"You murdering, God-forsaken asshole. You attacked our family, nearly killed half of us, raised hell across the world, murdered all those people, carrying out your own brand of "justice", and now you're here, with the League?" Dick snarled. "You belong in Arkham, Blackgate! Bruce made a mistake taking you in, making you part of our family; he made a mistake giving you a second chance as the Hood -God, I hate you so much, we all do! And now I find out you've been hanging with my brother? Who the hell do you think you are?"

Jason smiled - so this was what Dick's little visit was all about. He wasn't surprised - Dick's shock in the Watch-tower meeting that day had been directed more towards seeing Jason and Tim, close, rather than Jason himself. Jason grinned, and Dick made to attack him again, but Jason was ready. Smacking a sharp elbow to the man's jaw. Jason tackled Dick to the ground, one hand on his neck, the other in a fist, casually decorating Dick's face.

"So that's what's got your panties in a twist huh? Me, the big bad, hanging out with your dear little Timmy, my oh my, how upsetting." Jason sang. A knuckle to the eye socket...oooof, black eye, no doubt, a fist to the nose - Jason smiled as he heard a slight snap, a few punches across the jaw. Jason took his time, making his mark on the prick's face. "Is that what's eating you up? The fact that evil Jason Todd, trigger-happy maniac, is best friends with darling Timothy? You didn't know? All this time? And I thought you were big brother Dick, you know, the Golden boy, mother hen, the glue that held everyone together? What happened, Dickface? How the hell did you slip up so badly? How did you let Timmy slip through your fingers, bro?"

By now, Jason's fist was slick with blood, and his shirt looked like one of those outrageously priced faux-pas art paintings, the ones that hipsters spewed bullshit about. He sprang up gracefully, dragging the poor fool by the neck and pinned him to the wall with his elbow.

Dick on the hand, was having trouble staying breathing. Slipping his hand behind him, he whipped out one of his stun batons and delivered a surprisingly good shock to Jason. Jason swore. He'd forgotten about those fuckers. Bending over, he gasped, breathing over the pain, and Nightwing used the opportunity to once again attack Jason.

"Tim doesn't need a parasite like you, using him! Stay the hell away from him! He doesn't need you, anything from you, not your help, not your food, or any of your shit, so stay the fuck away from him, and stay away from us!" Dick screamed, reigning blows on Jason.

But still, Dick hadn't learnt his lesson. Jason had trained with the League, with the All-Caste - what was a silly little baton gonna do him, he thought. Jason recovered, allowing Dick to blow off a little more steam, before he lashed out, striking Dick right in the neck.

Dick was all rage now, screaming unintelligibly, something about staying away from Tim or some other bullshit like that, Jason wasn't sure. But, damn, was he having fun. Jason blocked all of Dick's blows easily - this wasn't even training for him, it was a pre-warm up. The warm up before the warm up. This shit wasn't even his stretches. Jason yawned mid fight, ducking smoothly as Dick swung wildly to hit him. He missed his guns; one shot would put an end to all this this riverdancing. Jason, now bored, decided to show Dick a little bit of what he was capable of. Not too much of course; Jason couldn't have the Bats realising just how skilled he really was.

And so, for the next eight minutes, Jason wiped the solid shit out of Dick.

It was almost like ballet, Jason thought, as he flung Dick against walls, made playdoh of the man's abdomen, pummeled, bitch-slapped, throat punched, choke-slammed - nothing too severe, the man would still be able to move about as normal, but enough to serve as a warning. He stood back as Dick rose up to attack him, again and again. It was pathetic. By ten minutes, Jason had had enough. He was hungry. He brought his arm back a little and leveled a beautiful, right-handed hook across the bastard's face, sending him sprawling to the floor, dazed. Jason looked at Dick, close to losing consciousness. He bent down, flipping the man's hair aside and spoke quietly in his ear.

"Dickiebird, now that I finally have your attention, listen up. Tim..chose me. He chose to seek me out, not the other way round. Ask him if you want. You neglected him, pushed him away, in favour of Damian, and in his loneliness, he turned to a man so messed up he couldn't even tell right from left. But that was Tim's choice - it's still his choice, Dick. We've helped each other out more than you can count. He's been a friend, a help, a support, and more of a brother that you ever were. So I'll say this once; I don't like repeating myself: Leave me alone. I don't want anything to do with you, or the Bats. I'm here to do my job and that's it. As for Tim - well, its up to him as to how he spends his time, and with whom. You got a problem with that, you take it up with him, not me."

Jason paused, letting Dick turn his head meekly to look at him. Jason smiled, but it wasn't mocking this time. It was pity. Dick was clearly struggling with Tim, but that wasn't Jason's fault. Jason sat back now, cross legged, and spoke calmly.

"Whatever's happened between you and Tim is between you and Tim, not me. It took a while for you to realise something was wrong, I'm sure, and coming here tonight, attacking me, won't solve a damn thing. What you need is time and a whole lot of patience. You ain't gonna heal the gap overnight with stupid hugs and silly jokes. We're two very different people, Dick..and I think Tim needs us both. That's right, you heard me. I can't believe I'm saying this-" Jason broke off, shaking his head slightly. He looked to the ceiling for a moment, wondering how he'd ended up here, like this, giving Dick advice, before he spoke again. " You have a choice. Either we go down to Medics to get you checked out, now, or I put you on a one way portaticket to Gotham for Alfred to look you over." Jason stopped, looking to see if Dick was still listening. Dick's face was a mess, and the man held one hand to his ribs, but he made steady eye contact with Jason. Good. Still listening. "Your choice, Nightboy. What's it gonna be?"

Dick stared at Jason for a long, long time. Everything hurt, his face was sore, breathing in made him want to pass out, and his neck was sure to be bruised like hell tomorrow. Jason had given a hell of a beating, but it seemed as though he'd held back. It was embarrassing. Dick looked away, jaw clenched. "Alfred" he muttered.

Jason looked at him. "Alfred it is."

 

 

Jason took the more secluded route towards the south gate Portabay.

He'd linked Dick's arm over his shoulders as they moved slowly to the nearest transporter. Dick stared at the ground; every movement jarred against his ribs and it hurt like hell to breathe. Jason listened to him for a few moments before speaking, quietly. "Slow, deep breaths. Ice'em every four to six hours. Stuff a coupla pillows between you and your bed to avoid putting pressure on them when you sleep".

Dick had angled his head in his direction, surprised, but remained silent. Whether it was the pain, the humiliation, Jason didn't know, nor did he care, but Dick took his advice and began to breathe slowly. Defeat, Jason thought, is one of the best ways to humble a man.

They finally made it to the Portabay. No attendants, as Jason looked around. He turned aside as Dick keyed into the control panel the transmission codes for the Cave. Jason made to help Dick up to the platform but the ungrateful brat pushed him away. Fine by me, Jason thought, watching as Dick stood on the platform, head bowed, lurching to the side, clearly in pain.

As the light began to beam around Dick, Jason called for the man's attention.

"Dick." Dick lifted his head slightly but refused to meet his eyes. Jason carried on.

"Remember what I said. Not my fault, not gonna stop, time and patience."

Dick left his head angled, not acknowledging Jason's statement. He looked up just in time to see that Jason had already left the Portabay. Dick closed his eyes and waited to go home.

 

 

Jason made his way back to Ashbeck room, hands in pockets, thinking. He wondered what Dick would say - would he admit to starting the fight? Being beaten by him? He paused on the south east bridge for a moment, taking in the view of space. No, Jason decided. Dick had been humiliated this evening - he'd either keep the incident to himself, blaming a run in with a few thugs, pleading with Alfred to say nothing - Bruce and his brat would have left for patrol by now, or he'd tell Bruce, but force the man to keep quiet about it to the League. The first option was the most likely. Jason stood for a moment. The incident had probably been caught by the security cameras. Jason hadn't wanted to fight Dick, but he was glad it had happened sooner rather than later. He couldn't afford for any more distractions. If, in the worst case scenario, the League found out, they could either refuse to work with him any longer - which, judging by his work already, would not be easy for them to reject, or they would give him a warning, place him under more restrictions. Jason sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. Great, he cursed under his breath, just what he needed.

Collecting his belongs from the conference room, Jason made his way down to the west transporter bay on the far side of the building. His shirt was far from salvageable. The fight had been nothing more than a little exercise to him. The only thing Jason was worried about was Tim. He knew the boy would be upset, angry even. Jason being in his life did not automatically exclude Dick. Though he and Tim were close, Jason did not think he could bear to lose Tim over Dick of all people. He sighed, imagining his brother's reaction as he exited Knightsbridge centre, driving home. Would Tim forgive him? He knew Tim better than most of the Bats, he could wager on that, but Tim could be difficult, secretive when he wanted to, and could hold a grudge too long to be healthy.

Arriving home, Jason parked his car in the drive and turned the engine off. He sat for a few minutes, eyes closed. He had to tell Tim first. Their relationship with one of the few honest things he had in his life, and there was no way he'd give it up without a fight. Jason felt uneasy. If he waited til tomorrow to tell Tim, his brother would be pissed that he'd kept this from him. No, Jason decided. They had made it a point to be honest with each other and Jason was not about to break that trust.

Jason took a deep breath. Better now than later, he thought, as he called his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to add a little note to you guys. This chapter is important because it sets the groundwork for developing Jason's relationships with Diana and Dick. Diana loves Jason, but that doesn't mean she's willing to ignore everything he's done. Jason of course finds it difficult to hate Diana, but a large part of his distance from her is the fact that she is League. Any not just any League - a core founder, and part of the "trinity." 
> 
> I do love Dick, honestly, but as I explained a little in one of my comments, his willingness to overlook the negative, as well as his over-protection towards those he loves, means sometimes, he acts without thinking things through properly. He is very different to Batman in that respect, and its also why Dick can be at loggerheads with Bruce, and find it difficult to talk to Tim - Bruce and Tim are very alike. Dick has jumped head of himself. The issue isn't so much Tim turning to Jason, its why a. Tim felt as he did in the first place, b. felt unable to talk to anyone within the family, and therefore c. why he felt it necessary to turn to an outsider for help, and this will be explored a little bit more in the next chapter.
> 
> Jason is different. If you read chapter three, Tim notes that Jay is fantastic at reading peope. He reads them, studies them, interprets - that skill alone gives him a major advantage over most, including the Bats, who rely more on logic and deduction than anything else. And that is why this "fight" is as it is. It's short, not particularly high stakes - Jason already knows how it all plays out. He's better trained, and realises that this is more Dick taking out his frustration on him for being unable to reach out to Tim. Also, if any of you are wondering why Jason doesn't just finish Dick off, or why he's not taking real pleasure in all of this, despite his taunts, its this: Jason is not the same man as he was when he first arrived on the scene. He's been away for a few years now, in a much better place, and he sees things a little differently than before. As mentioned in the chapter, Jason doesn't want anything to do with the Bats, Tim excluded. He's done with them, and getting to fights just draws him back in. 
> 
> I completed this story last night, wondering whether if I'd made a mistake finishing with Jason being anxious, but, looking over at it, I don't think I have. It doesn't matter how Jason sees it, in the end. Tim will be hurt by it - just because he is having difficulties with Dick does not mean that he hates him, nor does it give Jason the right to take Dick's place in Tim's life. There is a lot of learning to be done from this incident, for both Dick and Jason. I hope you keep reading to find out!
> 
> xxx


	9. Caught in the middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim finds out about the fight between Jason and Dick. Bruce realises something about the Hood.

Tim was happy.

It was ten o'clock at night, and for once, he was in bed, snuggled warmly, with a large cup of cocoa, and a few of Alfred's infamous homemade cookies on the side. Tim was on his kindle, caught up with Harry's adventures in the Chamber of Secrets when his phone rang. Grumbling, he put down the book and looked at the caller. Jay. Tim softened. Apart from that Monday, Jason's first day, they had yet to spend any time with each other. Tim had been preoccupied with work; WE Japan had visited with the aim of launching the VFX 450, a cleaner fuel engine as part of their sustainable energy contract, one of their most forward thinking technologies, and the idea, whilst good, required a lot of ground work to assess its viability. Jason, on his end was, was swamped with paperwork. It was only Wednesday when Jason had called him, late in the afternoon, near tears over the boredom of the work. Tim had laughed until his sides hurt; Jason had whined and moaned, and it made for great comedy. Tim had to pity his brother; paper work was the most mind numbing activity on earth, and contract law was incredibly boring. He had promised his brother a first look at one of WE's upcoming gadget prototypes as a reward for doing so well. Jason was trying. Tim knew it wasn't easy for him to be around the League, having to be on his best behaviour, but it made Tim proud that his brother, so far, had been doing his work well without causing any trouble. Tim picked up his phone, smiling now, ready to praise Jason.

"Jay! How are you? Bit late isn't it?" Tim now rested against the boardrest, waiting for his brother's snarky retort. 

None came.

"Tim, hey..you okay?" Jason's voice sounded tired, weary even. Tim felt himself growing alert. He knew his brother had been pulling twelve hour plus days for the League and yet not one person had at least acknowledged the effort, yet alone to Jason's face. It was a real shame, and if they refused do it, Tim would.

"Jay, you're doing a great job. I know its not easy, but I'm damn proud of you, bro, for keeping your cool and working hard." It was the truth. Jason had kept out of sight, had been polite (mostly) and Tim had yet to hear anything bad about his brother. He hoped this little tidbit of praise would cheer Jason up. Jason didn't take the bait. Tim heard his brother sigh, and the long pause that followed had Tim sitting up straight, slightly worried.

"Jay? What's wrong? Has something happened?" The panic was leaking into Tim's voice.

"Timmy, calm down, its..well, something did happen, and...you won't like it. I'm telling you because I'm not gonna keep secrets from you like this." Jason's voice went from uncertain to firm. Tim was alert now, sleep distant from him. He was all ears. Whatever Jason had to say probably wasn't good, but the fact that Jason was telling him, openly, in the first place, was a sign of just how much the man had improved. Tim stilled himself to remain calm.

"Go ahead Jay."

Jason paused before continuing.

"Dick came to the watch-tower earlier."

Tim paused. What business did Dick have at the watch-tower? Dick had made it clear he was of the same opinion as Bruce in regards to Jason. Jason wasn't a son, or brother; not estranged, or misunderstood. There was no Jason, only the Red Hood, who in Dick's mind, belonged in either Arkham or Blackgate. So for what reason would Dick have in coming to the watch-tower? It certainly wasn't to see Jason, not to show concern for his wellbeing. Dick had accompanied Bruce to the watch-tower meeting when Tim had first arrived with Jason, but apart from that, Nightwing had no business with the League and the IGC. Judging by Jason's voice, his hesitancy, something had gone wrong, and Tim had a feeling he already knew why.

"I'm listening Jay."

"I didn't contact him, didn't reach out to him, nothing. All I knew was: one minute, I was working, close to finishing, in fact, and the next minute I look up, there he is, nature's mother hen, giving me the worst knock off Bat-glare I have ever seen in my whole damn life. Dick was just..there, Tim, just staring and shit, arms crossed, standing at the entrance of room, watching me work. Mate, I was so confused..I started laughing, it was just too weird."

Tim smiled thinly, imagining the scene. 

"Tim, he wanted confront me, at the very least. So I had us move to another room, no way was shit gonna go down after all the work I did. Dick started, Tim, asking me who the hell I thought I was. I really couldn't be asked, Tim, honestly...and then it all popped off. Clearly I wasn't responding as he expected and he didn't like it. Dick made the first move, and I let him. Threw him over my over my shoulder, not too hard, but enough to wake him up and make him think." Jason was speaking quietly now, and Tim, feeling his blood pressure rise, squeezed his temples in order to remain calm.

"Dick didn't take the bait. He really let everything out, throwing all the crap about me and Bruce and how I belonged in Arkham in my face, you know, the usual. But then Dick started screaming about what I was doing with you, bro." Jason paused here.

Tim had gone still.

"He wouldn't stop, Tim. Just kept screaming for me to stay away from you, that you didn't need my help, food, nothing, that I was somehow just using you. That kinda annoyed me, I won't lie. After all the shit we've been through, as if it was just a walk in the park, that...- I retaliated, just a little. A couple of quips to really get to him...I provoked him a little, but not just to get under his skin, no. It was obvious the dickhead needed to blow off some steam; I think he's pretty frustrated on why he's not getting across to you and I gave him an out. But I wasn't going to let him just walk all over me, Tim. The time for being beaten is over. So I showed off, just a little. Nowhere near full capacity, you get my drift. Nothing too serious, he'll be able to get out and about without too much trouble, but it was a warning." Jason could barely hear Tim's breathing over the phone. His brother was pissed as hell.

"In the end, I got bored. Hungry too. So I was honest with him, sat by him and told him the truth: that it was you who came to me, out of your own choice, your own volition, and not the other way round. At the time, you weren't even on my radar. I believed I had nothing, that I wasn't worth anything, but then you showed up and you just...wouldn't stay away. I told Dick that he could ask you if he didn't believe me. I laid out everything on the table - that he pushed you away in favour of Damian - I know that you wanted that kept between us, but its the damn truth, and Dick needed it drilled through his thick skull. I set the record straight: that you and me, we've supported and helped each other, watched out for one another, because that what real brothers do." Jay quietened for a moment. Still, Tim remained silent.

"I've said it before, and I hope these two years away have made it clear: I don't want anything to do with the Bats. I don't want to be part of the "fold", not to work with them, for them, assist them - I'm not getting myself dragged back into that mess again. It did a real number on me and I just-I just can't do it, Tim, you know that."

Tim understood. He believed his brother. Jason spoke again.

"You may not like this bit, but I dunno whether it was my bleeding heart, or low sugar level, or just flat out tired, but I gave the mother hen some advice - that attacking me wouldn't make the situation better, and from his end, he needed to back the hell off you and give you your space. I told him straight out: hugs and jokes and all that stupid stuff he defaults to weren't gonna heal the gap between you two overnight. And another thing: I'm not about to get involved into whatever's happened between you guys, 'cause that's for you two to sort out. We're separate, Tim. It's okay to have different people in your life - remember our roles are different. I'm not Dick, and Dick isn't me." Jason paused here. before addressing his brother.

"Tim, I want you to understand this. You can have more than one big brother, and hopefully with time, Dick can understand that. This is not about you taking one side over the other. I know you're pissed at Dick; yeah, he probably eavesdropped on you and the Old man's little talk last Friday, but he's trying at least to connect with you. That's something. I'm not saying to have it all out, forgive the bastard and forget everything that's happened over the past year, no. What I'm saying is this: talk to the guy. Let him know what you need, 'cause from the way I'm looking at it, unless Dickie boy hears it straight from the horse's mouth, he'll disregard any and all advice, and keep hurting you in the process. As for me? Tim, I'm here for you, now and always. It doesn't bother me if you and Dick are close; the more people you have around in your life, the less I fret over ya skinny ass. So don't let the thought that I might somehow resent your relationship with Dick get into that big head of yours. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, know for sure that I've got your back, no matter what."

Tim choked back a sob. Pressing a hand over his eyes, he took a deep breath. He couldn't be more thankful that Jason was so understanding - Tim had been afraid that Jason would push him out if he and Dick returned back to their close ways. Jason...Jason he could not afford to lose, for both their sakes. The man was not just his brother - Jason was his best friend, the one he confided in, the one around whom he could be himself, Tim, not Tim the VP, Red Robin, the League, just Tim. He wiped his eyes - it was useless, the tears still kept coming down his face silently. 

"Tim? Talk to me buddy, or I'm coming up there right now. You've got five seconds, four-"

"I'm here, Jay, still listening. I've heard you Jay. Thank you. I-I thought you'd resent me, push me away..I, I-" Tim tried to talk, to control himself, but he struggled.

"Give me a minute, Jay. Just let me sort myself out a bit. Stay on the line."

So Jason waited. He heard Tim's tears, the sniffing, and it almost broke his heart. To think that his little brother had been carrying so much weight - the weight of expectation, duty, fear of letting him down - Jason felt like dragging out the entire Bat family by their necks and shaking them till their eyes rolled back in their fat, ego-laden heads. How they could live with themselves, placing that much pressure on the boy, Jason didn't know. He was still in his car, leaned forward, ignition key already in, ready to make the hour long journey straight to Tim at that very moment. Jason was about to reverse out of his driveway when Tim spoke again.

"Jay, I'm alright now. You're in your car, aren't you?"

"Yep. Was just about to leave."

"I'm okay, Jay, I swear. Sorry, it's just...its nice to know someone cares, y'know?" Tim's voice was still a little shaky.

Jason took a breath before continuing. "Don't you ever say that again. I don't care where you are, what time it is, how silly it may seem - if you wanna talk to me, you go right on ahead. Don't ever doubt how much I would do for you, Tim, never. You got that, pipsqueak?"

Tim snorted at the nickname, and Jason smiled now, leaning back onto his seat. Tim would be alright.

"Whatever, fatty."

"Hey! I have close to two hundred pounds of pure solid muscle on you"

"Two hundred? Pssh, bitch please. A hundred's more like it. Like you could even take me on, anyway." Tim was full on grinning now, tears forgotten, as Jason's deep laugh filled his room.

"You, take me on?" Jason was cackling. Tim was built like a twig and they all knew it. It was a wonder where all the food went.

The laughter gradually subsided. Tim let the silence continue a little longer before speaking.

"Thank you Jay. Still doesn't excuse you beating up Dick though." His voice was firm. Jason's "little" was definitely not what Tim would call "little".

"If you knew what I was capable of, then trust me, that wasn't even a stretch." 

Tim knew Jason was right. From the little he had seen of the "new" Jason in action, the Bats had to count their lucky stars Jason had fought them under the Pit's influence, or else things would have been much, much worse.

"Point taken, Sasquatch." The name caused Jason to burst out laughing again. Tim chuckled too - it was a good name.

"But seriously, Jay. I know its kinda your thing, but if you could lay off the mocking a little, I'd appreciate it." Tim voice's booked no arguments.

"I'll do better next time." It wasn't a promise, nor would it happen instantly, but from Jason, it was enough.

"Just how bad is he?" Tim referred to Dick now. He hoped inside the injuries weren't too severe, or it would seem as if he agreed that Dick deserved such a beatdown, and that wouldn't go over well with Dick. It was tricky; Tim had to avoid taking the side of one brother over another. Dick had been a real dick to Jason, and to him, and a large part of Tim was cold angry - not the intense fury of white hot, blinding rage, but a coolness that came with the pain - but that didn't mean the man needed to get physically hurt to realise his mistakes. On the other hand, Jason had been acting in self defence. It was Dick who had shown up, uninvited, and initiated the attack. Bruce always used to say "always prepare to get beaten up if you start a fight". It was true. Can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen, Tim thought.

"Black eye, broken nose maybe, one or two loose teeth, sore neck, bruised ribs, not broken though, and a whole lotta muscle ache". Practically nothing in Jason's opinion; they both knew it. "He'll heal soon enough. Told him to take it easy over the next couple of days; ice packs and a few pillows should do the trick."

Tim sighed. It wasn't too bad, in all regards.

"Fine. I'll check on him sometime tomorrow. Maybe not tomorrow, he'll be embarrassed, a little miffed. He's got a short shift early Saturday morning, he'll be at home by one in the afternoon. I'll check on him then."

"Good on you. Remember what I said, alright? Time and patience - let him know that you're mad, for sure, but you haven't stopped loving him. Make it clear: its your life, your choices, your decisions, and he needs to respect that. The dickhead will still feel a little confused, but he'll get it as he recovers, trust me. There's nothing more humbling than defeat."

Tim nodded. "Thanks Jay, for telling me tonight. I know it wasn't easy for you. And I'm sorry, for what he said to you, he shouldn't have. You know its not true, right?"

"Of course it isn't, what am I, an eight year old girl? Gonna cry over the fact that little Timothea chose the Dickie dolly over the Jaylie dolly? I'm good, honestly Tim."

They chuckled now. Jason felt lighter; he'd made the right decision in telling his brother what had happened.

"Now that we're friends again and everything-" at this, Tim rolled his eyes, and Jason continued, grinning "I believe this is the time for good little boys to go to bed."

"Ass."

"Five foot nothing."

"Hey! I have grown, you know. A little, at least."

"Of course you have Timmy dearest. I'm sure by the time we meet, we'll be eye to eye."

They laughed again. Tim hadn't felt so comfortable in a long time.

"Seriously squirt. Bed. Quit the reading already, pretend to be Harry another day."

Tim shook his head, grinning. "Night Jay", and hung up.

He would deal with Dick later.

 

 

Friday morning. Nine am.

Dick winced as the sunlight assaulted his eyes. His whole body groaned in protest, his neck was sore and he could barely see out of his left eye. Dick brought up a finger to touch the eye, and hissed it away in pain. Swollen. Black eye, damnit, he thought. It would mean covering it up with concealer for his shift tomorrow morning, a three am start. Dick tugged the pillow over his head. He had only just arrived home in Bludhaven around nine hours before, having been transported to the Cave after his fight with Jason. 

Ugh. Dick felt the heat rush to his cheeks as the memories flooded back to him. It was once said that Dick Grayson, fun loving, twenty four year old man -child had no concept of shame, nor could he be embarrassed. Well, that's a damn lie, Dick thought. He recalled the events of Thursday evening. Dick had gone to the watch-tower, pissed, and on seeing Jason, that arrogant son of a bitch, just sitting there, working away, the Red mothafucking Hood - Dick had felt the anger rise within him. What right did that asshole have to be in the confines of the League, the watch-tower, where good people lead admirable lives and respected the law? Jason Todd and his entire being: actions, beliefs, the whole lot, did not belong anywhere near the League and their upstanding morals. Dick couldn't understand why Bruce had been so cool with it. Why hadn't he made more of a point? Dick knew Bruce was thinking more like Batman, that Bruce and Jason were no longer viewed as "family" -but still, Batman, and the Red Hood, in the same building? It baffled Dick. Of all people, Batman should have taken a stand against the Red Hood. The man was unstable, violent, unpredictable at times - how could anyone trust the guy?

But to Dick's great surprise - and he'd been discovering a lot of surprises recently - Jason, or "Red" as he called himself, seemed to be doing well. Apparently the man stayed out of sight most of the time, and had made great headway with the work. Jason had even come up with a novel idea - to update the League's communicators by creating a channel, which could allow to the League founders to understand Xalanese, Ghusalish and other languages via something he called "telepathic translation". Manhunter and Jason had supposedly taken a few brain readings and come up with a way to "live translate" these languages into English, real time, by using a combination of Manhunter's telepathic skills and Jason's language centre in the brain. It was, by all accounts, a fantastic idea - Jason had in one swoop removed all doubts as to the "validity" of his communication skills, making him even more of a valuable asset than before. Batman had grunted at the idea that Manhunter presented, but they all knew that that grunt meant approval. Bruce hadn't said much, but anyone who knew him well knew that he had been impressed at the idea, but not surprised. Jason and Tim did appear to make an excellent team.

Dick had thought about all of this, and as he stood watching Jason, the resentment began to boil up within him. A murderer, and a proud, unrepentant one at that - this was the guy Tim chose to turn to? Dick couldn't believe it. But it wasn't that thought that enraged him - it was the casual, disinterested manner in which Jason treated him. Appearing bored yet still had that stupid smug smile. It had pushed Dick over the edge - he so desperately wanted to teach that bastard a lesson.

But, as Dick quickly realised, the man in front of him, fitted in a tailored light blue shirt, grey trousers, healthy and relaxed - was not the Jason he had once faced. Dick had assumed - there it was again, assuming all the damn time - that Jason could be beaten just as before. And, as Dick was flung, punched, blocked, thrown - he realised that he had underestimated the man. Severely. All the while, Jason had continued his taunts, rubbing it in - his failure as a big brother, that Tim could chose Jason over him. The punches were one thing, but the words had burned Dick to the core. It was true - Jason was right, and it made it all the more worse. 

Then came another surprise. Jason had declined to finish him off. No big finale. The man had looked at him with something akin to pity, and it made Dick's head roll with disgust. It should have been the other way round. Jason, the Red Hood, actually sat next to him, studying him, and spoke quietly. No rage, no anger, no heat - just quietness. Tim had chosen Jason? Dick refused to believe it. Jason must have done something to influence his brother...or did he? Jason had spoke about Tim being a friend, a help, a brother, and somewhere deep inside, Dim had been reminded that once ago, Jason was a member of the family, and that he, Dick Grayson, warm and kind and welcoming, had shunned the street rat. Dick didn't want to listen to Jason but he felt frozen, stuck to the floor. He listened anyway. Jason didn't want anything to do with the Bats. He wanted to be left alone. And then, most astonishing of all - Jason had offered him some advice: that he give Tim time and patience, that their relationship was nothing to do with he and Tim's, that Tim needed them both. Dick had wanted to scoff at that last bit, but his head hurt too much, and his jaw felt sore. 

They had made their way back to the transporter bays, for Dick to be checked by Alfred. Dick had been struck, confused - how had things come to this? From confrontation to getting a beat down, and now, the same deliverer of the beat down helping him to walk, giving him advice for his ribs, taking him home? It was too much for Dick. 

Dick had entered the Cave, close to keeling over had it not been for Alfred's quick thinking and steady hands. The man had said nothing; the transmission codes gave away his starting point, the watch-tower. They all knew who was there, and more importantly, Dick hadn't any reason to be up there in the first place. Dick had asked Alfred not to say anything to Bruce and the man had looked at him, gazing, before agreeing to his request with "as you wish, Master Dick", and continuing his clean up. Black eye, two loose teeth, ribs that would heal by themselves, bruised neck that would fade in a few days. No internal bleeding though, nor any broken bones. Dick sat there, wondering. Jason's beatdown was something else, but it was obvious that he'd held back. Just how skilled was the man? Dick had a strange feeling that Jason had been holding back, all this time, and he was reminded of Tim's conversation with Bruce the week before. Speaking of Tim, Dick knew that the boy would be pissed if he found out. Dick had blurted out too many things to Jason; he'd given away the fact that he had deliberately acted against Tim's wishes, selfishly, and disobeyed Bruce. Dick had sat on the gurney, head in hands. Regret washed over him. In his desire to reach Tim, he had antagonised Jason, whom Tim was very protective over, and showed his serious lack of understanding and respect for he and Tim's relationship. Tim wouldn't like this.

That had all been hours ago, and now Dick lay here, just after nine in the morning, feeling sore all over. The painkillers were close to wearing off; he definitely needed another dose. Dick knew he would have to avoid the Manor for a while until his injuries had healed sufficiently - Bruce would blow a gasket, and Damian would pronounce a death sentence on his attacker, or place a bounty on Jason's head. Dick ran through a list of excuses: a dog bit me, was robbed at gunpoin-aha! Ambushed by a group of thugs during a drug bust. Perfect. He had been working on a drug bust; it was the perfect cover. Tomorrow's shift was more paperwork than anything else, so Dick knew he'd at least be seated, comfortable, instead of on his feet all day. He sighed, rolling onto his bruised ribs. Shit, he cursed loudly as he rolled over to the other side. He'd forgotten about them. Dick pondered over what Jason had said. The man had said them quietly, almost...kindly in fact. It was good advice - the bit about giving Tim a bit of space, though Dick loathed to do so. Dick still didn't agree with Tim needing them both, or Jason having any part in Tm's life, but it was clear to him now that physically confronting the man would not work well in his favour, nor would it win any with Tim. Jason was much taller, stronger, faster, and if their fight was any indication of the man's skills, better trained. Dick would have to do it the old way: watch and wait. Jason would slip up soon, and when he did, Dick knew he'd be ready for him. It was just a matter of time, and though patience was not one of Dick's strongest qualities, he would do it for Tim.

 

 

Batman had just finished patrol. He looked at the time: four thirty-three am, Friday morning.

Bruce couldn't wait to get home. Robin had been good tonight, and stuck to his rule of non-lethal force very well, apart from one or two cases. The boy had muttered throughout in what was probably Arabic, he wasn't sure, but still obeyed him to the letter, so Bruce counted that as a win. They had arrived tired, and Bruce had sent Damian upstairs to Alfred for food, patting the boy on his head as he left. Damian had stiffened slightly but allowed the contact, even leaning in for a fraction of a second, before straightening and making his way to the Manor. Bruce felt weary and was close to sleep, but there was still a mater of reports to look over. Tim had sent over a few; the boy had yet to Patrol with them, or enter the Cave, since his visit last week.

Bruce sat down at the panel, and the resulting thump echoed across the cave. Removing his cape and dragging a shaky hand across his face, he set to work, eyes craning up to look at the screen. Bruce had yet see Jason at the watch-tower. He had heard reports from others, particularly Manhunter and Wonder Woman, that the man had made great progress and stayed out of sight most of the time. Bruce keyed in the Cave's remote access to the watch-tower, curious. He had kept one eye on Jason, but the man had so far stayed true to his word. Jason had been pulling long days, and the video feed of Ashbeck room showed a piles upon piles of paper, notes, diagrams and one very focused man. Good. Bruce reviewed the footage of the previous day, Thursday, as he did at the end of every working day. Jason had arrived by seven thirty ish, proceeding straight to the conference room. He would spend the next twelve hours or so in that same room, reading, making notes, walking up and down seemingly lost in thought and writing on the whiteboards.

Diana's visit was not a surprise to Bruce. He knew she would not be able to resist seeing at the man at least once. Bruce had watched Diana circle the room and stand by Jason, hands clasped, asking something. Bruce had sighed at that bit - he wished he'd been allowed him to access to audio speakers in the room, but apparently it was a breach of privacy or something silly like that. Diana appeared to ask Jason something, and the man had held his head in his hands. A couple of minutes had passed where neither moved, but eventually, Jason gave an answer that made Diana very happy. Probably to have lunch someday, Bruce deduced. He noted the stiffening of Jason's posture when Diana bent to kiss his temple before leaving, a slight bounce in her walk. What took Bruce back was the effect that the gesture had had on Jason - the man spent close to ten minutes staring at the wall in front of him, wiping back tears, before continuing his work. 

Bruce took a minute to ponder the meaning of this. He knew that Diana and Jason had been close when he was a boy, right before his death, yet even during Jason's return to Gotham after his resurrection, the boy had never mentioned her, not once. Jason's refusal to acknowledge or engage with Diana at his first appearance in the watchtower seemed to signify that the relationship they had once shared was no more. Bruce wondered whether Diana would tell him if he asked. If she had to choose between him and Jason, who would be her choice? Bruce knew Diana as a core League founder, one of his two closest friends - though his friendship with Clark had been somewhat rocky recently-, a woman he felt...something towards, though the nature of their relationship had not been clarified, but Jason was her son, dear to her heart. He did not want to think about how things had been between them, long ago, right after Jason's death. Bruce had been so overwhelmed by grief that he'd forgotten about Diana, the mother to his son, and had proceeded to bury him without her prior knowledge and therefore presence. It had taken all of Clark to hold Diana back from killing him right there in the Cave; she'd heard the news of the burial on TV. Their relationship had since recovered, but they never, ever talked about that time. It was too difficult for words, for both of them.

Bruce knew that this time around, he could not deny Diana, not in regards to Jason. He had held a special place in her heart, and still did, even though she, like the rest of the League, condemned the Hood's atrocities. Now that Jason was back, Bruce knew that nothing, or better yet, no-one, would be able to stop Diana reaching out to her son.

Bruce fast forwarded the tape recording. Apart from an interruption by Diana, and a six minute leave of absence, presuming to use the toilet, Jason had remained in the room. Seven pm, seven thirty, eight pm. Jason had yawned several times; he appeared close to finishing up and calling it a night. Suddenly, a dark shadow appeared at the entrance of the room. Bruce frowned, switching the camera view to the other camera at the opposite corner of the room. He didn't need to zoom in to identify the individual. Five foot ten, black hair, blue eyes, black bodysuit - Nightwing. Bruce sighed. Somehow, this wouldn't be good. What was Dick doing there? Has Jason made contact with him? Bruce continued looking. Dick looked pissed. Tension throughout his figure, legs slightly braced, jaw clenched - it was the stance his son took before fighting. Bruce's stomach turned.

Dick stood like that for the next few minutes. Jason, at first perplexed, starting laughing. Bruce paused the recording and put his head in his hands - he knew Jason laughing would infuriate Dick and he was right. Dick made to lunge at him, but Jason held up a hand. Ah, Bruce thought. The man was mindful of the work he had done. The old Jason wouldn't have cared; he would have taken up the challenge to fight without proper consideration of his surroundings. Bruce continued the recording. The two had now moved to another room. Dick started talking first, and Jason had responded, bored. The gesture threw off Dick and he had made the first move, attacking Jason. But Jason batted Dick off as if he were a mere fly. And so Bruce watched Dick attacking again and again, only to be easily blocked by the Hood, effortlessly - the man even yawned at one point whilst avoiding a wildly thrown punch from Dick. Bruce didn't want to admit it but the facts staring him in the face could not be denied: Jason was in control. He was superior in every way, and the fact that he let Dick attack him like this was evidence of the skill he possessed. Jason was obviously holding back, and by the end, Bruce knew why: the man had been trained by the League of Assassins, possibly the All-Caste, though Bruce wondered just how good Jason had to be to train with them - even he hadn't been trained by them. Which meant that Jason had probably received training from all around the world - the League didn't scrimp on training their men to be the very best. 

Another thing was very clear: all of Jason's hits had been non-lethal, non-severe hits. Nothing broken - therefore, this was a warning for Dick. Bruce knew now that Dick had arrived with the mindset that confronting Jason would be as similar to the previous fights they'd had a few years back. But Dick had greatly underestimated Jason - for one thing, Jason was close to six foot four, Superman's height, and had a good one and a half inches on himself, not to mention Jason's actual size - as big as him. Bruce sighed again, but his surprise was turned to shock on seeing Jason actually talk to Dick, without the snide smile. The man had sat down next to his son, speaking, looking at him with pity, sadness even. Jason himself seemed to question why he was doing this - he'd looked to the ceiling, shaking his head slightly, almost confused by the situation. 

Bruce watched as the two men made their way down to the hallway, Jason helping Dick. Jason helping Dick - it left Bruce reeling. Jason, non lethal, giving advice, helping Dick - Bruce was left slightly speechless. Was was Jason's end game? What did he have to benefit from all this - was it an act? Bruce couldn't decide. He recalled his conversation with Tim - Tim was adamant that Jason had changed. Could it be? Bruce didn't dare to hope. Dick had opted to use the transporter bay - judging by his condition, holding his sides, breathing slowly, Dick would have been in need of medical help, and that meant one thing: Alfred. Bruce logged off his remote access and sat at the desk, elbows on the table. He hadn't seen any sign of medical equipment, dressings, or blood upon his return to the Cave with Damian. Alfred hadn't come down to the Cave either. Bruce recalled his son's face on the screen - he appeared embarrassed and humiliated. He suspected now, that were he to call Dick in a few hours, or tell Dick he'd be coming to Bludhaven on an impromptu visit, the man would lie, claim illness, or being too busy. Bruce could understand: Dick had started a fight he was not prepared for, and the defeat would have left him slightly ashamed.

In the end, Bruce decided not to push it. He was angry, of course - that mad man had put his blood-soaked hands on his son, and he wanted nothing more than to give the guy a taste of his own medicine, but Dick had initiated the fight, and it pained him to admit it. It was also clear to him that Jason hadn't wanted to fight - he had been giving Dick an out all throughout their fight, but Dick had been stubborn. Would Jason tell Tim what had happened? Bruce could see that Tim appeared caught between two brothers, and siding with one could very well alienate the other. He recalled his promise to Tim - to remain cordial with the Hood, and he would have gone back on his word had the footage showed Jason starting the fight, not Dick.

Bruce concluded his thinking: He would ask Alfred if there had been any disturbances whilst he was away, same as usual, but he would wait for Dick to come to him. As for Jason, Bruce would watch, closely. As much as he wanted Jason out of League business, and wanted nothing to do with him, the man had proved himself a valuable asset, especially with their newly modified communicators - Bruce was impressed. Jason had shown great self control with Dick, even though it was now obvious to all three of them that Jason had operated at a fraction of his ability - if he wanted to, he could have done much, much worse. He had to tread carefully. Bruce considered talking to Jason, but ultimately decided against it. Dick seemed to get the message - if he didn't before, he would now, and confronting Jason would a. embarrass Dick further, a father fighting his boy's battles, and b. put Jason on high alert - he would see it as an attack and none of them knew how this new Jason would react now - the man was too unpredictable. Bruce made a few copies of the recording before deleting it from the League's drive. Such backup would serve as a very nice fail-safe if Bruce were pushed too far by the Hood.

Bruce closed the computer. He needed to sleep.

Jason had won this round, for now.


	10. Black, white, and all shades of grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason finishes his work. Clark is confronted with the truth.

Friday. Ten-fifteen am.

Jason had slept well last night. His decision to tell Tim left him feeling much better, though he had yet to hear back from the League or the Big Bad himself. He had been in Pembroke room for the last three hours, the room adjoined to Ashbeck, going over the communication logs, both visual and audio footage provided by the the League's communicators. Jason had initially been making his way through the information with a bowl of popcorn at his side, but as he continued listening, and watching the footage, he began to lose his appetite. This shit was no longer funny.

On the surface, everything appeared genuine. The call for help, from the Lanterns, seemed to be the same as previous occasions: they were out of their depth, and could really do with the League's expertise. Batman had questioned the Lanterns thoroughly, wanting to know exactly the measures taken, and the how exactly the League could be of benefit. The Lanterns put forward a good case: Xan and Gol were in dispute, there were concerns of a possible war, and the League would serve as a neutral third party. Apparently the other planets Hunio, Elek and Demish had refused to get involved, despite being at risk of collateral damage; it wasn't clear, but the Bat had grumbled, sighed, and told the Lanterns that the League would review the situation before deciding whether to take the case.

Jason had listened to the League's review. Each member had debated thoroughly; even the Flash made good points, which surprised Jason. The Flash was a strange character; slightly younger than the rest of the core founders, but still very relatable - apparently, speaking to him was like hanging out with a friend, not an authoritative figure like Superman. Jason had seen the man speaking to a few Leaguers now and again; warm, friendly smile yet firm, giving encouragement, providing criticism as necessary and _still_ able to joke around, laugh - had Barry not been League, Jason wouldn't have minded hanging out with the guy. Hawkgirl had been quiet, barely speaking in the session, which Jason thought a real shame. The little she had spoken were thoughtful questions that highlighted her doubts as to why the League had been requested, but she was hesitant, nervous even. The woman seemed to _want_ to voice her true opinion but would chicken out at the last minute, letting herself be talked over by others. Jason hadn't spoken to her much, but from the little he knew, she seemed intelligent, fierce, intuitive, potentially close to Batman's level if she were put to the test. Jason supposed that the woman felt like an intruder, more ally than friend, not quite an enemy, but still to be treated with a small dose of caution. A damn pity, Jason thought. He might try and speak to her alone to gather her views on the situation, specifically why she felt hesitant in the first place. It was strange, in fact - of all the people he knew, preaching shit about morals and justice and doing what's _right_ , Hawkgirl seemed like someone who could understand the Hood, and why he took such drastic action against criminals. It would be nice to share some common ground, even if it was with a Leaguer. 

In the end, the League had agreed to help their incompetent friends, with the belief that they would only act as a third party. But that's just it, Jason thought. They believed - they assumed that that would be the case. They hadn't sought out any real confirmation, there was nothing in writing - particularly something that would absolve the League of any responsibility should anything go wrong. The League had operated on the basis of trust, and as a result, had left themselves wide open. Jason shook his head as he continued to listen to the footage. Apparently, both Xan and Gol, though at it each other's throats, were "keen" to keep their dispute out of the courts of the IGC. Riiiiiiigght. Jason rolled his eyes. Angry enough to carelessly throw around threats of war yet afraid of the IGC, shit made no sense, Jason thought. And things didn't get better. As he listened to the League try to keep the peace between the two sides, he noted something: each side was adamant that the other was the one completely in the wrong. Neither were willing to take responsibility. More worrying of all, however, was the way both Xan and Gol regarded Superman. It was clear they recognised his authority, and his desire for "peace", as well as unwillingness to confront either side on their shit directly, put him directly in their hands. Jason could practically hear them thinking - pawn. 

Jason felt himself feeling irritated: seeing all this, why hadn't the League requested help? By stationing themselves as the only third party, any fallout was bound to be assigned to them. Shit - hadn't Batman thought of this? It was clear the League had underestimated the scale of the conflict, and as tensions escalated, they finally -finally! requested the advice of the IGC, who were evidently pissed that they hadn't been informed sooner. Jason could now see why both planets had tried to avoid involving the IGC - they were intimidating as hell. The Council headquarters was basically a massive court room arena, filled with lots of representatives from either side debating, all under the midst of the stoic Council of Elders - yeah, the IGC were not to be trifled with. The cease sanctions the IGC were threatening to impose were no joke - a cease on all trading, movement, services, people - it wouldn't take long to cripple a country. The Xanderians looked slightly afraid at the prospect but the Ghusalem were not quite as sombre, and spoke arrogantly. It would have been easy to dismiss their antics as overdramatic, exaggerating, had Jason not paid attention to the way they looked at the League, particularly Superman - no, he had not missed it. It was a predatory, conniving look, and switching to a few of their more rarely heard dialects made it hard to translate what they were saying, but it became obvious as Jason continued watching: something was about to go down, and the League, or to be specific, Superman, was bait. Jason had a feeling that Gol wanted to go to war much more than Xan - not only was he right, he knew who they would use to kick-start their agenda. 

Upon watching footage of the actual attack, Jason had stood, swearing at the screen. Gol had planned this shit, no question. For the first time, Jason felt for Superman. The league's communicators had caught everything; the minute Jason had seen the aircraft, he'd closed his eyes. Ghusalish aircraft, he'd seen plenty of them on patrol over the skies of their capital city, El. And now one was heading straight for Eain, Xan's capital city. Jason opened his eyes and kept watching. He saw the looks Batman and Superman had thrown each other, and couldn't help pitying them. Superman had no choice - it was either destroy the Ghusalem aircraft or potentially kill thousands of Xanderians. Jason stared, slightly taken aback at the battle unfolding in front of him. The League had tried. They really did, but their efforts were mostly in vain. The damage was done, and the casualties...Jason did not want to imagine it. He observed the League as they dealt with the aftermath; worn out, slumped against each other, and having to kneel at the command of the Intergalactic police force, acting under the directive of the IGC, who had surrounded them, lasers pointed, ordering their arrest. 

The summoning to the IGC was something else. The IGC punished them all. They placed cease sanctions on both Xan and Gol for going to war in the first place, disturbing the peace, and the League were billed for a large part of the damages. The ruling caused an uproar with both planets, as they furiously pointed fingers at the League, who stood, heads slightly bowed. Jason was angry on their behalf - didn't the IGC realise that the League had done their best? Intervened to prevent all out war taking place? Tried to prevent the death toll rising even higher? Supposedly the IGC "acknowledged that Gol had indeed provoked a response from Xan, but the League's intervention had resulted in substantial damage, and therefore were liable." The IGC refused any legal intervention from Earth and though Jason was pissed, there wasn't much the League could do. They weren't on Earth, and that fact alone sent all rights and purposes straight out of the window. The League were given three choices: jail, payment or repair work. Jail was out of the question - the League at last argued that their absence would leave the Earth defenseless, which the IGC bastards at least took into consideration. Nor would Earth's currency do any good. That only left repair work, which the League agreed to. They were to help reconstruct the major structures, including the ISSA bridge. No-one knew how long the work would take - current estimates stood at six months, which earned an "Oh shit" from Green Lantern, but at least the materials would be provided. 

The League were sent back to Earth, downcast at their predicament. Jason had been unable to watch the meetings with the US president and national security - it didn't matter how many times the League tried to explain - ultimately, they were still to blame. Jason hated the IGC but their ruling was fair- the League chose to get involved voluntarily, and they had fucked up, though unintentional - they were lucky they weren't put to death for the damages sustained and the lives lost in the process. Earth's rules meant nothing in Intergalactic space. Superman got the worst of it - the guy's head hung lower and lower each time he was hauled up for a reaming. Jason wanted to smile, to laugh, mock him - but he couldn't. For all his faults, Superman, Jason knew, at the heart of it, was a good man. He was irritating as hell, yes, a real goody two-shoes, but one thing that Jason could credit him for: he always aimed for peace. Jason stood now, walking around the room. He hated Superman, but this...this wasn't right. Jason was all for justice, giving exactly what was deserved, and Superman didn't deserve this.

Four-thirty pm. Jason whipped his head back sharply to look at the clock. Four thirty pm? Where had the time gone? He went to the window, looking out at space. It was so calm, so peaceful, and yet he felt..unsettled. Gol had kicked up a lot of fuss; refusing to compromise during the peace talks, the first to make threats about going to war, the first to initiate attack - and the League _just_ had to play babysitter, before being dumped with the mess. Jason hated the League for sure, but he also hated people being taken advantage of. A loud gurgling sound suddenly permeated the silence. Ah. Food. Locking the door behind him, he made his way down to the cafeteria, hoping there'd still be something decent to eat.

Jason made his way down to the cafeteria, walking quickly. He had no time for stares today, though the number of people who looked had been considerably less since he started. It seemed that they were getting used to him, though few had dared to venture a greeting. It didn't matter - Jason knew he was not here to make friends. Striding confidently, he picked up a two stuffed loaves and a water before leaving. God, they were still staring at him, Jason thought, rolling his eyes behind his glasses. At the corner of his eye, he noticed a few of the League founders - Wonder Woman, Lantern, Flash, Batman - the Bat, eating in public, enjoying company?!- looking at him as he left. Diana had sat up, smiling warmly and he had nodded his head at her in return. Diana he could stomach. The rest? Fat fucking chance. Yeah, they messed up, and yes, they were most likely being used as pawns, but that didn't mean he would start being all buddy-buddy with them.

Jason made his way back to Pembroke room. He looked at the time. If he could finish making his notes on the communication logs by the early morning, that would be phenomenal. He would have time to go home and enjoy a long Saturday lie in, before spending the rest of that day unwinding, cooking perhaps. Jason planned to use Sunday to gather his notes in preparation of presenting his findings to the League on Monday. Placing his headphones on, he began to review again the footage from the beginning, eating, and jotting down his take on the events.

 

 

Back in the cafeteria, the League founders were taking a little time to catch-up. They had all been busy; Wonder Woman had travelled to Spain to speak to the national ambassador, Flash had to deal with a couple of intricate art gallery thieving rings in Central City, Lantern felt it right to update his fellow Lanterns on the League situation before heading to a secret military base on a special invite, and Batman, juggling work as CEO of WE, along with travelling to Washington to review a few of the company's upcoming prototypes. Seeing "Red" was quite a surprise, for both parties. It was easy to tell why the man tended to avoid crowds of people - those that were here, a fraction of the usual rush hour size that one expected at lunchtime, were still a lot, and Jason drew a lot of attention, especially from younger, female leaguers, and for obvious reasons.

The tension could be detected in the man's frame as he strode towards the exit, nodding a little at Wonder Woman as he walked past. He wasn't comfortable in their environment; they all knew it. Jason had spent most of his life shying away from the spotlight, and on his return to Gotham, apart from terrorising the Bats, he had spent a lot of time in hiding. Bruce, watching Jason, suddenly remembered what Tim had said a few days before - it wasn't easy living if you were declared dead by the state, and an uneasy feeling rose within him. He had not once considered what it must have been like for an eighteen year old Jason Todd, back from the dead, fending for himself, having to use more _unsavory_ measures to survive. No ID. No health insurance. Couldn't work, couldn't pay for things - Jason had no identity, so Bruce found himself asking the question - who was Jason Todd currently living as? Did Tim help him set up a new identity? Bruce wasn't sure. He had checked the identity Jason used to enter the watch-tower with Tim on their first visit, "Mr Perez" - Jason Todd would have immediately flagged in the system. Flash's whining drew him out of his thoughts.

" How does he do it? I mean, I'm not complaining or anything, I've got Iris, but still, he doesn't even have to say anything and he's got the attention of more than half the women in here." Flash grumbled, staring at the retreating back of their new ally. 

Lantern chuckled, putting an arm round Flash's shoulders. "Jealous?"

"Of him? No way! Iris remember; fiance, love of my life? I mean, c'mon, we all know what he is, but do all of them?" Flash was red under his mask, and he angled his head towards the room, where most of the women were now whispering to each other, glancing at the empty hallway Jason had left through.

"Like it or not, women love bad guys. Shit's weird man." Lantern shook his head, drinking a coke. "Don't let it get to you, or better yet, don't let Iris find out about your whining over this. You're way better than him."

Batman remained silent, but nodded once. Flash was better than Jason. Barry was a good man - friendly, kind, even to him. He understood why Iris loved him so. Everyone liked him, despite his slight immaturity. Bruce decided to cheer the man up, telling Flash dryly "Yes, how could anyone resist you?", sweeping his eyes across the table, where Flash had three trays filled with burgers, fries and all sorts of sugary junk. Bruce wondered how the man had yet to suffer a heart attack. Fast metabolism, lucky for some, Bruce thought, as he sipped his protein shake. 

Flash blushed, face now deep red, hugging his precious trays of food as he spoke "Jealously doesn't suit you, Bat."

The grouped laughed at that, before the conversation once again turned back to Jason.

"I've heard he's doing really well with getting through the work." Lantern spoke now, gritting his teeth. He didn't want to admit that taking Hood on might have been a good idea. The man was still a murdering jackass, but he was a smart one, and they couldn't deny it.

"He is. From the way things are progressing, it appears Jason is close to finishing. I logged onto the communication logs for the mission - he's already watched the footage, though he has a large part of the audio to review." Wonder answered before Batman could, and despite her neutral tone, they could all detect an element of pride hidden in her voice.

"He is. I think we should have answers from him by either the end of the week or the start of next week." Batman spoke coolly, not siding with Diana. Batman had spent a few minutes watching today's video feed of Jason, and the man had done well, though it pained him to admit it.

"Has he been any trouble? He's capable of a lot, but apart from seeing him with Red Robin on Monday, I've heard zilch." Flash was curious, directing his question at Batman.

Bruce paused. He debated telling them about the fight bewteen Jason and Dick, if one could call it that, but he considered it: none of their equipment had been damaged, Dick had walked away with only minor injuries, if he took into account Jason's skill. No other leaguer had reported the incident, there was no record of it on the League drives, and Bruce had yet to hear Jason bragging about his victory - if he wanted to brag, the man would have sent him a smug look as he walked past just a few minutes ago. Informing the league would either slow down matters - time was not on their side; the IGC's deadline was just under a week away, or, worst case scenario - Jason would be let go, and then they'd really be stuck. No, Batman decided. He would keep the incident to himself, for now anyway.

"No. As far as I am aware, Hood has kept to himself and his work." At his tone, detecting the finality of the matter, the group changed the conversation.

 

 

Jason yawned. God, he was so tired, but finally, _finally_ he was done. He had made it to the end, and he felt like dancing, if it weren't for the camera in the corner. Stretching, he leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. Jason surveyed the room, a quick look at the time: twelve twenty two am, Saturday morning. He honestly couldn't believe it. Tidying the room, he collected his belongings and made his way downstairs, intent on going home. He felt tired but sleep wouldn't come for a while; the faint buzzing of the audio recordings still murmured in his ears. On the first floor however, he paused. Picking up a few books might be nice, Jason thought. The image came to him - a hot mug of cocoa, a book in one hand, tucked up in bed...-Jason closed his eyes. A quick stop to the library wouldn't hurt. It would only take a few minutes; plus, he never got round to finishing that book, Great expectations. He had picked it on a whim; Bruce had been reading a couple of the classics with him when he was younger, but that was then, and Jason wasn't about to deny himself a great read out of fear of nostalgia. He had plenty of books, but he wanted to finish Great Expectations. Slugging his bag over his shoulder, he swiped his keycard into the Library keypad and entered the room.

Jason took his time to look around. Dim yellow lighting - the perfect, homely setting. The room looked warm, inviting - just a few minutes, Jason told himself, as his hands ran through the shelves. Humming quietly to himself, he took his time, picking, reading, checking, before moving on. In the end, Jason had collected six books, yet still not found Great Expectations. Ah! He suddenly remembered where he'd left the book - he had placed it on the bedside table, beside the couch he'd shared with Superman a few nights ago. A mixture of fear, hatred and unease rose up, but Jason forced it down. He peered round the corner where the traitorous couch was placed - empty. Jason stood for a few seconds, listening for movement. Silence. Even better, he thought. He made his way to the couch, placing his bag under the bedside table, and continued where he'd left.

 

 

Clark walked slowly into the watch-tower. He had been pulled up and down the entire country, and he'd come in to briefly drop off a few reports before going home. Not once had he contacted Bruce, not since last week anyway. Clark knew he couldn't avoid the man forever and decided to drop in at the Manor later in the afternoon. Speaking to Bruce was much less daunting than the Batman. Perry had hated his articles on Investors of Time, demanding he either re-write the piece, scrap it altogether, or if he hated his job so much, quit. Clark had slunk back to his desk, red faced, and for once, Lois hadn't teased him. Instead, she'd made a cup of coffee, and fished out of her handbag a glorious Mackuo croissant from Berne's bakery in downtown Metropolis. Placing both on his desk, Lois had squeezed his arm gently before leaving. Clark would have married the woman right there. For Lois to actually show her concern without any snarks or quips meant that Clark really did look exhausted. He felt it, too. After handing in his reports, and catching up briefly with Manhunter in the East Wing guarding bay, Clark decided to call it a night. Turning to leave the bay, Clark was a little startled to hear Manhunter calling for him.

"Clark, you must rest. You have been pushing yourself too hard lately." Manhunter's voice was soft, almost like a deep lullaby. Clark wondered how his friend would react were he to fall asleep on the spot.

"Yeah...I know John, believe me. I'm going straight home. Its times like these I'm glad I can fly, I can't imagine driving home in this state." Clark grinned at his friend, who smiled in return. "Is there anything I can get for you before I go?" Clark asked this out of politeness, like a good little Kansas boy, but secretly he hoped Manhunter would decline. 

"As a matter of fact, yes, if you don't mind. Someone recommended to me a book, Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space, by one Carl Sagan, and if you could check the Library and bring me a copy, I would be most grateful, Clark. Oh, and a packet of Oreos from the kitchen on your way up." John smiled at his friend, who nodded in agreement. Inside, Clark groaned. Why had he asked? 

"Sure thing, John. I'll be up in a bit." Hopefully this won't take too long, Clark thought, as he made his way down to the library.

 

 

As he left, Manhunter turned back to his work and pulled up a video feed of the Library, where one currently curled up Jason Todd was lost in a book. Manhunter studied him. He had been witness to the pair's first meeting in the Library, and their reactions to each other had left him thinking deeply. Fear, surprise, confusion - and yet, both of them had sat on the same couch, not fighting, and read. Superman's antics at "dozing" off left him chuckling, but what surprised John the most was the way the two were able to co-exist in such a small space, as if their previous history hadn't existed. They almost looked...comfortable. Jason, initially caught off guard, had relaxed enough to continue reading, eventually dozing off himself, and Clark, though pretending to sleep, had remained there, staring at the ceiling, evidently lost in thought. Manhunter saw something unique between the two, an understanding perhaps; respect was too optimistic. John, in his curiosity, had wanted to see how the two would react in the same situation again. The first had been pure co-incidence - on this second occasion, would they be brave enough to confront one another? Lash out? If they could display minimal animosity towards one another, then one day, could they possibly of help to each other? And so John had sent his friend on an errand, for a book he had already read - and the electronically tagged Library copy, which he had deliberately misplaced near to where Jason sat, right in his view-, all to observe the beginning of what he thought could be an interesting medium between two very different people, one which could of great benefit to both. Sipping his green tea, John waited for the events to unfold before him.

 

 

Superman entered the Library. Dimly lit, he noted, and it created a feeling of being at home, sat in his father's armchair, reading by the fire. Clark made his way over to the one of the many touch screen stands; chanting the name of the book and the author to himself, he inputted the details, and the screen brought up its location. Ah, close to where he'd been last time when he came across the Hood. Superman had not seen the man since then, and every time he thought about the meeting, he was left slightly bewildered at the coincidence. Clark made his way over to the section - but then he started to pick up something.

Lub - dub, lub- dub.

A heartbeat - which got louder as he moved closer towards the book. He looked at his watch: twelve forty in the morning. Who on earth could be up at this time, he wondered. As Clark rounded the corner, his questioned was answered. A few feet away from him lay John's book, and just another foot away, stood, or rather, seated, was one Jason Todd. The man had yet to look up at his arrival, still glued to the book. That either meant he was ignoring him outright, or was far too lost in the book and therefore unaware of his surroundings. Clark studied the book as he came closer. Great Expectations, the same one Jason had been reading during his first visit. Clark didn't know how Jason would react to seeing him, again. Probably exasperated, he thought. Jason chose to lift his head at the exact moment Clark reached the book. Clark took a moment to himself before facing the man.

Jason stared. Really, again? This motherfucker? He cursed silently. Why did it always have to be him? Was..was he being stalked? Clark looked back at him now, but Jason couldn't read him. He couldn't tell if the Big Blue was angry, pissed, surprised - his face was just there, just staring. Jason felt like putting his head in his hands.

"You know, you coulda just brought me flowers instead. Hell, dinner and a movie, your choice, but stalking really isn't the best way to go about things, ya know?" 

Jason spoke mockingly, not moving in his chair. He almost did fall off, though, when he saw Clark's reaction. The man had looked away, but Jason could see how he struggled to keep a straight face, and the tips of his ears had turned slightly red.

Clark, not wanting to give in to the satisfaction of smiling, though embarrassed, turned away, shaking his head slightly.

"I'm not following you." Clark looked at him now, and though his face was once again firm, his eyes gave away the amusement.

They looked at each other for a moment longer.

"So..are you gonna sit down or what? I mean, its kinda late, and I dunno about you, but I don't have the energy for anything else right now." Jason cocked his head at him. 

Superman, for his part, said nothing. Sighing, he rubbed his temples and opted to lean against the study table next to the shelf. He understood what Jason had meant, they both did. Clark looked at the book in his hands. Carl Sagan. The Library was arranged by author surname, in alphabetical order. The book belonged in the "R-T" section, but where they both were was in fact the "D-F" section. So what was a book on astrophysics doing in this secti-oh. Clark suddenly knew. The book was in the wrong section, but it wasn't by accident. Astrophysics wasn't the kind of subject many would choose as "light" reading, which meant that someone must have placed the book here. Deliberately. Clark raised his head slightly to look at the camera at the far end of the room, knowing John would be watching. He narrowed his eyes at the camera. Well played, John.

Jason, on his part, had gone back to reading, though his position had shifted slightly - it was angled a little towards him, and Clark smirked inside. Ah, not as fully relaxed as he wants me to believe, Clark thought. But then Jason started talking to him, in a low voice, and he didn't know what to say.

"I've gone through all the documents." Jason started. He didn't know why he was telling Clark all of this; he wasn't looking for approval, nor his opinion. He could have ignored the man and continued to read in silence, and yet here he was, yapping away. What was wrong with him? He tried to get himself to stop, but found that he couldn't...and a part of him didn't want to. Strange. Probably something to do with cafeteria food, making a person get all friendly and shit, Jason thought. 

Clark angled his head towards him. He was listening.

"Something isn't right." Jason clamped his mouth shut - What was going on? Why was he talking to Clark, of all people? He did a quick mental check: Heart rate and blood pressure low, normal for him. No recent head injury or resulting concussion, no nausea. Not sweating, not hallucinating. He shook his head.

"Honestly, I don't even know why I'm talking to you, like this too." He muttered, and watched the corner of Clark's mouth quirk upwards in a half smile, before returning back to normal. "I...I don't know exactly what it is, but something just _doesn't_ feel right. I can't put my finger on it, nor can I describe it, but one thing is clear: you guys, particularly you, were used as an excuse for war."

Superman looked at him now, clearly, right in the face. Jason was taken aback at the emotions he could read: fear, apprehension. He looked down at the book in his lap, not wanting to read Clark anymore.

"Its not right. I know we have our differences, and best believe its not because I _care_ , but shit, even I know you don't deserve nowhere near the shit they're putting you through."

Jason could feel Clark's stare on him - the man was definitely surprised. Clark, on his end, was lost for words. Jason Todd, the Red Hood, - not laughing in his face that he'd been used as a pawn all along? He opened his mouth to speak but found nothing to say. The man continued.

"It's all speculation, though, and without any proof, then its the League's words against theirs, and since we're in their jurisdiction, we aren't worth shit." Jason looked away at this, choosing to look at the dark expanse of space. Silent and eery.

For a while, none of them spoke. 

And then Clark started speaking, and Jason found himself drawn to listen.

"I just...I knew it. I couldn't put my finger on it; I didn't want to be seen as hostile, or rude, but the moment I saw that aircraft, I just knew. And-" Clark broke off, twisting his hands "-I couldn't stop it. I tried so hard, and yet, in the end, we didn't make a difference." He sighed, looking at the ceiling, feeling the crushing weight of his failure. "I didn't make a difference. I failed, and now the rest of the League has to pay the price for my mistakes."

Jason said nothing. He wasn't about to comfort the man. It was true - as leader, Superman shouldn't have been so easily manipulated, but the damage was already done. No use crying over spilled milk, he thought.

"I'm not sure how much I can take, with all this" Superman's voice was quiet, almost sorrowful. "I-I don't know why I'm telling you all this. You can go ahead and laugh now, I'd probably laugh at me too, if it were the other way round". Jason hardened his eyes at that. That was a damn lie. Superman, for all their clashing, was a guy who believed in second chances. Maybe not for him, but for others, hell yes.

"Cut the crap with the pity party." Jason's voice was hard and he swivelled round in his seat to meet Clark's eyes. They stared at each other, assessing.

"You're right. The blame will always fall on you no matter what, because that's what happens when you're a leader. It comes with the job. But the responsibility doesn't fall on you alone - each of you are accountable, for yourselves and each other. It's a bad situation, but its not the end of the road - believe me, I know. So, a word of advice from the big bad Hood: sometimes things work well, and sometimes they don't. You can do everything right and still have it all fall to pot in the end. If you wanna get out of this, then pick yourself up, and face it head on."

Jason paused here. Clark had looked away, but he kept going. 

"You won't like it, none of you will. It will get ugly. Humiliating. But if my suspicions are correct, then its worth you hanging on. Falling apart won't do you any favours. You've got the support of your co-workers, your friends - shit, that's something. That's everything, and its a damn shame you don't see that. I know a few people who'd be over the moon if they had even an ounce of the support you have." 

It was Jason's turn to look away now, pissed. When had he turned into such a mother hen, dishing out free advice? First Dick, now this guy. Jason thought he'd better start charging for his services. Clark had it easy. He came from a good, loving home, was surrounded by loyal friends - and he thought _he_ had it hard? Jason tried to shake his head clear of the memories that popped up in his mind: cold, damp, threadbare rags he dared called clothing, living on the streets in mid-winter, fending off molesters, scrounging for food, having to survive without friends, not to mention family - Clark didn't know shit,but Jason wasn't about to start sharing his feelings now, like a little girl. He could feel Clark watching him - probably pitying the poor little orphan boy. Jason stood up. He hated that he was giving this overgrown clown advice; the man didn't deserve it. He didn't want Clark's pity, or concern - he was here to do a job, that was it. 

Jason straightened up, placing the books in his bag and wore his jacket. He walked past Clark, only to stop a few centimetres away from him.

"Life isn't fair. But what you do have, hold onto it, real tight." 

Jason stood for a moment more before taking his leave. Clark was an idiot, and he had no time for idiots.

 

 

Clark watched him go. Jason was right: his pity party had gone on long enough. It was time he stood up and faced the situation, no matter how uncomfortable. He realised that this was part of the reason why Bruce had kept his distance, why he had left it to him to reach out first. Bruce was, in his own way, helping Clark to understand that keeping to himself, shying away from the situation, was not helpful, nor was it becoming of Superman, a leader. The Hood, giving him advice - Clark would be laughing now if the truth weren't so bitter. Hearing Jason speak was...unsettling. He had forgotten that Hood wasn't just Hood - he was Jason, and had once upon a time been a young boy, forced to grow up too early, in a harsh, unforgiving world. Clark wasn't about to forgive the man - Jason was still a criminal, and as far as he was concerned, responsible for all his actions, but Clark knew he'd be a damn fool if he denied just how much of Jason's life circumstances, the little he knew about anyway, had influenced the man's decisions. Clark looked out the window. A man is a product of his own choices, that's what his Pa always said. Jason didn't exactly choose to die - none of them were clear on how Jason's death had actually come about, because they had never asked him. Never even bothered to find out. Jason had chosen his path- albeit a path not of his own complete volition-, but still, he made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. His choices were his own, no-one else's, and if they happened to put the man on the wrong side of the law, so be it. But Jason... Jason was an unknown, he operated in the unknown, and that left Clark uneasy. Too many shades of grey, when it came to that man, he thought.

Clark stayed where he was for a few more minutes, before standing up, heading upstairs. 

John would never forgive him if he forgot to bring his Oreos.


	11. They say the truth hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim visits Dick. Bruce and Clark talk.

Bludhaven. A worse shithole than Gotham - how is that possible, Tim thought?

Tim looked at the map Bruce had given him of Dick’s address. He looked around at where his brother lived; not the best area, but it wasn’t bad. The three story private apartment block at least came with underground parking, so Tim wouldn’t need to worry about someone trying to rob him. He had opted to drive one of Bruce’s old cars; a rusty pick up truck – a fifteen year old with a Merc would not do him any favours, especially here. Alfred had helped Tim load the car with a few supplies for Dick: first aid, a few slings, painkillers and most important of all, food. Alfred was constantly complaining of Dick’s eating habits and Tim couldn’t blame him – all Dick ate was sugar, more sugar, and underneath it all, sugar. Tim had many a time stared at his brother’s perfect teeth; he wondered whether Dick removed his shiny whites at night to reveal his true, rotting, brown ones. Bruce hadn’t said anything as Tim and Alfred packed the goods into the truck, which earned him a good “Have nothing to do, Master Bruce? Perhaps you can assist an old man like myself with a few of these things”, causing the man to go red. Tim had cackled loudly as he watched his father hurry to help Alfred, much like an overgrown chicken, and Bruce had scowled at him in return.

Bruce had hugged Tim before leaving, placing a small kiss to his boy’s hair, and asked Tim to tell Dick to “Get well soon, old boy.” The message was clear. Bruce knew what had happened, without Tim informing him of the situation, but felt it would be best to allow Dick to come to him first, instead of pushing the matter. It was his way of trying to “do better” with his children, and Tim had smiled knowingly in response. He was proud of his father – a few years too late, but at least he was trying now.

And now Tim was here, outside Dick’s place. He studied the area. It was a good fit; Dick had wanted to shed a little of the Wayne glamour that usually afforded each of them luxury, and had comprised with Bruce on living here. Not over the top, but not to shabby either, a good distance from town and from Gotham - the man could enjoy his independence and travel home under forty minutes. The pair’s relationship had improved considerably over the past few years, and Bruce had finally come to terms with seeing Nightwing as his partner, not just his son. Tim, on the other hand, had grown more distant from Dick, which was a large part of the reason as to why he had never visited his brother in Bludhaven. The other main reason was down to Damian – the demon had rubbed it in, taunting Tim by describing just how _nice_ Dick’s place was, particularly his room – no, the guest room was actually for him, hadn’t Dick told him?- and it had driven the wedge between Tim and Dick even further. 

Tim was about to drop his brother a message when he noticed one of the garage doors of the apartment block opening. As soon as the exiting car had left, Tim quickly drove in, parking near to the lifts. He checked his phone. Dick lived at apartment 308, the last on the third and final floor. Not too bad, Dick would have easy access to the roof, Tim surmised. Carrying as many bags as he could – three large bags in one hand, two in the other, and another 2 strapped across his neck, he made his way slowly to the elevators, making sure that the bag containing stews and other liquids were kept nice and level to avoid spillage. Entering the lifts, he waited, slightly anxious, as the elevator crawled up to the third floor. Tim had deliberately chosen _not_ to inform Dick of his arrival; he knew his brother would be embarrassed, but Tim needed Dick to know that though he was angry with him, he did not hate him. Dick seemed to have this strange belief that you could either love someone or hate them, like or dislike them. Dick was like Bruce in this regard, Clark even – none of them seemed to be able to identify with anything other than extremes. 

Tim could see that Dick believed he hated him, and it made Tim frustrated – they were, at present, awkward; things had definitely changed between the two, but hate? No way. For all intents and purposes, Tim loved his brother, and he knew the opposite was true, otherwise Dick would not have made such a mess of trying to confront Jason, in order to reach him. Dick’s problem, Tim surmised, was that his optimism blinded him to the things that didn’t fit with his way of thinking. Dick was far too happy to avoid the negatives, the unknown, the grey areas, so long as he could maintain his happy, all-is-well-in-the-world outlook of life. Except, the world didn’t operate that this way. People didn’t operate in this way. Yes, there was and is good, as is the case for that which is considered bad, but there are also times when things in between are…uncertain, difficult to describe, - grey areas in every shade, and Tim was determined to help his brother understand this.

Ding.

Floor three.

Tim lumbered slowly out of the elevator; the straps around his neck from the bags were getting tighter each second, and he could feel his face turning red. Common sense would dictate carrying only a few things at a time, before returning for the rest, but Tim was a man, you see, and there was no way he would be making a second trip back down. Tim felt the sweat drip from his hair and travel down the back of his shirt. Eurgh. He’d have to take a shower after this. Tim huffed slightly, trying to keep his focus. Why did Dick have to live at the very end of the hallway? This shit is torture, Tim thought, gritting his teeth at the way his muscles screamed in protest. Finally, after what seemed like miles of walking, Tim reached Dick’s door. Dropping the bags to the floor with a soft thud, he leaned against the doorway, catching his breath. He rubbed his neck absent-mindedly as he dug out his phone. Just after one pm in the afternoon. Dick’s shift would have finished by eleven, after a God-forsaken three am start, and his brother would have hopefully had time to shower and nap for a bit. Tim sent Dick a quick message. Shifting closer to the door, he listened intently – he heard the tell-tell buzz of his sent message, and movement in the apartment. Tim was about to lean in further to hear Dick’s response, when a series of soft thuds became gradually louder as they approached the door. Footsteps. Standing back slightly, Tim waited as the door opened, coming face to face with Dick.

Dick, on his part, was shocked at Tim’s arrival. He hadn’t spoken to his brother in a long while, and Dick had yet to tell anyone but Alfred why he currently looked the way he did. He had avoided the Manor; Bruce had not called, which meant that…Tim knew, and he knew because Jason had most likely told him. Dick stared at his phone from where he stood in the kitchen, about to make himself a bowl of cereal. He wanted to see his brother, desperately, but not like this. Tim visiting would also mean he knew Dick had eavesdropped on the conversation he'd had with Bruce, and Dick swallowed, anxiously. Tim would not be pleased. Their relationship was already on the rocks, and by doing what he did, Dick essentially gave Tim another reason why he should distance himself from him. Dick sighed. Tim was here now, and he might as well own up to his mistakes. Straightening up, he walked slowly to the door, considering whether to plaster on his usual thousand mega watt smile. At the last minute, he decided against doing so. Dick was tired, weary and sore all over. A little part of him hoped that it might garner some sympathy from his brother, but Dick knew Tim would see past it. He needed to be honest with Tim – he had acted selfishly, and though he hated to say it, he _did_ deserve that beatdown. Dick just wished it hadn’t come from Jason Todd, of all people. Just thinking about the guy left a bitter taste in his mouth. Shaking his head free of such negativity, Dick took a deep breath and opened the door.

And bit his lip from laughing out loud.

Tim, all five foot eight of his twig-like self, appeared slightly leaned to one side, reminding Dick of the tower of Pisa. His brother’s face was red, and, judging by the one, two, three – seven bags crowding around the entrance, the boy looked frazzled by the effort. Tim, for his part, gave his brother a small glare, daring him to comment, but Dick looked at him, lips pressed together, trying very hard to keep a straight face. Tim sighed.

“Go ahead.”

Dick burst out laughing, before holding his ribs – shit, why did he keep forgetting about them?

“Ow ow ow ow oooooww”, he moaned as Tim guided him to the couch.

Tim sat down on the living room table, opposite him, looking at him all over – ah, assessing for injuries. Such a bat, Dick thought, and he couldn’t stop the smile appearing on his face. Tim rolled his eyes at Dick’s expression, though he had lowered his head, face now red from embarrassment.

“When’s the next dose of painkillers?”

“Just taken one twenty minutes ago, thank you Timmy dearest.” Dick was grinning now and Tim, though still pissed at his brother, let his face smile.

“Suck a klutz.”

“You know me.”

They looked at each other, laughing, before the silence returned again. It was less awkward this time. Dick opened his mouth to speak, taking advantage of their momentary truce, but Tim beat him to it.

“Nah-uh. Food first. Alfred will blow a gasket if he catches you eating this junk. You know you’ll end up dying of diabetes at like, forty, if you keep this up.” Tim was stern, but still smiling.

Dick grinned even more. “Not true, nerdbrain. I’ll have it known, on record, that Diabetes can never touch me.” 

Tim snorted, earning a cackle from Dick. Dick made to get up but Tim pushed him back on the couch a little. 

“Nope. I’m here to take care of your ridiculous, overgrown self, which means you get to sit back and relax a bit, whilst I take care of all this." Tim gestured to the shambolic mess of the apartment. If I see you helping, I’ll replace all your snacks with Quinoa bars and Kale.”

Dick looked horror stricken, and Tim had to bite the insides of his cheeks to stop laughing out loud.

“Noooo…Noo! You wouldn’t dare, Timothy, how could you?” Dick had gone full on drama queen now, one arm flung precariously over his forehead, lamblasting heavy, throaty sobs. Tim rolled his eyes again before laughing. This guy, he thought.

Ignoring his brother, Tim fished out two chocolate bars from his pocket and flicked them towards Dick’s, watching the glee light up his face. Muttering about rotten teeth, and decaying toes, Tim made his way to the door and began bringing in the goods. The next two hours or so were spent comfortably; Tim re-heating the lunch Alfred had prepared for himself and Dick, putting away the rest of the food in the fridge and freezer, re-stocking Dick’s first aid supply, and cleaning the messy apartment. At one point, Tim had lobed a pair of filthy socks in Dick’s general direction, much to his brother’s amusement. Dick had taken the time to truly rest in the care of someone else; he had his feet up, eyes glued on the TV screen as he watched a few re-runs of Pysch. His new favourite show, laughing as he munched away on a few snacks. Tim had later joined him on the couch to watch also – though Tim had grumbled, calling it “stupid”, a few episodes in, the boy had changed his mind, laughing along, snarky commentaries thrown back and forth, though he refused to admit liking anything.

A little while later, their laughter had gradually subsided into a quiet silence. Comfortable, peaceful, both men relaxed on the couch. Dick couldn't remember the last time he'd just chilled with his brother like this, way from the Cave, reports - just the two of them. He didn't want the day to end, nor did he want to start speaking. Dick glanced at his brother. Tim's eyes were half closed, and stretched out on the couch, Dick thought he hadn't seen Tim like this in forever. He debated speaking, starting the conversation, to get everything off his chest, but suddenly, he remembered Jason's and Alfred's advice. Time and space. Patience. Dick realised how selfish he would be if he were to start talking, as he always did whenever silence fell, and from the way Tim looked, it seemed as if Tim was just waiting for him to start.

Dick looked away, suddenly embarrassed. Was he always like this? Jumping in without regards to others, all about _his_ thoughts, _his_ feelings, what _he_ wanted to do - no wonder Tim hated him. He could feel the tears at the back of his eyes and he looked up at the ceiling, forcing them to return to their nest. Dick swallowed, feeling at a loss. He so badly wanted to reach his brother, to hug all their pain, separation, the loneliness away, but that was silly, and Tim was no longer a child. Even as a kid, the boy had been perceptive - after all, Tim had come to live with them, knowing _exactly_ who they were, including their night-time activities. Dick forced himself to wait. Patience right? He had never been one to be patient, to sit still, but he grasped his fingers together and held them, tight. No, Dick decided. He was not going to let Tim down, not now.

Tim was aware of his brother's movements. He watched the TV with mild disinterest, paying more attention to the hesitation in Dick's breathing, how he turned to look away from their position, the way he interlocked his fingers together. Dick was struggling. Tim felt torn in half; why couldn't he just be plain angry? Why did he have to feel so mad, and yet so guilty for making his brother upset? But Jason had told him that he had every right to feel as he did, and more importantly, he _could_ feel that way _and_ acknowledge that he loved his brother at the same time. Nothing hurts more than family, Tim thought. He could hear Dick debate on whether to start talking, apologising probably. But, for whatever reason, Dick decided not to, and it left Tim impressed. Dick was, for once, going to take a seat and allow someone else to speak for a change. Tim closed his eyes, grateful. Dick had, in essence, given him the perfect opportunity to speak what was truly on his mind. They wouldn't be able to mend everything all at once, no, but it was a start. Tim could see out of the corner of his eye - Dick was still staring at the ceiling, as if it would open and give him answers. He...was waiting, Tim realised. Waiting for him to go ahead. Tim took a slight breath and watched Dick still in response - his brother wanted to listen - before speaking.

"I know you're trying."

Tim paused. Dick looked at him, briefly, before looking away.

"I don't want you to give up; I'm not expecting you to, its kinda your thing." Tim chuckled to himself carrying on.

"But...we've been growing apart for a while. I think...we've both made mistakes. We neglected to confront the differences we were seeing, and now, its...hard to connect, you know?" Tim looked away as he said this, biting his lip. Dick had yet to say anything.

"I understand why you eavesdropped Dick. Its part of the same reason as to why you went to Jason - you wanted answers, I get that. I haven't exactly made it easy for you, but listen Dick. This shit will take time to work out - rushing me, antagonising Jay - that won't fix what's wrong between us. I'm pissed as hell that you listened to Bruce and I's conversation, when you know, for certain, that I didn't want you guys to overhear. I didn't want you there because you wouldn't understand. I knew you would get fixated on the fact that its Jason I turned to, but you missed the point, Dick, you really did. As I said to Bruce, it isn't so much: why Jason. It's why I feel the way I do in the first place, and why I felt unable to turn to my own family. You rushing off, trying to take it out on Jay, just shows me how little you understand, Dick. I...I don't know how best to explain it." Tim broke off here, trying to gather his thoughts. Dick had turned away from him, rigid - he was upset. Tim continued.

"Turning to Jason was never about hating you, or trying to get back at you or crap like that. It was...trying to _reach out_ to someone, that I could feel like I mattered again, that I hadn't been forgotten, or left by the wayside. I felt overwhelmed with work, WE, cases, Damian...it all became too much. And you know the most surprising thing? I didn't realise how bad things had become until Jason forced me to sit down one night, and just talk. He didn't interrupt, or argue, offer his opinion, or dismiss my feelings - he just sat there, silent, while I fucking broke down, and you know what? Not once did he take the opportunity to speak bad of you. I mean, sure, you got called a couple of names, but in all honesty? Jay told me that you probably knew what was going on, but didn't know how to fix it. That in your desire to see everything as "happy", you just couldn't see the grey, Dick, the not so good, and let me tell you, I was mad at Jason for taking your side. Jason should have backed down; I mean, apart from me, he had no-one else. No friends. No family. No real place to call home. If I left, that was it. And _yet_ , Dick, at the expense of losing me, his only friend, Jason still chose to tell me the truth. That all this is complicated. That there's a whole lotta hurt, pain, mistakes that shouldn't have happened, words that should have never been spoken, and the longer we keep silent about it, the worse it would get...until, one day, you and me would end up like him and you. From brother's to strangers and if it was too late, enemies. Dick, he said all of this to help me, cause I gotta tell you - I was falling apart, fast. And not one of you knew." 

Tim's voice was close to breaking, and his vision was turning blurry. Dick was looking at him now, shaking his head slightly, wiping his eyes. This was hard, for both of them.

"I'm so sorry, Tim. I.." Dick's voice was a mere whisper, and even then Tim could hear the hitch in his voice. He forced himself to keep speaking, knowing that if he stopped, he'd breakdown too.

"One day I was close. I'd had enough. WE had almost lost the Taiwan contract, Bruce was mad as hell, giving me a right reaming in his office, and then I had to come home, to one brother who favoured me over the other, and that object of his affection taunting me yet again, that I was an incompetent fool, a shit-worth-nothing outsider, that my parents, wherever they were, were finally glad to be rid of me. I hated my parents, Dick, but I tried so hard to please them...I-I did everything, everything right, and still, they were always disappointed. I decided that that night would be my very last. I found myself in my old room, in my old house, I don't even know how I got there. All I could remember was the heavy weight of a gun in my hand, solid, too real. I knew I was losing it, I was panicky, crying, I couldn't breathe, I just wanted it to be over. I don't know what possessed me to do it but I'd slipped a little note in one the pockets of Jay's leather jacket. I'd told him that I was proud of him, and thanked him for being there for me, as a brother and as a friend." I sat there, gun in my hand, debating whether to aim for head or the heart, I couldn't decide."

Dick felt like throwing up. He was shaking, his heart hammered painfully in his chest, and he could feel himself growing faint. Tim, his little brother, had been _this_ close to ending it all, and he hadn't known? So he, Dick Grayson, critically acclaimed loving older brother, had probably had dinner with his family, or taken Damian out, or shared coffee with Bruce, all while his Tim was debating the quickest way to die? Dick couldn't move, he wanted to escape, to pretend this wasn't happening, but it was no use. Tim kept talking.

"All of a sudden...Jason burst through the window. The entire window was just _shredded_ to bits and - if you think you've even seen an an angry Jason Todd, think again. I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life...he-he was screaming, really top of the lungs, agonising screaming, not even shouting. He whipped the gun away and shook me by the shoulders so hard, I was convinced my head was gonna snap - I had to scream at him to stop, and he just..burst into tears. We both did, in that horrible room, we broke all the way fucking down. He wouldn't leave me alone after that, no matter what I said, and I said a whole lot. Horrible things. I told him his mother was glad to be rid of him, that he should have died and never came back, that no-one wanted him, loved him, that I would never forgive him for trying to kill me - all lies - and still, even with the awful, awful shit I spewed, Jason stayed with me. Everyday. I punched him, kicked, lashed out - he still has three four inch scars on the inside of his forearm, right when I was fighting with him to let me go, to just _let me die in peace_. Jason never let go, ever. He never defended himself, though he had every right to. He took it all, the insults, the abuse - for weeks, he had me going to rehab in a centre out in Spain. Jason was the one who came up with the cover of me trying to secure a deal for WE in Barcelona, you remember that?

Dick, hearing all this, had been sat up, mouth wide open, absolutely fucking speechless. Jason had done all this? Dick remembered that time - Tim had called, telling Bruce he'd be in Barcelona for a few weeks trying to sort out some WE deal, and Bruce had thought nothing of it. And all the while, Jason had been there, with Tim, everyday? Dick wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

"He was with me everyday, Dick. While I wept, fantasied about the other ways I could leave this life, he was right there, telling me that I was loved, that I was wanted - Jason Todd, the one we threw away, called hopeless, decided guilty until proven innocent- that same guy was brave enough to put aside his own rejection to get me back from the brink."

Both men were crying now.

"It wasn't easy, coming back you know. I was tempted to just live with Jason - we were already looking at houses, colleges, everything, and I knew already Jason didn't me to return to Gotham at all; he made that pretty clear, but...he sat me down one evening. He told me that if it were up to him, we'd leave and never come back, and shit, Dick, I was about to jump up right there, get our things and go, but he made me think about you guys..about you, Bruce, Alfred..and I realised, I couldn't do that to you . You didn't know because I hadn't told you how I'd been feeling all this while. Jason helped me to see that if anything had happened...Bruce would be devastated. Crushed. And you, -Jay said you would go mad with grief. Alfred would have a heart attack, a stroke - he would never be the same again. I could see how much it hurt Jason to say all this, Dick, but he still said it, even though he wanted me to stay with him, and I wanted it too. Yet, the man was selfless enough to look at the bigger picture, and put my needs above his."

Dick had his head in his hands.

Tim took a few moments to himself. He hadn't been planning out on letting this aspect of his life...it still felt too raw.

"Dick...I'm telling you all this because I'm trying to get you to understand this: Jason is my brother. He is my best friend, and we've seen each other at pretty low points. But you, too, Dick, are my brother. I look up to you, I trust you, and even though we're going through a rough patch, it doesn't mean that I've somehow stopped loving you. Life doesn't exist in extremes, Dick. Its not love or hate, black or white. I need both of you, you and Jason. And Jason's made it clear - he's cool with it. Our business is not the same as mine and his. I'm not asking you guys to be pals - just to acknowledge that you're both in my life _because I want you to be_. It is _not_ a competition, believe me. I know you have your reservations; you're not the only one, but hopefully, with time, you might see things a little differently."

Tim smiled at is brother, taking his hand. Dick's own smile was weak in return. 

"As for us? We'll get there. Not overnight, not automatically, but we'll get there, I promise. What I need from you is this: give me time, give me some space, and be patient. I'm not saying cut off all contact, or act all subdued around me, 'cause then you're not being yourself, and if that carries on, you'll end up resenting having to change to be around me. So for this to work, we have to be ourselves. That means, Dick, that there will be times that I'll be pissed, and you're just gonna have to acknowledge that. Shying away, or pretending everything is normal, will make it even more difficult for us to reconnect. And on my part, it will take time to understand that you're a big brother to me _and_ to Damian. Speaking of...Damian is a whole 'nother issue. Truth be said, you and Bruce failed to adequately lock down his "Tim is my enemy" shit, and now you two are stuck between pleasing one brother, one son, and alienating the other. You've allowed Damian to go on for too long; telling him to "stop" won't do shit. I think..when things are better, when I get stronger, then I'll try to sit down with him and get to know the guy. I wasn't exactly the most welcoming, I'll admit that. Maybe what's needed is for us just to get to know each other, you know? Just simple things. Finding out what the guy likes, shit like that."

Tim broke off. The tension was still there, but, feeling Dick's eyes on him, it felt like a breakthrough had been made.

Dick let the silence rest a while before speaking.

"Tim." Dick broke off, mouth suddenly dry. He didn't know what to say, only that he didn't want to mess it all up. He took a deep breath and tried again.

"Tim...I-I'm so sorry. I've been such a shitty brother-" Dick looked down, fiddling, before looking at Tim. He wanted his brother to hear this.

"I've been a selfish dick - go ahead and laugh." Tim's small chuckle brought a smile to Dick's face. He continued.

"I could feel you slipping away; it's been happening for a while. I felt like the more I saw it, the more impossible it seemed to be to reach you. You were growing distant day by day, and...I just couldn't reach you. I know its my fault, Tim, I know. I pushed you away in favour of Damian,-but I swear, Tim, I love you just as much as I always have, more in fact. There's not a chance in hell that anyone could ever replace you, I absolutely swear it. I can't imagine how you must have felt the entire time, even now, like you no longer had a place, that you weren't...wanted, needed- God, I'm so sorry. I've fucked this up, and I will fix it I promise. I will get you back, I will get us back, and i swear, when I do, I'll never let go. Tim, look at me, please."

Tim had looked away, eyes hot with tears. He wiped them away before turning to look at his brother.

"Your name is Timothy Drake Wayne. Fifteen years old. Ridiculously smart, kind, and considerate, and I am sorry for failing you as a brother, and as a friend. I've heard you, Tim. I will do my best to comply with what you've asked: time, space, and to be patient, I will respect your wishes. But you've gotta know, little brother, that I won't be perfect at it. I will make mistakes in trying to reach you - confronting Jason was a big mistake, and...the guy didn't deserve that, I know that now. I _was_ jealous that you had "chosen" him, when I should have been more concerned at _why_ and _how_ things had gotten to this state in the first place. From the little I've heard, and though I hate to admit it... the guy deserves a thank you. I'll still have my differences about him, and I'm sure its the same vice versa, but if he being in your life keeps you here, alive, with us...then I'm gonna play ball. As for Damian, its about time he understands that you are as much a part of this family as he is. Take your time, Tim. Do whatever you need to do, but I won't stop trying, alright? Just...let me know your're okay now and again, yeah?

Dick's eyes were full of tears again, and seeing his little brother breakdown, too many in such a short space of time, moved over and hugged the boy close to his chest. They remained that way till the rest of the evening, not speaking, just enjoying the comfort.

 

 

Bruce was at his study when he received a firm knock at the door. Alfred, popping his head round, informed him that Master Clark was here to speak to him. Bruce sat back in his chair. About time. He knew Clark had been feeling guilty over his actions last week, but Bruce decided it would be up to Clark to make the first move. The man had a habit of shying away from confrontation, and that was not good for anyone, especially the League. So Bruce had kept to his usual routine; attending meetings with WE, training the recruits at the watch-tower, reviewing reports, more meetings - but not once had he gone out of his way to reach Clark. As he predicted, Clark had evaded him, though Bruce knew he was been dragged across the world for meetings of his own - Superman was a global figure after all. He had received a call from Perry, boss of the Daily Planet, the paper he owned, recommending that Clark, his own reporter, be fired. Bruce had placed the phone on mute fora few seconds, chuckling. Perry was a hard man, but he was not a stupid one. Clark was an above average reporter, nowhere near Lane's level, but his strength lay in his writing. Clark had a special gift of bringing his articles to life; though being Superman did help somewhat, it was hard to deny just how well Superman could voice his take on an issue, or offer excellent, well balanced reporting on inflammatory topics. The man was perceptive without being over-bearing, analytical without being pushy - Perry would be a fool to let Clark go, and Bruce had not hesitated on saying so, smirking silently at the man's surprised stuttering.

Bruce left his study and made his way down to the hall. Clark was dressed in that hideous get-up he called his "casual look" - brown plaid shirt, jeans, old trainers - it was ugly, but it was Clark. Along with those stupendously goofy glasses that Bruce knew for sure was unnecessary, Clark looked like he'd been dropped straight out of the Kansas hillbilly playbook and landed on his doorstep. Bruce resisted rolling his eyes outwardly. The man was bent over slightly, looking at his shoes - Clark was nervous. He's coming to apologise, Bruce surmised. A part of him relished the thought, that the boy scout had lost control, but it was a very small part. Long ago, he would have made a bigger deal out of it, but Bruce had changed - they both had, and their friendship was too deep to be ruined by such a minor altercation. Though Bruce had already put the incident far out of his mind, he knew his friend would not have done the same; more like wallowed in misery and crushed by the guilt, he thought.

Clark looked up at him now, and looked away quickly. Bruce sighed.

"Clark."

"Hey-Hey Bruce. I, uh,...oh heck, I'm sorry, Bruce, truly I am. I swear, I never meant to hurt you like that, please believe me, I couldn't _believe_ I lost control like that, God I'm such a-"

"Clark."

"-to you, of all people, God, how could I be so stupid? You must hate me by now, I understand if you want me out, shit, Bruce, I can't tell you how-"

" **Clark**."

Bruce was tired of watching his friend beat himself up; Clark had been walking in small circles, hand through his hair, evidently distressed. Bruce didn't have enough spite to punish his friend any further. The man was already going through enough, for all of them.

"Its forgotten."

"But Bruce, how can you say that? I can't, I'm so-"

"If I hear another 'I'm sorry' one more time, you will never again be allowed to eat Alfred's steak bakes."

Bruce smirked. Alfred's steak bakes were made less than a handful of times each year, and they were absolutely _legendary._

Clark stopped now, clamping his mouth shut. He couldn't risk Alfred's bakes, oh no. He glared slightly at Bruce; the man was really pushing it, how dare he bring Alfred's baking into the matter. Bruce simply smirked even more, and Clark couldn't help but sigh."

"So I can't tell you I apologise."

"No."

"Beg for your forgiveness."

"No."

"Express my sincerest regrets."

"No."

"Beg your pardon."

" **Clark.** "

Both men were smiling now. Clark knew he was forgiven. A few beats of silence passed before Clark spoke again, voice low, looking at his friend.

"I am sorry, Bruce."

"I know. I trust that you will use the experience as one to learn from." Bruce matched his friend's tone, studying him.

Clark angled his head in a slight nod. Acknowledgement. Good.

Bruce turned away and headed towards the patio. It was a nice afternoon, and he could do with a little sunlight. He walked a little further, stopping for a moment, and without turning his head, called to his friend.

"I don't have all day, Clark. You can remain standing if you wish, but I'd rather enjoy this time to relax a little."

Clark smiled sheepishly, following Bruce to the garden, where Alfred had already set a platter of sandwiches and a cooler of beers for their benefit.

The two men used the time to catch-up. They didn't say much, but it was comfortable. Clark had missed his friend, and though Bruce would rather change soiled nappies than say it, he was glad his friend had visited.

"So." Clark started, sipping a beer, looking deliberately out into the garden. Bruce cocked a sideways glance at him, before rolling his eyes a little, causing Clark to smile at the action. Bruce knew exactly what Clark wanted to ask.

"Out with it, boy scout."

Clark chuckled at the name; why Bruce called him that, he didn't know. Contrary to the Bat's opinion, Clark had not always been the all round, goody two-shoes as a boy. He _had_ gotten into a substantial amount of mischief as a kid, much to the chagrin of his Ma and the amusement of his father. He let his laughter subside before speaking.

"I spoke to Jason yesterday."

Bruce paused at that.

Clark looked at his friend's quirked eyebrow. It was a signal for him to continue. Taking a gulp of his beer and gazing ahead at the gardens, he began speaking again.

"Yesterday was the second time I met him, in the library. I'd forgotten how much Jason liked to read". Clark knew that Bruce too was looking straight ahead, probably reminiscing.

"The first time was a shock to us both, definitely. It caught me off guard, and I know he was pretty surprised. But..he didn't leave. We didn't argue, or come to blows - heck we didn't even speak. You know the couch I like?"

"East Wing, next to the D-F section?" 

"That's the one." Bruce rolled his eyes. Many a time had he caught his friend on that couch, snoozing, reading, eating. Come to think of it, Clark had a slight obsession of finding and keeping secret his favourite reading spots.

"Jason was all curled up on it, reading Great Expectations. I was knackered to the hills that day, probably why I'd failed to pick up his heartbeat. It was kinda weird. I half expected him to have it out right there, you know? But nothing happened in the end. I sat on the same cough, next to him, and whilst he read, I dozed off. Or, rather, pretended to."

Bruce looked at him.

"What? I was curious, I wanted to see what he would do."

"And?"

"And nothing. Didn't take a picture, didn't laugh - he just continued reading. Eventually, he himself dozed off. Apparently he's been pulling out all the stops to review the work as quickly as possible."

"He has."

Both men said nothing for a moment. Clark still felt a little bewildered as he recalled their meeting. Bruce, on his end, felt...felt something. Hidden, long ago - he remembered he'd been reading a few classics with Jay, and one of those he'd planned to read was indeed Great Expectations. Jason did used to love their sessions - he would rush through his night routine as quickly as possible, and snuggle up to Bruce, soothed by his deep voice, though the boy would hotly deny "snuggling" to anything. The memory brought a smile to Bruce's face. Clark didn't ask why, and Bruce appreciated him for it. He would have found it hard to speak anyway. Clark carried on.

"The second time was due to a little master planning from J'onn." Clark was smiling now.

Bruce looked at him, puzzled. "J'onn?"

"Yep. He had me fetch this book, something to do with the universe, I dunno, but the author was Carl Sagan. I found it in the D-F section." Clark trailed off, letting Bruce put the pieces together. He looked at Bruce, and his friend looked at him, before they both burst into laughter. J'onn was a sly one.

"Uh-huh. It was pretty late, actually, almost one in the morning - I really didn't expect anyone at all, but as we all know, life has a way with messing with us." Clark grinned, and Bruce offered a small smile.

"This time we did talk, just a little. He made a comment about how it'll go down better if I bought him flowers and a movie, not stalked him."

Both men burst out laughing again, Clark shaking his head in embarrassment. 

"I'm telling you Bruce, I was so embarrassed. Honestly, it was just...urgh" Clark held his head in his hands, willing the blush to subside already.

"Jason was a little...more assured, I think, that nothing was gonna happen. Not cocky, just a little less anxious, and I'm not sure, but a part of me was kinda glad for the guy." There was quiet for a while. Jason was the Hood, that was true, but under the Hood was a man who apparently had..feelings, emotions. It was strange how they'd forgotten that.

"He said that something wasn't right; that he couldn't describe it, but one thing he knew for sure: we were used to start war."

Both men stilled a little. They had indeed been used, and it was a difficult pill to swallow.

"He told me that the League, that I - despite our differences - I didn't deserve what was happening. I'm telling you, Bruce, honestly, I didn't know what to say to that. I fully expected him to make fun of us. Even Jason admitted being confused at why he was telling me all this." Clark sighed. Bruce waited to hear the rest of the story.

"I don't know what came over me, Bruce - whether it was the tiredness, or just being _sick_ of trying so hard and failing, but I opened up to him a little. I told him that a part of me knew something was wrong, but I didn't want to offend them, and now, you guys were paying for my mistakes."

Clark looked away. Bruce found himself unable to finish his beer.

"You know what Jason said? He told me to - I repeat - 'cut the crap with the pity party'. That no matter what, part of the blame is always going to be on me, but the responsibility is to shared as a whole, because that's what happens when you work as a team - you take account of yourself and each other. That the situation is bad, but its not the end - in other words, shit happens, regardless of how much you do 'right', and the best way to deal with it all is to face it head on."

Bruce remained silent. He hadn't expected that. The Hood, giving advice, and good advice too.

"Jason mentioned for us to keep hanging on - that there was a whole lot of ugly coming our way before things would begin to get better. That, despite everything, I still had friends, support - even an ounce of that would be good enough for those he knew."

Clark looked away now as Bruce looked at him. It was all true. Clark was embarrassed, humiliated, let down - but he was going through it all with his friends, who too, were also in the same situation. He had friends and family, more than most had in a lifetime. Clark had a feeling Jason was referring to himself as one of those who wouldn't mind being in Clark's shoes, if it meant being surrounded by such support. 

"He's right, Clark."

Clark looked at his friend, waiting for him to continue. Bruce still gazed out at the gardens, but the lack of eye contact did not make his words any less genuine.

"You are not the only one going through all this. We all have to share the responsibility. We went in with good intentions, and the end result has been...unexpected. But that's life Clark. Sometimes we get what we expect, what we've worked for, what's right, and at other times, that isn't the case. Whatever the situation, it is your attitude that determines whether you will rise once again. It...it is surprising, hearing all this from Jason, but of all the people I know, I think he is uniquely qualified in this regard. I don't know many who've come back from the dead, to a world very different from the one he left, and having to deal with what he faced. His actions are his own, of course, and the consequences fall on his neck alone. But life makes you think Clark, and more than that, it shows you what you should never take for granted."

Clark swallowed, looking down. The truth hurts, that's what they say, he thought.

"We will get through this, as a team. As for Jason, only time will tell."

Bruce left the matter at that. Clark nodded, glad that despite their circumstances, he wasn't alone. None of them were.

They spent the remainder of the afternoon drinking beer, eating, and enjoying the outdoors.

All things aside, it was a good day after all.


	12. Fool me once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason presents his findings to the League. Xan and Gol have ideas of their own.

Monday morning, seven am. 

Jason was already in the watch-tower library, enjoying the lovely cup of coffee he'd made at home; the cafeteria version was too shitty for words, and so he'd resorted to bring in his own in a small flask. Jason had enjoyed his weekend, and had made his way to the watch-tower early. Preparation was key, he knew that. It was an important life skill - even as a Ghost, it had been clear that half the battle took place in the planning centre, where he and the rest of the Ghosts would go over the mission plans and objectives meticulously. The actual mission was a very small part of the overall picture. Jason had spent the last hour in Auburn room, setting up live 4D interactive screens, footage of the incident, snippets of both audio and footage logs, whiteboards of a few calculations he had made, diagrams, and reviewing his notes. In the middle of the room, above the oval table, Jason had set up a pop-up visual timeline of the whole event - right from when the Lanterns had requested their help, up until their current point - the timeline would appear as soon as he activated the controls via remote. He had also turned on the outbound communications panel; they would need to set up a few phone calls, most likely. 

Jason looked around the room now. He had placed each of the League's newly modified communicators on the table, in front of each seat. Jason wanted to test them out - he would have the League wear the communicators as he watched a few of the communication logs in their presence; hopefully the English translation would appear in their minds. At one the side of the room was a wall lined with trays of coffee, tea, croissants and other breakfast materials. Jason smirked to himself - it would definitely throw off a few members. He'd brought in the good shit; a lovely selection Parisian and Middle Eastern delicacies, light, sweet and filling. He wasn't a cruel man - food _was_ an important part of the day and they needed all the energy they could get. And if he got a kick out of seeing Bruce's reaction to the food, particularly the Arabic teas, then, all the better.

Jason sat on the window bench at the opposite end of the room, behind the table. Stretching his legs across the seated cushions, he looked out the window. He was slowly getting used to being a few feet away from the dark outer expanse of space. At the moment, the galaxy appeared asleep; dark, quiet, and yet so peaceful. Jason wished he could spend his days like this, a book in one had, a mug of cocoa in the other, and let his mind drift away. For now, he had to settle with a cup of coffee. He looked at his watch. Seven-ten. The League were due in two hours time. Talia had given him her own personal copy of The Odyssey in Arabic, and Jason took out the book now, running his hand over the thin, worn spine. It had been one of his favourites; she'd it read to him during his first few months with the League of Assassins, back when sleep was futile, nightmares chased him relentlessly, and being alive was akin to agony. Talia would come into his room - it was always when he felt like he was trapped in his own body, pulling his hair out - and she would hold him close, brushing his sweaty locks. Jason would be entranced by her smooth lulling voice in the midst of his terror, and grow calm, memorising the hitch in her breathing, counting the number of pauses she took, inhaling the smell of jasmine in her hair as she held him. Talia. Jason smiled at the memory. It was...difficult to think about his time with the League, but Talia? She was the exception. He would never fully understand why she did what she did...but she was everything to him, and he could not lose her. There wasn't much he remembered about their time together, but he knew she had protected him, from Ra's, and from himself also. Jay briefly checked his phone. Their monthly catch-up call was fast approaching. He'd have to let her know he would be off world for a while. Jason opened the book and began to read, sipping his coffee slowly.

 

 

Nine twenty am.

One by one, the founders trickled in. Apart from looking up a few times to offer a small nod as a greeting, Jason did not speak. Still reading his book, Jason smirked to himself as he heard surprised murmurings at the food provided, and the small muffled groans of delight at the taste from one very satisfied Flash. Yeah, he didn't scrimp when it came to food. Jason had spent many years abroad, with the League of Assassins, and his own travels, and the breakfast provided certainly gave away his refined palate. Out of the corner of his eye, Jason saw how Bruce surveyed the food, resting a moment longer on the teas. With a grunt, and a rigidness almost impossible to detect unless trained, Bruce turned away and opted for water instead. Jason wanted to laugh. Bruce had got the message alright. Clark came in a few seconds later, nodding at the man, and, after momentary surprise, stood by Bruce and helped himself to some food. Judging by the lower tones they conversed in, and their demeanor, it was clear to the rest of the League that the two founders were back on good terms. Jason kept reading. He could feel several glances being thrown his way but he didn't give into the satisfaction of looking back.

By now, most of the League were seated, talking comfortably to each other, but still, Jason had yet to move from his position, stretched out on the window seat. Jason knew that the room was not yet complete - Manhunter and Hawkgirl had to be on their way. He had arranged three whole packets of Oreos on a plate earlier on - Jason had stood back to admire the sculpture he had created; a pyramid of oreos, with the highest oreo standing on its side. Perfect, he had praised himself. And now, watching J'onn walk in, tall, nodding in greeting to his fellow Leaguers, Jason had to turn his head even more towards the window to stop himself laughing. Manhunter had walked to his oreo piece and stared at it, clearly taken aback. The rest of them had chuckled slightly, and Manhunter had turned to look straight at Jason. The Martian knew it had to be him; Flash would have eaten the entire thing by now, and Jason had teased J'onn as boy for his love of the cookies. 

A voice suddenly echoed in his mind. Low, quiet, firm - it was Manhunter with his damn telepathic shit. 

" _Thank you, Jason_."

Jason didn't reply but tilted his head in acknowledgement.

Hawkgirl was last to arrive. With a few muted hellos, the woman made her way over to the table. Jason had heard that Hawkgirl had a particular affinity for Green tea, which left him amused. He could have sworn she was a coffee drinker - one could always identify a fellow coffee lover, he had thought. Helping herself to some sucuklu yumurta, dried sausage cooked with eggs, a Turkish delight, along with a side order of olives and tomatoes, she took her seat next to Flash, who threw his arm around her, drawing her into the conversation. Interesting, Jason surmised. It occurred to him that she would not have made a move to join in the conversation had Barry not extended his friendly invite. Jason waited a few moments, ensuring they were comfortable, before closing his book shut. The action turned a few heads his way, but he ignored them, swinging both feet to the floor, still seated, and leaned forward. Jason kept his eyes forward as he spoke, pointing the remote control to the screen.

"You're in a bit of bind, so to speak." Not quite mocking, but not so warm either. It was the truth; Jason wasn't here to play nice.

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife, but he didn't care.

"Look, we know that-" the Flash started, eyes narrowed at him, but Jason cut him off.

"You were used as an excuse to start war." Jason turned his head to look at Barry directly, who stopped, mouth open, before closing it gently. He carried on looking at the man, as if daring him to contradict, but Barry kept silent. Jason turned back to look at the screen, ignoring the glares burning holes into him. He took out the remote control and pressed the button labelled 'table view', bringing up the entire timeline of events above the table.

"From the beginning, there were only four things I wanted clarified. a. Why the League's help was requested in the first instance, b. how you guys went from third party peacemakers to war contributors, c. the IGC's ruling - why they came to the decision that they did, and d. what you guys would need to do to comply with their terms. I've gone over the whole lot, and to be honest, thought it mostly checks out, something's not right in the water".

Everyone looked at Jason now, a few surprised, some neutral. Jason stood up and walked around the room. 

"The whole event so far has taken around four months. Four months is an incredibly short time for "talks" to break down to the point that these guys start attacking each other. Here's where it gets interesting - its right around the time you guys finally used a little common sense to seek out the advice of the IGC. Put on your communicators. Manhunter, you ready?" 

Jason took out his own communicator from his pocket and placed it in his ear. Those who hadn't heard about the newly modified communicators (all except Batman and J'onn) looked at each other in confusion. Jason rolled his eyes.

"You can keep looking at each other, or you can put the damn things in. Your choice." His voice a little more forceful now. It was like dealing with kids.

The League obeyed, giving Jason dirty looks as they did so. Jason smirked to himself. "Yes, you hate me, but if this works, feel free to start with the ass-kissing."

Manhunter, now with his eyes closed, gave a telepathic "nudge" into Jason's mind.

" _Stop antagonising them, Jason. It will not win you any favours_."

"Not here to win favours, J'onn. Have you opened the channel?"

Manhunter paused, opening a channel between his mind and Jason's. Jason could feel an entryway opening on a conscious level - it was working.

" _Ready, Jason _."__

__Jason nodded. "Good. If you could all turn your attention to the screen in front"_ _

__Jason pressed play on the remote control. The footage started immediately - it was a video recording of the meeting the League had requested with the IGC, along with representatives from Xan and Gol. The League were out in the hallway, seated on one of the benches provided, conversing with one another. On the other side appeared the Ghusalem, conversing in hushed tones. Jason isolated the audio to focus on the Ghusalish spoken. It was a one of their more native dialects, deliberately chosen to avoid being overheard. Jason closed his eyes to focus in on the translation, and his concentration was converted into the minds of the League as static electricity, much like that of a TV. To his side, the League gasped, looking at each other, staring at him bewildered, but Jason continued to block them out._ _

__"Sorry, just a second...not Xari'an, Rimbu, Irkika...ah! They're speaking in Futian. Go ahead Manhunter, keep the channel open, I'm ready."_ _

__Jason focused on the footage in front of him. Futian was a particularly strange dialect; their voices were smooth, but the odd clunky intonation made it difficult for one to ascertain whether the speakers were upset or otherwise. The Xanderians appeared sombre, and at times gave angry looks at the League, but kept silent. Ah, Jason reckoned - they didn't want to be there, in front of the IGC. The Ghusalems; tall creatures, pale, scaly skin, a shock of long platinum hair, and colorless eyes, spoke in hushed tones, bent over one another. They were dressed in typical military regalia, apart from a mere handful who were fitted in more distinguishing attire: thick robes, hats - they moved gracefully. Red feathers, gold embroidery on their cloaks. Ah, Jason surmised. They were Gol's representatives. Leaders, academics most likely. Jason frowned. He had never liked them, the Ghsualems - their appearance alone left him with a degree of unease during the handful of times he'd visited Gol. The ISSA bridge, according to the laws of their universe's peace treaty, was open to all and free for movement, materials and services, so it wasn't as though Jason was exactly trespassing. Though not outwardly hostile, their people had always treated outsiders with an air of mild tolerance, distaste even, as if it was were a burden to treat others with respect. The Xanderians were much more hospitable, in Jason's opinion. They had kept their distance at arms length when he'd first visited Xan, but after a few occasions, warmed up to him considerably, inviting him to tour the city, to enjoy their attractions and taste their food._ _

__Jason listened, and the English translation seeped into the consciousness of the Leaguers, if their gasps were any indication. Jason smiled smugly. They hadn't seen anything yet._ _

__"We must be careful. We cannot give too much away. If we appear too tolerant or accepting, then all we have worked for falls to the wayside" spoke one irritating looking git. Tall, straight-backed - he's in charge, Jason deduced._ _

__"Yes, commander. We have done you have asked; the men are stationed at points 02 and 08, along with support less than a mile out" replied a shorter but no less pale looking Ghusalem. Beady eyes. Clearly the second in command, if the sucking up had anything to do with it._ _

__"Has the base made contact?" The Commander turned to look at his subordinates now, before directing his attention to their regally-dressed companions._ _

__"No commander, sirs. Everything is going according to plan. I will check in with the Matala in a few moments." The little prick was definitely eager to please._ _

__"And you're still here, Timpro? Get out of my sight! Yoseu, Fandrile, get us the documents we need. Puti, Krayu, Alexie, make sure all interruptions are minimised." A whole load of "yes sirs" were thrown about as a couple of Ghusalm departed the group. It was the posh looking group's turn to speak now._ _

__"Commander Checkov, this must work perfectly. We are very well aware of the risks should our plan fall by the wayside", spoke one with a strikingly white beard, reminding Jason of one of the characters in those bloody Harry Potter films, that Tim loved and made him watch._ _

__"Remember, too, what will happen to _you_ if things do not work out as expected" spoke another, dark haired. Odd. The Ghusalems were almost always pale, all over._ _

__"I am well aware, Herugenoff, you needn't remind me every moment. As long as you play your part, I will do mine. Go in there and do what has been planned." Checkov loomed over the group, hissing quietly. "And as for you, Lemewme-" the Commander now grabbed the dark haired man by the arm, and the League could see the man trying to hide his wince. "-Be careful how to speak to me. I would hate for you to lose that slimy tongue of yours." Checkov's smile was mocking, ugly on him. He stared down Lemewme a little longer before releasing him, striding into the meeting arena. Jason couldn't bring himself to pity the man, and he looked away in disgust._ _

__The Ghusalems had orchestrated this well. As the footage moved to show the inside of the Council arena, the Ghusalems returned to speaking Ghusalish, smooth and conniving, and Jason felt the hairs on his skin stand up. These people were not to be trusted at all. Jason fast-forwarded the footage now to the actual court session. The trial was underway, held under the stoic loom of the Council, ancient old beings with unique markings on their skin. He remembered what Tim had told him - the elders had been there from the "beginning". They certainly looked it. Jason used the remote to zoom into the Ghusalem, capturing each and every time they looked at the League, particularly Superman. Jason now fully understood what Superman had meant when they'd last met. It _was_ hard to put a finger on it, especially from the League's point of view, who had to rely on the Lantern's translation. _ _

__Bruce, watching the footage, remembered what he had said to the League about Jason's translating and reading the lines _between_ the lines, and what they were seeing was the perfect example. None of the Lantern's translation had picked up on any of this. Bruce felt himself grow angry. They had been played from the beginning, by the looks of things. He still didn't knew how he himself had missed any of this. Jason, as if reading his mind, addressed the rest of the room._ _

__"Futian is an incredibly uncommon dialect spoken amongst the Ghusalems. I barely heard it during my travels there. It is so rarely used on Gol itself; many of their people have actually forgotten it altogether, apart from the elders who wish to preserve their culture, and locals who live in more rural areas, far from the city. I'm not surprised at the military being able to speak Futian; it is quite a handy skill to have when in the midst of enemy territory. Don't be too upset at the Lanterns; those cowboys would definitely not have known of its existence."_ _

__Green Lanterns gritted his teeth at the insult but remained quiet._ _

__"As for all the "looks" they kept giving you guys, well, as suspicious as they were, you couldn't exactly accuse them of planning something outright, could you? Nor would you have been able to predict what came next. The Ghusalems put on _quite_ the performance, barely letting anyone else speak, interrupting, incredibly dismissive - they were drawing attention away from the real issue by their theatrics; it was a distraction from something - yet the IGC still dismissed them with just a warning, not sanctions." "And look-" Jason paused to fast forward ahead to the end of the meeting, focusing on the Ghusalems "-do they look like a people relieved to be let off with only a warning? I mean, from the little I've read about the IGC sanctions, those things are brutal - they can really cripple a country. So surely not having one of those around your neck is a _good_ thing, right?"_ _

__Jason paused, looking at the room. The League were alert now, sat up, studying the footage, flicking their heads between him and the screen. Batman had nodded silently. He must have had the same suspicions, then, Jason thought. Superman seemed to be rooted in shock as he stared at the footage, mouth slightly parted. He didn't know what to say - again, Jason remembered their conversation a few nights back._ _

__"In addition to all that-" Jason broke off now, catching the League's attention as he moved to the interactive whiteboards. He brought up a 4D visual display of the two planets, Gol and Xan. "-I calculated the points they were talking about: 02 and 08. Their technology is far more advanced than ours, it took me a while, but look at this." Jason brought up a pen and jotted on the whiteboards a few numbers. "The first time Superman mentioned seeing the Matalan - one of the Ghusalese aircrafts,the plural is Matala-, was thousands of kilometres away. Judging by the speed and distance at which it was first noted, if I denote that Matalan as the letter "x", then I can place it right abooouut..here, right here on the very borders of Xan. Like I said, I came up with a few calculations; had to fiddle around with a few units, but basically, the co-ordinates at this particular location is 02:48675,03:98473."_ _

__"So then-" Jason spoke, pen in mouth, as he activated a few more whiteboards, "-I sat down with the footage of the battle and pinpointed as accurately as possible, the co-ordinates of each of the Matala. I used the numerical scale at the bottom of the screen to calculate their relative speeds and distances travelled per second of timeframe." The whiteboards were now on, full of rows of little numbers. Co-ordinates. "Here - 03:4564, 05:97637 goes here" Jason marked another "x" on the 4D visual display of Xan, and 07:3453:01973 goes here-" another "x" marked, -"-and I kept doing it until I was left with this."_ _

__Jason pulled up another 4D visual display of the planets, but it was now littered with "x" all over the place. Most tellingly, however, was the fact that most of the Matala were stationed at the very borders of Xan. And if the footage was taken right at the start of the battle, then that could mean only one thing - the Ghusalem had planned for war all along - they didn't just suddenly decide to use the League as pawns; the League were simply conveniently placed for their bidding. Their overdramatics at the IGC were a distraction. Jason could see it dawning on the rest of the League, and the room went from silent to tense murmuring in seconds. Jason let them vent their anger a little before speaking over them, bringing the room to a hush once again. Jason smiled thinly; he loved that his voice could do that. He walked to the front of the room, still staring at footage playing._ _

__"I'm still not finished. There are a couple of questions in my mind that I don't yet have answers for. Number one: Why did the Ghusalem go through all of this - what is their agenda? They _said_ they wanted to avoid sanctions, yet in the end, they received sanctions. Fine, they attacked Xan and caused a lot of damage, but Xan too retaliated against them! They also had casualties of their own! Both planets have now lost out in terms of trade, economic growth, the well-being and safety of their people, so really, none of this makes sense to me. What have either of them gained?"_ _

__"Number two: Why aren't either planet carrying out their own repair work? They have the skills, the technology, the resources - far more advanced than our own - but they want the League to do the work, to repair the damage they caused? Is it to punish the League - but for what? You guys don't have anything to gain from this apart from a damaged reputation, and even then, that is mostly related to Earth really. Remember: the IGC, Xan, Gol, Hunio, Demish - they are all part of one multiverse. They are loads out there; I can attest to that."_ _

__"Number three: And another thing - how long is this all gonna take? Current estimates are six months, but how is that gonna work out? Are you going to work there part time? In your free time? Half of you up there, and the other half down here on Earth? Six months, but is that six months in Earth terms, or six months over there? I can tell you now that the time is faster over there - roughly one earth day is equivalent to a week in theirs, so if its six months on their end, well, that's pretty good for us - just over three weeks here on Earth. I'll have to clarify that with the IGC, their contracts didn't specify how long."_ _

__"Number four: What does Xan have to say about all this? They've been relatively quiet with regards to communication so far, and I don't believe for one second they're the innocent party in all this. They too also chose to threaten war; yes, they retaliated out of self defence, but what do they stand to gain? I'm questioning them, because for people who have lived alongside the Ghusalem for thousands of years, most likely, who for sure understand them better than we ever will - why did it take them _this_ long to decide help was needed?"_ _

__Jason stopped now, gathering his thoughts._ _

__Bruce wanted to answer, but found that he couldn't. He didn't. And he was supposed to be Batman, the detective?_ _

__"Its all...strange. There's.. _something_ I'm missing, I'm convinced we're not seeing the big picture here." Jason was eyeing the room now: the whitebaords, the 4D display - he felt unsettled._ _

__Wonder Woman broke into his musing._ _

__"What do you suggest, Red? We have nothing concrete as proof, and we have already signed the terms of the IGC's contract."_ _

__Jason nodded. They did, and that made it all the more difficult._ _

__"Alright...alright." He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "There's not much we can do from our end, here on Earth. The best way for me to discern if there really _is_ something else going on is actually to be around them. They're bound to get comfortable, thinking they've got away with whatever shit they're planning, and when they do - that's when they'll slip up. Happens all the time." _ _

__Jason looked at them, deciding. Abruptly, he switched his gaze to Hawkgirl._ _

__"Hawkgirl, would it be alright if you helped me set up a direct line to the IGC? We need to inform them of our current status, and how soon they want us to start the work. I'll need to meet the Council directly as the League's ambassador, as well as the planets' representatives, before anything happens." Hawkgirl, for her part, was slightly taken aback, as was most of the League. Batman or Manhuter would have been their first pick. Hawkgirl masked her surprise quickly with a professional "Of course."_ _

__"Both Xan and Gol have problems with radiation. I'm usually okay, but I still take protective measures in addition. I'm not sure what you already have available, but I commissioned a couple of suits for you all, made out of Limpra, a material from another planet altogether - it provides fantastic filtration against harmful radiation and adheres to the wearer like a second skin - it should fit very well under your own uniforms or spacesuits, if you want it." Jason didn't wait for their approval before continuing._ _

__"As soon as we have confirmation from the IGC, then I'll take you through a few more things. Until then, the president and his national advisors will need to be updated on the situation."_ _

__Jason looked around the room before speaking._ _

__"Whatever happens, understand this: your position is extremely fragile. All it takes is one misunderstanding, one baseless accusation, a loss of control - and the target on your back will be even bigger. Both the Ghusalems and the Xanderians are proud people - the Ghusalems can be tolerantly hostile, if you get my drift. They will not take to any of you well, particularly you, Superman, so, from the guy whose pretty much been on the wrong side of the law for most of his life, let me tell you this: watch yourself. Ouside the League, trust no-one. Don't assume anything, and don't expect anyone to lend you a hand, nor bend over backwards for you. I know for a fact that Xan does use the death penalty often - if not for the IGC's "acknowledgement" that Gol initiated the attack, then you'd all be dead by now. They take their rules and customs seriously. If we do this, we do this my way, my rules. I've had more experience with both these peoples, and you being all super-powered and shit makes you a threat to them, especially now they know what you can do."_ _

__No-one spoke. They didn't like it, but Jason was right. They had to be cautious._ _

__"Questions?"_ _

__Green Lantern was the first to speak up._ _

__"Do I still need to involve the Lanterns? We were the only third party before, and I don't want us repeating the same mistake again."_ _

__Jason looked at him, neutral. The man had a point._ _

__"Yes" he eventually decided. At this the group stirred up again._ _

__"I'm pretty sure the IGC doesn't want them anywhere near this, sorry John." Barry looked apologetic on his friend's behalf._ _

__"Keep the Lanterns up to date, but make sure they stay out of the picture." Jason didn't tell the League that he too had his own backup - contacts across the multi-verse would come in handy for him. He didn't trust the League, and the Lanterns too. They were bound to fuck things up somehow._ _

__Batman spoke up this time. Jason was wondering when he would speak - it was the first time they'd had addressed each other._ _

__"What makes you think the IGC, Xan, Gol - will listen to you? You cannot expect us to rely on you alone - a contingency plan must be put in place." Cool, hard eyes staring at him. This guy again, Jason thought, close to rolling his eyes. He stared straight back at the Bat as he gave his answer._ _

__"I'm an outsider. I'm clearly not from their multi-verse, but I speak their languages, and recognise their customs. Even if they don't want to, they will out of curiosity, _and_ if they want the job done. By the looks of it, even the IGC are sick of the shit between Xan and Gol, and they'll at least be relieved to know that someone other than themselves is willing to step up to the plate and play the middleman between the two parties." Jason faced him head on, eyes trained on him, but the Bat showed no outward emotion. "As for not relying on me alone - good, you're learning. Like I said: don't trust anyone and don't assume anything. Go ahead and make all the contigency plans you want, till your pretty little heart's content. So long as you do what I direct you to do, that's fine by me."_ _

__That bastards probably already got all kinda plans in place, I'll bet, Jason thought._ _

__J'onn cut in._ _

__"With regards to our telepathic translation channel, is there any technology currently unknown to us that might disrupt our connection?_ _

__Jason considered it. It was a good question. Both planets were advanced, but he couldn't say for sure - he had never needed to consider such a thing. J'onn would have used his telepathic abilities at least once during the League's mission, but the problem was knowing for sure whether they had been intercepted by an outsider, and the information gathered used for their benefit._ _

__"Whilst you were off-world, did you detect anything unusual, J'onn? Anything that encroached upon your mind, perhaps, or something that put a dampener on your abilities?"_ _

__J'onn frowned. Now that he thought about it, he _had_ felt a little off. It was more of unease; he felt the same way whenever he found himself in a new environment, but it wasn't enough to cause noticeable disturbance. _ _

__"I cannot tell, Red. I felt...uneasy, but that could be due to a number of things: an unfamiliar environment, a different atmosphere, food etc. I will not be able to tell unless a greater force attempts to invade my telepathy."_ _

__Jason thought for a moment. He was, in fact, currently in possession of an urqu, a special energy converter that he'd picked up a while ago on his travels. The seller hadn't specified what it could do exactly, only that it could help ward off bad energy, something along those lines. Jason began piecing things together - if he could somehow use the urqu and modify it as a headset, or even implant it into J'onn's communicator to add to the Martian's defences....he smiled now._ _

__"I think I have something that might help you increase your sensitivity to external influence. I'll let you know more later this week." Jason nodded at the man, tone softer. J'onn had helped him before, back in Gotham, and he was determined to repay the favour. The Martian smiled in response._ _

__"What do I need to do?"_ _

__Superman's voice cut through the silence. Both he and Jason regarded each other. Jason noted the change in tone from their last conversation - firmer, more certain, less pitiful-ah. The man had taken a little of his advice on board, Jason concluded. Good. Moping wouldn't do anyone any good._ _

__"The Ghusalem are interested in you - they've seen what you can do, particularly how you held your own against them, and I don't doubt that interest will lessen once we arrive over there. I'd advise you _not_ to be so...leadership like. Let Wonder Woman take the reigns a little, or Manhunter. The more you stand out, the more they'll want to use you more than they already have." Jason said this neutrally. It was a little harsh, but true. Superman, for his part, didn't look as offended as he expected. Clark actually looked at him, nodding a little, before turning away._ _

__The room was a little quiet. No more questions then, and Jason decided to round up._ _

__"So, in summary: Something is going on and we're going to find out. I'll make contact with all three parties and set up an introductory meeting with them. As soon as we've confirmed how long everything will take, then we can make our moves. Update the president in the meantime. J'onn, start making plans for who is in charge of this place and the remaining leaguers. I'll discuss with you a bit more about the people once we have confirmation from the IGC and before we finally leave. Hawkgirl, can you stay behind a bit? Thanks."_ _

__And with that, the meeting was over._ _

__

 

__

____

__Jason didn't look up as the other leaguers left the room, nodding at him. Superman had actually caught his eye and dipped his head in appreciation, Diana had squeezed his shoulder softly before leaving, and the Flash had given him a small smile before he took off. Weird people, Jason thought. It was all weird. From enemies to now working alongside them, helping them - if someone had told him he'd be doing this two years ago, he'd have laughed right in their face._ _

__Jason leaned against the side of the table. Hawkgirl was still seated, watching him. He moved suddenly, biting down the laughter at seeing the woman's feathers ruffle at the movement. He made himself a fresh pot of coffee and took a few remaining breakfast items, not bothering to offer her any. If she wanted some, she could get some herself. Equality and all that, he thought._ _

__Jason sat back down now, across from Hawkgirl. The woman narrowed her at him, arms crossed._ _

__"So. Good day?" Jason started, cheery, as he sipped his drink._ _

__Hawkgirl glared instead._ _

__"Can I help you with something, or are you just going to waste my time? I have work to do." Her response was biting and Jason couldn't help smiling. So easy, he thought._ _

__"Work? Which work is that?" he asked sweetly. They both knew damn well that she didn't have a thing to do. Hawkgirl was back as a team member but still quite ostracised from the rest of the League. Hated on Thanagar, despised on Earth. Must be hell, Jason thought. He could see the woman clench her jaw, tightly._ _

__"Sorry. Sore spot isn't it? Never you mind." Jason kept his voice light, almost sing song, before dropping his down to his normal tone. He could tell the woman wanted to slap him._ _

__"What.do.you.want." Hawkgirl bit out._ _

__"Nothing really..well, its just- I noticed you had raised a couple of questions back when the League were first reviewing whether to take the case or not. Good questions too, but then you never really followed through on them. In fact, I could tell you wanted to give your take quite a few times during the conversation but _for some reason_ you kept backing out. I might even say the same for today. So tell me, what's eating you up? Jason spoke, voice level. Making fun of her with this would shut her down immediately, and he could tell the woman had something to say._ _

__Hawkgirl stared at him, evidently surprised, before looking away. It was clear she hadn't expected Jason to read her like that. She looked away, refusing to make eye contact. Jason sighed._ _

__"Look. I'm not hear to rile you up, alright? It just seems to me that you have a good couple of points to raise but you never speak up. And with all that's going on, I'd like as many viewpoints as possible." Jason threw out the bait._ _

__"Why don't you ask Batman? He's the detective, after all." She glared at him. Jason bit into his croissant before responding._ _

__"He is, and yet the Batman missed a whole lotta shit, so clearly he ain't the best after all." Jason continued eating, not watching for her reaction. He didn't need to._ _

__Hawkgirl stilled in her seat. It was obvious she was squirming, having trouble deciding whether to offload her thoughts to the Hood, of all people - but he was the only one who, so far, encouraged her to speak her mind. The rest never shut her down, nor were they rude or hostile, but they didn't exactly "welcome" her opinion. Hawkgirl debated her options as she watched Jason, eating and checking his phone. She could leave right now and he most likely wouldn't care. Probably wouldn't even look up. But where would she go? Who would she talk to? John was barely speaking to her - he kept her at arms length, polite and cordial, but never more than that. Wonder Woman was slightly warmer, but the close friendship they'd once shared - going abroad together, shopping, sight-seeing all the various wonders of the Earth - that was all gone. Apart from a few hellos, civil smiles - no-one wanted anything to do with her. Barry was lovely, always linking his arm around her, including her in conversations, ignoring the awkward looks directed towards her - the man was like a little brother to her. Clark was nice, but then Clark was nice to everyone, and they all knew he was _friends_ with only a minute number; primarily Diana, Bruce and Barry. J'onn she found difficult to talk to; it always seemed like he was studying her, judging, and she never felt comfortable enough to talk to him. Bruce was clearly out of the question. How he and Clark were close was a mystery to her.__

__

____

__As for the other leaguers, well - they were polite, addressed her appropriately, but she knew the respect wasn't really there, and certainly not genuine either. She had heard them gossiping about her; rarely would any ask for her advice, training - even though she'd been responsible for training the entire young Thanagarian division on her planet. She was too recognisable outside the watch-tower - her wings gave her away almost instantly, and Thanagar had long ago declared her a traitor; if she were to ever step foot on her hometown, she'd be put to death instantly for treason, no question._ _

__Hawkgirl looked away. She was lonely. And though the Hood had been high up on the League's warrant list for a long while, he here was, voluntarily sitting with her, comfortable, actually asking for her opinion. Part of her actually felt sympathy for the young man - she knew only a little of his backstory, but if she had been in his shoes, street orphan, tortured and murdered by the Joker, shunned by the Bats - a large part of her might have reacted in the same way as he had done. She never voiced this line of thinking however - doing so would outcast her even more, and she already felt like an outsider. So far, Hood had kept to himself, and the work. Yes, he had annoyed her, but none of it had been with any real heat - Red Robin, clearly close to the man, was right. It was to annoy her a little - if Hood truly had it out for her, he wouldn't hold back. They had all seen the work of his hands across the continent._ _

__"I...I had my doubts." Hawkgirl started, pausing, unsure of how to express her thoughts. Across from her, Jason had yet to make eye contact, but he had stopped checking his phone, though he still ate. The man lifted his head slightly - he was listening. Hawkgirl continued._ _

__"It was never clear to me why the Lanterns requested our help. I mean, out of all the people they knew, from all the different multiverses - they chose us? I couldn't buy it. Its the same with the reasons given as to why the other planets - Elek, Demish, Hunio- why they couldn't help. Fair enough, they didn't want to get involved, but isn't that kind of what a third party is? Neutral, not taking sides and getting weighed down by conflict?" Hawkgirl ran a hand through her feathers. They would need trimming soon. She glanced at Jason, who by now had finished eating and was sipping his coffee, slowly, looking down at the table. But he was still listening. Hawkgirl carried on, gaining a little more confidence._ _

__"All throughout our visit, I kept thinking why. Why us, why here, why now. And not just why - it was what they had to gain from our being there. My suspicions became stronger when we went to the IGC. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it seemed like everyone was just.. _waiting_.."_ _

__Jason cocked his head at her. Waiting?_ _

__"Yes. Just waiting. Everyone - the Xanderians were more subdued, but it seemed like even they were waiting for something. I mean, I expected them to be a little more..passionate, you know? Ready to plead their case, insist that they were innocent, but they just sat there, not really arguing. I debated whether it was a strategy, designed to make Gol look bad, but they're were so glum - the whole thing was unsettling." Hawkgirl found herself growing bolder as she spoke. That's my girl, Jason smirked to himself._ _

__"Even before we left the Court, I knew something was about to happen. They wouldn't really speak to us, kept glancing at Superman every now and again - I heard them switch to-what was it you called it, Futian? before switching back to Ghusalish." Hawkgirl sighed. "I heard the Matalan before I saw it. It was obvious then what the Ghusalem had planned to do all along, but a part of me feels a little like Xan were _expecting_ the attack. Sure, they were definitely angry, shocked, and they retaliated, but still, I just-I can't shake that feeling."_ _

__Jason still said nothing._ _

__"You've asked good questions; I don't know is my answer to all of them, particularly what they, Xan and Gol, have to gain from all this. They wanted to avoid sanctions, well, now they've got them. They're pointing fingers at us, yet neither side refuses to acknowledge Gol starting the war - that alone is a red flag. So now we're being forced to carry out repairs, and what can they do? They can't trade, leave, they have to treat their sick and take care of the dead... in the end, there are no winners."_ _

__Hawkgirl looked away now, slightly taken aback by the boldness by which she spoke. Jason studied her a little longer before replying._ _

__"It was as I suspected - there is more to the story, and the only way to know for sure is to make our way there." He paused, drawing Hawkgirl's attention on him before speaking again. "You've got an eye for detail, Hawkgirl. Don't be so afraid to speak out, next time."_ _

__Hawkgirl stared. She didn't know what to say._ _

__Jason stood up, plate in one hand and coffee in the other. "Lets go make friends with the IGC, shall we?"_ _

____

__

 

__In a private second floor meeting room, east of the Eain, Xan's capital, a group of high ranking city officials were gathered late in the night. After exchanging greetings, the group began their discussions._  
_

__"How is the plan coming along, Commander?" Thrempre, head of the Xan's leading security unit, addressed his compatriot, Checkov, second star general to the Xanderian army._ _

__"Very well, comrade. That excuse of a League should be getting back to the IGC sometime this week. The preparations have all been made?" Checkov lit a rolomo, Earth's equivalent of a cigar. He inhaled the strong, musty scent deeply before addressing around the room._ _

__"Gentlemen, we have come too far now; there is no turning back. All has been set into motion, and we all sit here tonight, in agreement with what is to come - is this correct?"_ _

__"We agree!" the room chorused._ _

__"The time has come to take back what is rightfully ours. As soon as those toy soldiers from Earth arrive, we will need to act quickly. The IGC must be kept in the dark. How is your contact at the Council, Meshibosh?" Junio, Ghusalem's secretary of the state directed to the Xanderian._ _

__"He so far remains undetected. He has informed my people that the Council is willing to extend the sanctions until the League finish the work." Meshibosh looked pleased with himself. Blackmailing his Council contact with the torture of his hideous offspring, along with the bastard's previous illegal bribes, had been a wise move._ _

__"Excellent news. It must stay that way. The sanctions must be placed for as long as possible for us to succeed. Are we all clear?" Lierna, the only female commander in the room, answered harshly. A Xanderian betraying her own people, but it was for the better good. They all knew that._ _

__"All is clear!"_ _

__"Good. Come, let us not waste the night away. Eat, and be rest assured - this _is_ our time." _ _

__Checkov held his glass of kaelena, an Ghusalish delicacy of white white and other rubbish - one of the few things he could tolerate about Gol. They all despised each other, but they one they despised enough blurred the hatred between them._ _

__The rest of the room raised the glasses._ _

__"We will rise, We will fight, we will take our national rights!"_ _

__Their chants grew louder, more wild, until raucous laughter broke out, and they ate greedily, hands stained with treason._ _

__Their time had come._ _


	13. A whole new world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The League travels to Xan.

Xan.

From the League's jet, Eain came into view; a cool dystopia of white green, fresh and bright, despite the giant holes in a couple of the buildings and similar sized craters on the floor. The areas had been cordoned off to the public, but still, that did not deter them from their daily pursuits. The city was busy with activity, and for a moment, the League were almost convinced that nothing was out of the ordinary. Above them was the ISSA bridge - numerous golden bands of solid energy, beautiful, alight in the sky - and damaged. A large section on the bridge adjoined with Xan was missing, and it reminded Jason of a cheese string - Tim had said that, hadn't he? Jason stared at the destruction a little longer before directing his focus to the rest of the city - the cockpit sure did make for a phenomenal view. In all honesty...it actually wasn't _that_ bad, now that a lot of the debris had been cleared away in anticipation of the reconstruction. Jason closed his eyes briefly and tried to imagine what it would have been like at the time of the battle: confused cries, panic - he remembered how worn out the League were at the end, slumped against each other, absolutely exhausted. He didn't feel sorry for them, no way, but man, this wasn't their fault. 

Jason was jolted out of his thoughts by a loud, sharp voice. Ah. Airspace traffic control. He frowned; he _had_ made all the appropriate arrangements, they _did_ know they were arriving today. Jason leaned across the control panel to his right and pressed the line communication button. It would connect him directly with the Xanderian West bay control tower. On his left, Manhunter looked at him, waiting. Jason ignored the look, and after checking his newly modified communicator was functioning, he began speaking, voice steady. Behind him, he could feel the League burning holes into his back. Nosy lot, he thought.

"Halt! This is Heuremi, commander of the West entry traffic control. You are now approaching Xanderian Air space. Identify yourself."

Jason rolled his eyes at the dramatics. Putting the aircraft into stationary, mid air, he took a deep breath and announced himself, and his cargo.

"Good morning, this is aircraft JL-7AS. You are speaking to Red, ambassador on behalf of the Justice League. We have already sought permission under the directive of the IGC reference 603 _and_ from Ireo, director of Xanderian air space, to make our arrival into Eain at exactly nine: zero-three hours, co-ordinates 04:4563, 09:7384." 

There was a long pause, and Jason could just about make out the shuffling of papers, and a flurry of Xalanese in hushed, urgent tones. He resisted the urge to groan - admin, the same everywhere. Jason rubbed his forehead tiredly. He'd spent most of last night going over footage, notes, details of the League's accommodation, provisions, entry control - and now they had to deal with _this_? Great. The League had sat up now, even the Flash, and were alert, listening intently. Jason yawned, resting back into his seat. No point in getting frustrated now, he thought. He clasped his hands behind his head and waited, eyes closing briefly. A light snooze wouldn't go amiss...

 

 

The last two weeks had been one hell of a blur. Meetings, more meetings, video conferences with the IGC, Xan, Gol, liaising with a few of his contacts - every minute had been accounted for. Jason had barely had time to sleep before it was time to get up again. He'd spoken with J'onn, and together they had fashioned a tiny earpiece out of the urqu energy converter - a headset would have been too suspicious- that would fit seamlessly into the Martian's opposite ear. It had taken a lot of trial and error to complement J'onn's telepathy without causing him pain - one occasion had sent the Martian flying out of his seat, and the subsequent crash had sent a pissed off Superman running towards the sound. Tt had taken much pleading by J'onn himself to excuse Jason from the blame - but finally, Jason (and yes, with a little of Tim's help, the nerd) had managed to implement the urqu as an extra line of defence against unwanted external influence. Apparently the Big Bad Bat had "grunted" his approval at the device, and Jason had thrown the man a smug smirk later that day. Yes, bitch, I'm _just_ as good as you, he had thought, and Bruce, though stoic as ever, had narrowed his eyes just a _leetle_ more than usual. 

The IGC had shown surprise at Jason during their conference calls; a human, able to converse so fluently in Xalanese and Ghusalish, and it was obvious to Jason that they would try to find more about him. He and Tim had spent some time creating tracks of past activity for them to find - the Red Hood shit was pretty much unavoidable, but the whole -adopt-me-me-Bruce? They would never find out about that. Xan had been genial - clearly Zele had told them a little about him. Gol, on the other hand, were downright bitter on meeting him. Jason feigned ignorance as they slipped into Futian, listening to their distrust, anger - they didn't account for someone like him, that's for sure. 

Then there had been the matter of getting the League up to speed with a few of the more well known customs on Xan and Gol - Gol had been more difficult to talk about, since Jason had barely spent time there due to the hostility. The League had shown skepticism but otherwise kept quiet - good. As long as they listened in his presence, he couldn't give two shits about what they really thought in his absence. They had accepted the Limpra suits wordlessly; Green Lantern wrinkled his nose at the material, claiming that they had been to Xan before and were fine with standard League uniform, that the suits woulds most likely be unnecessary - it had taken all of Jason not to punch the man right there. In his stupidity, Lantern had forgotten that the reconstruction work would expose them to new materials, radiation, energy - things they had _not_ encountered on the first visit. So Jason had merely shrugged his shoulders at the man, before making a mental note to store a couple away in the League's jet - contingencies were all the rage these days. 

Talia had been less...receptive. Though Jason refused to tell her about the League's mission, she did not hesitate to make her displeasure known - the League had been after him for a long while, and she had played a small part in keeping him safe, despite his assertion that her intervention was unnecessary. And now he had to tell her that he'd be off world, with people that at one point wouldn't have minded him dead, involved in something he had no business with, where she couldn't reach him - her voice had been quiet, but Jason knew Talia was furious. It had taken him multiple reassurances that if anything, _anything_ looked sideways, he'd hightail it out of there, Justice League or not. Jason hated the idea but Talia was right - there were too many variables at play that he had no control over, a rookie's mistake. Talia was just being her overprotective self, Jason knew that, and loved her for it, but it was too late - he had already agreed to help, and he would not go back on his word now.

The last two days before their departure had been a systematic flurry of packing, moving, storage and a whole lot of other activity - food would be provided, though Batman had insisted on their own provisions, as they had apparently relied on their own supply the last time around. Not my problem, Jason had thought - Xanderian delicacies were _incredible_ , similar to Italian food, with their own, weird, alien twist, and if the League wanted to deprive themselves, then by all means, they were free to do so. They had left very early this morning - doing so would allow the League to rest well and prepare ahead of the IGC's meeting. Jason ran through a couple of checks with _Bruce_ of all people. It was weird; he had barely spoken to the man, and now they were walking side by side, listing the equipment, talking with the engineers - all completely civil. They were professionals - all opinions aside, neither had any intention of bringing up old shit into this mission. If that meant ignoring their past to get the job done, then so be it. Being in such close proximity to the man was strange, but Jason was now very used to working with all sorts people for years now, particularly with the Ghosts. He was a professional, and professionals do their damn jobs. Past grievances meant nothing if there was work to be done. 

After two hours of checks, they were ready to leave. Boarding had been something else; Batman had made his way to the cockpit but Jason was already there, headset on, flicking the controls. Manhunter had appeared then, out of thin air - Jason had always hated when he did that, it used to scare him shitless - and placed a gentle hand on Bruce's shoulder. They hadn't spoken but Jason assumed J'onn had done his telepathic voodoo. Bruce had gritted his teeth but left without kicking a fuss. Jason had to grin at the retreating back - he, the Red Hood, once number two on the League's arrest list, now co-pilot of an eighty million jet, one that belonged to Wayne Enterprises? It was glorious - he knew it, Bruce hated it, but there was nothing the man could do about it. No-one had asked just how Jason knew how to pilot a jet, but judging by the way he made himself _very_ comfortable, adjusting his seat, flicking various controls - Jason had done this before, and all they could do was watch, stumped for words.

The journey would take four hours flying; Jason didn't want to figure out how many light years that meant or whatever space shit Tim usually obsessed over. Speaking of Tim, the little squirt had tried to make his case for accompanying the League, but Jason had shut that down with a quickness. No way, absolutely, no fucking way was Tim going with them. He hadn't come the last time, and he sure as hell wouldn't be coming on this occasion. Plus, the boy had school, WE, and conference calls weren't exactly possible here in space. Tim hadn't liked it but he did eventually concede, hugging Jason as tightly as his twig-like self could bear. Jason had swallowed, painfully - he'd been away on missions before, of course, but those times had been thoroughly planned, everything accounted for. Even his multi-verse travels had taken no more than a day at best. Out here in space, with the League, the Ghusalem, the IGC - it was all too uneasy for words.

 

 

"Sorry for the delay, sir, aircraft JL-7AS is confirmed. Thank you for your patience; please proceed into our airspace. Welcome to Xan."

The voice, clearly young, seemed apologetic.

"Confirmed, thank you. Estimated arrival in five minutes." Manhunter's firm voice calmed the young flight controller.

"No problem, please follow the blinking red lights in the air; the yellow strip on the ground is where you will make your landing. You will be greeted by a few of our colleagues once you land. Over and out."

With a nod to J'onn, both men prepared to land the plane. Lower and lower they descended, and the clouds gave way to a massive jet pad launch platform, where hundreds of smaller Timeui, the Xalanese aircraft, lay stationary. Jason peeked over at his side. There were quite a few people waiting for them; military, leaders, standing by. No red carpet though, Jason smirked to himself. The League were busying themselves now, straightening up, smoothing hairs, trying to rid themselves of the sleep that previously overtook them. Superman in particular, seemed to have trouble slicking down that famous cowl-lick of his; with a long-suffering sigh, Wonder Woman had made herself useful, tutting, causing the man to blush deeply, much to the amusement of the rest. Jason himself hid a smile; boy scout indeed. Making his way out of the cockpit, he and J'onn stood side by side as Jason addressed the room.

"As you can see, there are a whole lot of people waiting. You've met pretty much all of them before, so there should be no surprises. Essentially, today is about making a good impression."

Jason paused, eyeing the gathered party through one of the smaller windows before straightening.

"For the most part, they look... collected at your being here, if that even makes sense. They should be quite accommodating - we, and crucially the IGC, all know that Gol started this mess, whether they want to admit it or not, and with the sanctions already placed on them, I'm sure they'll want to play ball as nicely as possible to get this over and done with. So-"

Jason broke off, eyeing the room.

"Im sure you're more than aware but i'll say it anyway. Be cordial. Respectful. No wisecracks, don't push any buttons. No blaming anyone - if you're gonna throw an accusation at somebody, you'd better make damn sure you've got the goods to back it up, _and_ in front of the IGC. Today is all about introductions. Have you taken everything?."

The group rolled their eyes at him. The irony was not lost on any of them.

"We have everything necessary on hand." Batman answered.

"Lovely. Xan will lead us to our place of accommodation, and after some lunch and a bit of a rest, its straight to the IGC to make our presence known. I'll go through tomorrow's schedule later, maybe after dinner tonight, depending on how things go with the IGC. Is everyone clear?"

Murmured nods, a few yes's, one particularly blank stare, but other than that, total cooperation. Very good.

Jason looked at Manhunter, nodding, before opening the aircraft stairs. Wonder Woman and Manhunter would be acting as the leading primary delegates alongside Jason - the peoples would likely find some solidarity in J'onn, a Martian, making it easier to relate with them, and Wonder Woman had ample experience as an ambassador herself - her warm, calm demeanor had many a time proved useful in conflict. The three of them had spoken extensively, and their experience made planning much easier than Jason expected. He could not afford to alienate either of them.

Superman was to take a back seat this time around; none of them wanted to stay here any longer than planned. Jason could see that this was..new for the man, not being a leader. Several times he had noticed Superman wanting to speak, or about to step in, before changing his mind. The man was trying, Jason could admit _that_ , begrudgingly, and a tiny - just tiny- little bit of respect grew for him. Jason knew it wasn't easy for anyone to fall from a position of grace, to be open about it, and to deal with the humiliation - it had been hard enough for Jason to retreat from the Bats, to admit defeat and lick his wounds, but all that was done within _their_ circle, in Gotham. But Superman - the most iconic superhero _in the world_ , a national and global figure, respected both on Earth and many places off-world - and for him to mess up that , so badly, in full view? And still,to keep making the effort, trying to do what was best? Jason shook his head out of his thoughts. The respect was there, and the more time he spent around the League, observing them, - he didn't want to say this- but man, the more he couldn't imagine anyone else as Superman. No-one, not one single person he knew would be able to cope with the demands and pressure this guy had. And now here he was, taking orders from someone who'd publicly mocked him, humiliated him - an enemy? Ridiculous.

Focus, Jason thought to himself, as he walked down the aircraft stairs, leading the rest of the League. Behind him, Manhunter gave him a mental "nudge" - it was J'onn's version of a quirked eyebrow. Jason said nothing, nor did he respond telepathically either. He was fine. 

"Greetings. Red, I presume?" A short, dark green Xanderian in what looked like expensive garments held out a hand to him, bowing slightly. Jason did the same, bowing a little lower - a sign of respect to an elder. No more than five foot seven, slight greying hair, round glasses - looked like the alien version of Greg, the lawyer the League had asked for help a while back. Warm, friendly smile - Jason liked him immediately.

"Greetings, Mayor Thempo. Yes, I am Red, appointed ambassador on behalf of the League. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir."

Mayor Thempo gave a short laugh, a warm, rumbling sound which lit up the scales of his skin to pale yellow. Amused, Jason read, though he wan't sure what the man found so funny. The Xanderian clapped him lightly on the back before replying.

"Nonsense, my boy. Call me Thempo, sir makes me feel too old." Thempo was smiling fully now, and Jason couldn't help but release a small smile in return. The guy seemed nice. It was a shame that everything had come to this, he thought.

"As you wish, Mr Thempo. I believe you have met the League?"

At this, Thempo busied himself greeting the League, shaking hands. The League reciprocated warmly, and the Xanderian seemed to hit it off with the Flash quite well. Probably cause they're so similar, Jason thought, as he watched from the sidelines. He cast a quick look at the rest of their welcoming party. All Xanderians apart from one; a more ofcast Humino, of the planet Hunio - what was he doing here? Jason backtracked through his memories. Hunio was one of the surrounding planets who steadfastly refused any involvement in Xan and Gol's dispute. Well-dressed, straight posture, neutral faced - an official in some capacity, Jason assessed. Unlikely to be military - no uniform, and not of Xan - he radiated none of their warm energy. As if reading his mind, Thempo was back at Jason's side, and if not for his extensive training, Jason was sure he'd have squealed out of fright. 

"I see you have yet to meet the rest of the group. Come, let me introduce you. This is Magrena, our city council secretary, Unilip, head adivisor, Traecao, co-ordinator of the reconstruction work, Yena, your designated security counsel for the entirety of your stay..." 

On and on Thempo moved down the line. In the brief handshakes that ensured, Jason took the time to memorise each person carefully. Yes, they offered small, kind smiles, but each smile was different. Unilip's, for example, was more of a fatherly smile; Jason knew he'd be no trouble for them, Traecao's was more strainned - Jason couldn't blame him, the prospect of organising the repair work would have been hellish, Yena's was brief, which suited the the tall xanderian - military most likely - but the Huminio stood out. Pertre, he was called. Apparently he'd emigrated to Xan for his studies in politics and economics, before deciding to live here permanently, and act as trade advisor between Hunio and Xan. Pertre offered a small handshake, weak, but the face - neutral, and the smile that didn't _quite_ reach his eyes, gave it all away. He was the IGC's contact here on Xan. Ah, Jason surmised - that explained it all. Delegates tend to have that look - a perfect mix of mild disinterest and underlying alertness - they were sly like that. Jason made a note to find out more about this "Pertre" later.

After the handshakes, Thempo handed the group over to Yena. As head of security, Yena was responsible for the security detail of the League's stay. They were to stay in Dancu, a private, gated community of large Villiae, villas used to house high ranking visitors from other planets, about ten minutes from the city centre by Timuelae, Xanderian hover crafts. It had been decided to place the League more on the outskirts of the city - that way, there would be less of a security risk from more unscrupulous characters wanting "revenge", and the League would be able to have some privacy after a long day's work. Yena and his team set about processing the League into their systems; identity checks, fingerprints - Jason didn't like the idea of having his details in an alien database but that was the way things were done out here in this multiverse, and as part of their contract. The League were equipped with a variety of things: ID cards, thin, interactive tablets, Apiliwe - apparently they all had different work schedules. They were also given security tags - thin, white chains with small keys around their necks - they would reflect strongly whilst out, highlighting their status as protected visitors. It meant that they would be able to work in relative peace, and travel throughout the city, should they wish. The tags also emitted a silent warning signal in the event of an attack, which would dispatch units of armed security to their rescue, the Eaincome, under the command of Yena. Expenses had also been allocated, and Jason had been left impressed by the generosity of the Xanderians. It appeared as though they had finally realised the League had done their best, and were not truly responsible for the damages. He didn't complain though. If this was there way of "compensating" then by all means, compensate away, Jason thought.

The League boarded various Timuelan, accompanied by Yena and his units, and had made their way through the city to Dancu. The city was just as beautiful as Jason remembered it, minus the gaping holes, but something was off. Apart from a little movement here and there, the ground was quiet. Jason frowned, shifting to get a better look. His previous travels had always been in the midst of lively, bustling markets, food in the air; Market stalls of fresh, vegtarig (vegetables) richly cooked cabutu, (meat), pecas (rice). Jason checked his watch - just before ten am. Still early, tings will probably pick up a little later in the afternoon, nothing to worry about, he thought. Jason was a little startled to hear Manhunter's voice break through his musing.

" _Thank you for the translations, Jason. Visiting the markets might be something to look forward to should time permit._ "

Jason was confused. He and Yena, along with two other Xanderian officials were the only ones in this Timuelan - the League had been put in either twos of threes behind in separate hover crafts, so what on earth was J'onn talki-.

Ah.

Jason had been thinking through the open telepathic channel he and Manhunter created for the benefit of the League. The telepod, as Jason had silently named it. He swore to himself. So the League knew what he'd been looking at over the past few minutes - the markets, the people, the whole damn city - great. Jason closed the telepod with a jolt and stared out the window. His thoughts were _his_ thoughts, the League had no right to them. Across him, the Xanderians shared a confused glance with one another before looking away. Humans, they thought.

They soon left the city and made their way to the outskirts. Though Jason liked the liveliness, he knew he would not be able to stay for too long. It was the reason why he lived in the suburbs of Danver. He'd had enough of the noise, the chatter, dense gatherings and small spaces - being away from all that had done him a world of good. They arrived at Dancu now, and for a moment, Jason forgot how to breathe.

It was beautiful.

And quiet. Apparently the site had been emptied purposely for the League's stay; Xan had refused all incoming delegation visits. Warm, quiet springs - Jason had the sudden urge to exit the hovercraft as fast as possible and just _breathe_ in the air, a whole gulpful. Already he felt better. The Timuelan came to a stop at a large white villa. Surrounded by lush foliage, Jason was reminded of the villa he and Talia called home, back on Isla Vrika. He sighed to himself. He had meant to be using these few weeks off Ghost work to relax; Jason had planned to travel a little, spend time with Tim, maybe take the kid out on a few multi-verse travels. And now here he was, with the _League_. But, for the two terms he'd laid down, it would be worth it, of that he was certain.

The League entered the building, and where outside had been wonderful to look at, the inside surpassed all expectations. High, sweeping ceilings, walls that were both light and fresh and clean, rooms that seemed to just _know_ what you needed in that moment - Jason hadn't stayed in actual homes during his previous travels;much of the time had been spent walking, exploring, but man - he'd do anything to have a little place here on Xan just like this. Three bedrooms, one of which would be for Tim, a little garde- Focus, Jason, he told himself. He turned his mind to the present.

Inside, the League met a number of staff, the catering and housekeeping teams mostly, here to look after them on their stay. Jason had never liked the idea of "staff" - servants, heck paid slaves more like it, if truth be told. It was a large part of why Jason had, in his first two weeks at the Manor, stubbornly refused to answer Alfred's title for him - "Master Jason." Alfred was far older; that alone should have qualified him as "Master Pennyworth" - what had _he_ done on his short time on Earth to be referred to as a "Master"? But the staff looked pleased to help - Jason imagined it was the prospect of being in the midst of the League - unknown, mighty foreigners - that caused a stir. Superman seemed to make _quite_ the impression on some of the young female staff, and Jason had to hold back his laughter at the change of position between Bruce and Clark - usually, "Brucie" was the one who had the ladies eating out of the palm of his hand.

Yena took the league on a "brief" house tour - by brief, it was close to half an hour. The Villiai had looked deceptively smaller out front.

"Welcome to Prepo. This is the name of the Villiai, or house, you are currently in, and will be your home for the next three weeks. Everything you need is here, at your disposal. There are more than enough rooms, all similar sized, and you are free to choose that which suits your liking. Each comes with its own bathroom facilities. There are two large Cobores- kitchens, I think you call it - on this floor and the floor above. Food has been provided, but, as mentioned before, should you wish for additional supply, please feel free to place a call with Jumanh, head caterer - the line is available in the kitchen. If you wish to stick to your own supply, that too is perfectly fine - food will always be available if you decide for a change. Each Cobore is situated next to an Ebwereko, where you will be seated to eat. Each villai has its own dedicated catering team; Jumanh and the rest of her staff will deal with your earthly requirements, and make twice weekly visits to the city - they will supply anything you need. Vertai is head of housekeeping; her and her team will ensure daily and weekly upkeep of your rooms; toileting and general house needs. Again, if there is anything not to satisfaction, please speak to her. There are three Lekkas to relax in, as well as a few entertainment suites- Trentemien - consisting of a gym, Opreworke - there are two in total, massage and sauna - Mapruto, theatre lounge - Cinceci, and a large Library - Epo. Should you wish to explore the city, please log in a line here in reception, by placing your fingerprint on the wall - one of my team will send out a chauffeured Timuelan for your benefit. Your expenses have been loaded onto your tags, and in case of misplacement, also onto these security passes on this reception table. They are fully paid for; you do not need to contribute."

Yena looked at the room now.

"Any questions?"

Jason stepped forward.

"Thank you Yena. I'd like to know the plans for the rest of today. To my knowledge, we have a meeting with the IGC in a couple of hours, correct?"

Yena looked at Jason, a small smile and a nod.

"My next point exactly, Red. Yes, according to the schedules arranged by Pertre, you are due to meet the IGC at six this evening. It is now just after ten, so you have a few hours to yourselves. We will have designated three Timuelae to arrive here at five twenty five sharp; the journey will take around twenty minutes - ten to the ISSA bridge border control, where you will switch transport to the ICREMA, -official transportation used to transport select visitors to the IGC-, who will then take the ISSA bridge to Elima, where you will meet the Council of Elders. After your meeting, you will be taken back to Prepo. We estimate no more than two hours for the entire event; our security has been well versed on every aspect of your stay, and are ready to intervene if required."

Yena looked confident as he spoke. Jason couldn't fault the man - a true leader respected his men, and trusted their abilities. He nodded at Yena.

It was Diana's turn to butt in.

"Commander-"

"Yena, please. Or even Freika if you prefer."

Jason wanted to laugh but instead smirked. So Yena thought he had a chance with Diana Prince, Princess of the Amazons? Fat chance.

Diana, on her part, looked like she wanted to argue, but a look from Batman seemed to simmer her irritation. She instead spoke sharply.

"We were given Identification prior to our meeting the IGC. Have we such need on this occasion?"

Yena, for his part, seemed to feign ignorance at her irritation and responded coolly.

"No, _Princess_ , on this occasion there is no need. The IGC know who you are; you were unknown on your first visit. Your present uniform is more than adequate for tonight."

Jason could tell Diana found it hard to distinguish whether "Princess" had been used in a mocking, almost demeaning way - feminism and all that - or if the man was referring to her official title. After all, Diana had had to disclose her full status in front of the IGC, they all did. Either way, she held her tongue, opting not to respond but holding her head high, and Jason admired her. Taking the high road, that's my girl, he thought.

"Lunch is usually between one and two in the afternoon. We have been well informed about a few of your group's more...additional needs-" Yena cast a glance at Barry, who turned red at the attention, before he turned once more to face the group. "-and have an entire storage full of snacks and supplements that should meet the required energy intake. Again, should re-stocking be required, please direct your enquiry to Jumnah and her team - they are more than happy to help."

The group tittered lightly, and even Jason spared a small smile. It had been him who'd informed the Xanderians of the Flash's constant energy requirements, the man didn't need to feel embarrassed by it - after all, it wasn't exactly his fault, but it was amusing.

The silence returned but it was more comfortable - laughter _is_ the best ice-breaker, Jason thought.

"Any more questions?" Yena directed this at Jason now.

He paused, thinking. Meeting the IGC, check, accommodation, expenses, security, check. But the actual reconstruction work? No point in avoiding the elephant in the room, they were here to do a job.

"In terms of the reconstruction work, talk us through how each day will start."

Yena nodded at Jason before speaking to the group. Indeed, this human would be hard to fool - he does not miss anything, he thought. Yena knew he had his work cut out for him. 

"My team and I will talk to you about the security aspect of the process in more detail tomorrow, and as for the actual construction, Traecao will brief you thoroughly on the work involved - who you will be working with - our people's labourers, workmen, welders and so on, the plans for each day - you all have indivualised timetables, which will be updated before the end of each day on your tablets, where you will be working - all of that, he will cover. On our end, the shortened version is this: each day is a working day, but you will have designated periods of time "off" for basic needs of course- sleeping, eating, resting-, as well as other periods to unwind, travel the city etc. Every day, three of the Timuelae will pick you up and take you to the city repair efforts base, or CRNA for short. There, you will be directed under Traecao and his team as to the work each of you will be doing that day. Lunch will be provided on site, otherwise here in Prepo if you have designated time off. After the work is complete at the end of each day, you will once again be collected by our Timuelae and driven back to Dancre, where your free time is to be spent as you wish."

Yena paused, looking at Jason now.

"As for you, Red, most of your time will be spent ferrying between the IGC, Xan and Gol. There is much less work to be done on Gol; they have...kindly agreed for the work on Xan to be completed first before starting work on their city They estimate no more than three days for completion on their end. At the IGC, with the little I know, I believe you will be involved in reviewing agreements between your organisation and the other parties involved - making sure we keep to the schedule. I believe Traecao and his team would very much appreciate your input down at CRNA, when looking at what needs to be covered, that which is outstanding, and so on. I am not too sure about Gol's side - you will need to speak to Urbyre, the co-ordinator for Gol's reconstruction work. He will be able to direct you further."

Jason nodded. He had suspected he'd spent most of his days running up and down, reviewing paperwork after paperwork. A joyless three weeks on his feet, indeed, but at least he wouldn't be breaking a sweat lifting all sorts of shit, or spend hours in the heat, only to return to Prepo, muscles aching and worn out. A small price to pay, he thought.

"Understood." 

Yena and his unit nodded farewells at the group before taking their leave.

It was his turn to look about the League now. They seemed...less anxious - Jason suspected part of the anxiety they had felt was not knowing how all of this would pan out Luckily for them, most of the work would be in Xan, working alongside the Xanderians, a welcoming bunch. The work would be hard, but only for a couple of hours each day -not the twelve hours plus Jason bet a few of them imagined- and they would have breaks in between, time off to spend as they wished, living in downright luxury, with all expenses paid - they had a damn good deal, and they all knew it. The Xanderians were willing to make things work just as much as the League. Gol was still an unknown; certainly, the Ghusalem had been much less friendly, but at least their work was only in the last two to three days of their entire mission. Jason could tell the room had changed - more of the League were talking now, smiling in a few cases - the Bat was still as grim as ever, but, by the time Yena and his men bid their farewells, even he too had lightened a shade. Just a fraction - Batman was still on guard, with his suspicions that Jason unfortunately shared, but there was nothing that could be done now, for the time being.

Jason checked his watch. Ten fifteen. Lunch would be at one.

He turned to the rest of the group.

"Well, we've got a few hours to kill before lunch. I mean, you can always feast on what you've brought with you, but I've gotta say, the food is pretty great here. Your choice though. As for me-" Jason hoisted his two sports bags over his shoulder before speaking "-I've got a girl called Sleep waiting on me. She's kinda greedy, doesn't really like to share, you know? Anyway, see you in a bit."

Jason didn't wait for their response as he made his way upstairs, ready to pick out the best room.

 

 

Jason had been broken from his sleep by the soft knocking of one Diana Prince, who had opened the door slightly, peeping through, announcing that lunch would be served in a few minutes. With a groan, Jason had turned in his sleep, missing the small smile that graced Diana's face. Jason had been the same when younger. Though he was an earlier riser, the boy found it difficult to actually wake from sleep - a few times she had held him, counting the slow, steady breaths of her little robin as he was lost to the conscious world. Diana watched a moment longer before shutting the door quietly, and made her way downstairs into one of the dining rooms, ebwereko, for some lunch.

Batman had insisted on sticking to the food brought from Earth - Diana had teased him a little, but Bruce had stuck firmly to his decision. In the end, she decided to let it go. He reminded her of a child, sometimes; it was easy to forget that she herself was over hundreds of years old. Bruce would change his mind later, Diana was sure of it. Now that she thought of it, the man would probably claim his reluctance to eat Xanderian food was "not reluctance, but simply based on scientific principle - he wanted see the effects of the food on their digestive systems." Many of the League would roll their eyes, Diana knew - Clark would stifle a laugh, Barry would grin wildly, but still, they respected Bruce's decision. He did have a point, strangely enough - apart from him, the rest of their group consisted of aliens or humans metabolically and genetically altered as the result of their powers. Green Lantern's ring supposedly gave the man increased strength, durability - no way would he have been left unaffected. Diana shook her head as she walked. Smiling at Clark, she sat to J'onn and began conversing. J'onn was due to visit her in London very soon - as was their usual routine, and there were a number of Themysciran delicacies she had planned on introducing to her friend.

Lunch was lovely. Jason was right - Xanderian food _was_ incredible. A perfect mix of rich with the more muted flavours, spices, foods with peculiar names like shriomupkel that left one craving for more - it was all delicious, and the group couldn't wait to visit the city, particularly the markets, on their days off. Diana hoped to spend some time with Jason - it would be nice to accompany the man on a few of his select haunts. From the breakfast selection he'd provided a few weeks back, it was obvious the man's abroad travels had influenced his palate. Superman had yet to assume his usual position of leadership, the group were aware, and Diana was proud of his humility. She knew how hard he'd taken the whole process - her visit to the Kent farm, right after the incident with Bruce, had revealed her friend, Clark Kent, distressed, embarrassed, and most frightening of all, lost. Diana had sat the two men down for a stern talking to - Clark had tried to interrupt, which she shut down with a _look_ , and Bruce had remained silent, but threw his friend a smirk every now and again. Eventually, Diana had faltered, realising that the two had already mended ways, and had stopped, slightly embarrassed - they had both burst out laughing then, and after a while, she'd joined them. Diana cast a quick glance around the table, catching J'onn eye. They both knew who she was looking for and it wasn't Bruce.

 

 

Meanwhile, Jason slept. He had opened the windows wide, enjoying the slight breeze that cooled his skin. By the time he got up, four minutes past three, he'd been taken aback by just how _long_ he'd slept. Jason had sat in bed for a while, enjoying the peace. The house was big enough that he couldn't make out any noise from the other guests, and Jason was grateful. The room he'd chosen was at the far end of the hall, first floor. It boasted a magnificent view of the garden, and the fact that there were fewer rooms on this floor was even better. He wouldn't have to run into Clark, for instance, or worse than humanly thought possible, Bruce. He shuddered. Jason debated making his way to the cobore - a smell came wafting through the window - tangy, rich - no way, had the League eaten shriomupkel for lunch? It was enough to stir him up from his bed. Grabbing a T-shirt, along with a small folder of notes and calendar dates he'd prepared weeks beforehand, Jason made his way downstairs, straight to the ground floor cobore. As he did, he heard voices in one of the lekkas - Lantern, Flash - the rest were probably sleeping, it had already been a long day. Jason came face to face with Kilimia, one of the young cooks under Jumnah. Throwing her a quick wink, which turned the scales of her skin a lovely rosy-pink, he was very quickly given a large portion of Shriomupkel. Jason debated where he would eat such a beautiful lunch. He didn't feel like facing any of the founders now, and the ebwereko put him in their view, so that was out of the question. The garden perhaps? Ah, yes. Making his way to the outdoor seating area, the zolepoa, a distance away from the kitchen, Jason sat down with a small thud and ate slowly, savouring the taste. Shriomupkel was one of his ultimate favourites; how could he have forgotten about it? He had tried to replicate the recipe many a time; though the end results were usually delicious, they were never quite the same as here on Xan. Jason made a mental reminder to visit the city's markets as often as possible; if he was in the mood, he might ask Diana to accompany him on one of such visits.

Lunch finished, Jason resisted the urge to wipe the plate clean as he'd done once in the presence of Alfred - Alfred had struggled to keep his disapproving smile hidden- and began to read his folder of notes. He'd had the whole lot memorised, front to back, but it never hurt to be prepared. By the time he looked at his watch - four:forty-five, Jason knew it was time to get ready. First impressions count, and that was what Jason intended to do. Making his way to the kitchen, after praising the young staff for their cooking skills, much to their reddened delight, Jason made his way upstairs, ready to face the IGC.

 

 

The Timulae sped above the traffic of transport leaving and entering the city. It was amazing - traffic was also the same, alien world or not, Jason thought. Travelling above the already floating air traffic was a no-no; one had to have special permits to use the higher level airspace. The units made their way to ISSA1, the bordered gateway of part of the bridge, where they were transferred to the already waiting ICREMA crafts; massive, golden aircrafts that looked almost see through from a distance. And if Jason hadn't been blown away by those things, then he most certainly was as they travelled on the ISSA bridge. The bridge seemed to detect the _type_ of aircraft using it, and turning a solid bright white, carried the ICREMA crafts full speed. Jason couldn't help but stare out of the window, the bridge in front glowed white, but at its back, reverted to gold, its original colour. Jason watched the process with slight fascination. Why had he never travelled _here_ before? He supposed it was due to wanting to stay as unnoticed as possible - the border patrol guards were strict with checking through passengers wanting to use the bridge. And now the IGC had placed sanctions that included movement of people and goods via the bride? Harsh, but it was a penalty that _had_ been warned about. It wasn't for Jason to decide what was fair or otherwise, and the same went for the League also. They were under the jurisdiction of the IGC; their Earthly opinions held little weight here. 

Manhunter, who had sat beside Jason the entire time, said nothing. He had watched Jason's reaction with his own amusement, though he kept his face perfectly neutral. A few times, Jason had glanced back at him, curious, but J'onn allowed nothing to show. The man was testing him - Jason was constantly on guard, and he wanted to see whether he could let a little of his true feelings show in the Martian's presence. Judging by the way Jason stared at the view, eyes slightly wide, J'onn knew he had passed the test. That evening, back in his own room, J'onn would find it strange why Jason allowed a little of himself to show in his presence; out of all of them, he was the only one with telepathic abilities; able to read far into the darkness of the mind itself; wouldn't Jason, knowing all this, prefer to keep himself as unreadable as ever? Martian left the thought to one side. He too had to prepare himself for the meeting ahead. They would be using the energy his telepathy provided to keep the telepod open, and though the energy required was very little in terms of daily activity, J'onn felt it necessary to rest in order to ensure maximum efficiency. He switched his mind off and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

 

 

The IGC.

The great council of Elders.

A small platform that seemed to float midspace all by itself, dominated by what looked like a giant glass Pantheon. As the approached, Jason could just about make out a number of figures moving about; some in deep conversation with one another, others carrying what looked like files - ah. The IGC was essentially a giant court room, much like the senate. Jason took a moment to appraise himself. He had chosen a light blue shirt and navy trousers - blue was a neutral, safe colour, and would hopefully appear "agreeable" to the rest of the Council. The Timulae approached the steps leading up to the Pantheon and the League clambered out. Already, Pertre, the Council's contract was waiting at the steps, along with two others that looked like assistants. The tension was in the air; Jason had never seen the Flash look so serious. Jason had made sure the League was clear that it would be _him _speaking on their behalf. Unless they were asked directly, then the League were to remain silent and as cordial as possible. None had disagreed with this motion; it was the whole reason Jason had been brought in the first place.__

__Jason made his way over to Pertre. Cold, unsmiling Pertre. He reminded himself yet again that he had to find out what this guy's deal was._ _

__"Official Pertre, thank you for meeting us." Jason started smoothly, offering a handshake._ _

__Pertre seemed to look at the outstretched hand, debating, before shaking it in return. Dickhead, Jason thought, as he smiled thinly at the man._ _

__"It's Advisor Pertre, actually. Yes, welcome to the IGC, Your fellow...colleagues have certainly been here before, I take it this is your first time seeing the Patheteo, correct?"_ _

__"Yes." Jason resisted the urge to strangle the man. Behind him, he could feel the League shifting - they felt the same, and they now understood every word spoken via their trusty little communicators. Jason had nearly forgotten about those things._ _

__Now the Humino smiled, a sudden movement. It didn't suit him, and Jason found himself relieved at its equally quick disappearance._ _

__"Don't worry, you'll soon get used to it, I'm sure. Come, you have less than fifteen minutes before the Council. Reka, ask Uyumo to prepare a few refreshments. Let us go."_ _

__And with that, the League made their way into the Patheteo, stares following them the entire way._ _

____

__

 

__Jason stood, a few feet away from the rest of the League. It had only been - he checked his watch: eight minutes in already- and yet the wait felt like much longer. He kept his back to the League as he stood, looking outside. They were on the first floor, and yet it it felt like they were miles above the ground. Jason declined all refreshments so far; his stomach was currently doing jumping jacks and sitting down was not an option. He needed to be on his feet, moving, ready for action. Manhunter had offered to calm his anxiety a little through telepathy but Jason had sharply declined the offer. Apart from the telepod, his mind was his own; J'onn knew what had happened the last time he'd tried to help - if he was anxious, then he was anxious, simple as that._  
_

__Bruce sat, watching Jason. He felt a pang of regret that he'd never taught the art of public speaking to Jason as a boy, especially when it cam to Wayne Galas. It was...odd. Ever since he'd been working with the League, Jason had gone from "the Red Hood" to "Jason, the Hood". Bruce was nowhere near ready to think of the man as a son, of course not, but he _was_ addressing him as Jason in his mind. Bruce had been close to addressing him out loud by his name, one day, when they'd been discussing with Manhunter how best to modify the communicators. Jason's idea was a good one, but Bruce had taken the idea further by suggesting they add in a translator processor that could connect with the brain of the user and translate their English into whatever language was being received through the telepod. In other words, not only could they be able to understand what was being said, they could potentially _speak_ the same language back. Numerous testing, tinkling and several bouts of frustration later - it had worked. Bruce had turned to Jason then and was about to call him by his first name when he remembered himself. He remembered his stance on the man, the decision he'd made to disown him, their history, that the man now referred to himself as "Red", and the word burned painfully on his tongue. Jason had looked at him, eyebrow slightly raised, before nodding and turning back to J'onn, deep in conversation. _ _

__Bruce had stood there for a few moments, lost, before reverting back to Batman. With a nod, he'd left the two men to their work - not noticing how Manhunter had spared a frown upon his retreat. By their next meeting, Bruce had taken it upon himself to maintain a clear distance from Red - he did not want a repeat of that near embarrassment. Jason remained unperturbed by the colder, more distant tone Bruce had specifically taken to use when in close proximity - it was as if he was completely indifferent to his presence, and that left Bruce feeling...somehow. Not unease, not unhappy, and yet on the other hand, not glad either. _Shouldn't_ he be glad? Bruce recalled the afternoon Clark had spent a few weeks back, talking about how...strange he felt when it came to Jason. Unreadable, yet on those rare occasions, open. And now Bruce was here, with the League, doing something he didn't really want to do, around a person he'd considered dead and done years ago. He sighed and looked at his watch. Five fifty-five. Less than five minutes, then they'd hopefully never have to face the IGC again. _ _

__The entrance to council area Ipi-One opened, and Pertre made his way out._ _

__"The council will see you know." The Humino spoke smoothly, his voice light, but it was the smirk that gave away his apparent amusement at their predicament. Jason held back from rolling his eyes and stepped forward. Manhunter and Wonder Woman stayed close behind, in his peripheries, and the League made their way into the arena._ _

____

__"We, the Council of Elders welcome this evening the Justice League of Earth, and welcome their ambassador, Red. Thank you for your prompt arrival. Let us get straight into the matter - the IGC has currently ruled that in the event of the Xan and Gol conflict, six weeks past, the League be commissioned for reconstruction and repair work on both Xan and Gol. As acknowledged, we understand that Ghusalem aircraft Matalan-yprepai12 was responsible for initiating an attack by entering Xanderian air space without permission, and that it was the intervention of Superman, of the Justice League, that saved the lives of thousands from that one impact. The elders also acknowledge that the League intervened to the best of their ability, with the _intention_ of preventing war - your presence as third party peacemakers between Xan and Gol is a testament to your desire for peace between the two planets, and behalf our all of us, we would like to extend our thanks and our gratitude."_ _

__Kaomato, head of the Council, paused, making sure the room was attentive before continuing. He was the oldest out of all the elders; no-one knew for sure how old he really was, but records had shown him to be present during the leadership of the 3rd century dysynatarian Macro Paiti, thousands of years ago. Kaomato had served first as a junior clerk in an accountants office, before being enlisted in the 14th regiment wars against intruders from Rerrepe, hellish creatures from another multiverse who had managed to travel millions of light years into their time. After that, Kaomato had steadily worked his way up in the politics that governed their multiverse - from the junior court typewriter, to clerk, to lawyer, eventually judge several years later, and after a _very_ long while, elected into the council of Elders. Kaomato surveyed the Justice League in front of him - a strange assortment of Earth's "mightiest" heroes - he had initially doubted this claim but after viewing footage of them in action, particularly the Superman, he had to admit - they were indeed quite formidable, even against their own highly advanced technology. _ _

__Kaomato and the rest of the Elders had deliberated long and hard over the League's involvement. It was clear to everyone that the League had acted to prevent Gol attacking Xan and vice versa, and though they appreciated the group's effort, the end result had left substantial damage to Eain, thousands wounded, and would require reconstruction - resources that both planets claimed not to have. They had given the League four weeks to arrange their affairs before starting enough work - more than enough time. The Elders chose to punish the two warring parties because of their pride; their arrogance and stubbornness had caused this mayhem, disrupted the peace, damaged the ISSA bridge, and the elders had declared that until either side came to their senses, sanctions would be enforced. The hope was that the painful effects of these sanctions would make Xan and Gol think twice in the future about going to war, and deter similarly foolish measures from other planets watching the debacle. The main job of the IGC was to maintain peaceful relationships between all the planets in their dimension, to boost the wealth and encourage flourishing in heath, technology and growth of _all_ the peoples - it had been this way for thousands of years, and so long as the IGC remained in power, so would it continue._ _

__"However, damages and casualties have arisen as a result of your League's intervention, and after careful deliberation, the Elders put forward three choices: imprisonment, which you refused and we have honoured that refusal, billing - which you can neither afford nor have the correct currency to even attempt to contribute, and finally, help with reconstruction efforts. You have chosen the third option, and we are satisfied with your choice. The contracts you and Mr Red here have reviewed do not specifically state the length of completion, but we today can give you an answer: our experts have declared an estimate of three earth weeks, which is roughly equal to six months in our dimension. Can I assume that your presence today indicates your acceptance with the terms laid out?"_ _

__"Yes, Your Honor." Jason answered for the League._ _

__"You are satisfied with that your penalty is for the damages sustained as a result of your effort, not for making the efforts in the first place?"_ _

__"Yes, Your Honor."_ _

__"And you are happy to work either alongside or under our engineers, labourers and other reconstruction crew, both on Xan and Gol?"_ _

__"Yes, Your Honor."_ _

__"And at the end of three weeks, or by the end completion of the work, whichever comes first, you agree to present yourselves here before the Council one last time to sign and agree the end of your contract?"_ _

__"Yes Your Honor."_ _

__"Very well."_ _

__Jason let out the breathe he'd been holding. So far, so good. The IGC made a show of appreciating their efforts, and they seemed agreeable enou-_ _

__"Mr Red." It was Semeticai'a's turn to speak, head of peace relations on the council. The Elemkian has served as ambassador to Xan, Gol, Elek and six other neighboring planets, and was highly regarded throughout._ _

__Jason snapped to attention. He had a feeling he knew what was coming._ _

__"Yes Ma'am."_ _

__Semeticai'a let out a small smile before continuing._ _

__"As I understand from your previous conversations with our representatives, you have been selected by ambassador on behalf of the League. is this correct?"_ _

__"Yes, Your Honor."_ _

__"And was any aspect of your appointment a result of coercion, under duress?"_ _

__"No Your Honor. The League offered me the position, and I took it."_ _

__"And you are happy with the terms agreed?"_ _

__"Yes, Your Honor."_ _

__Semeticai'a paused now, and Jason readied himself. He knew exactly what she was going to ask, and he was not surprised._ _

__"Mr Red, your...presence, or rather, your skill has caused quite a stir among the council. Your affinity for both Xalanese and Ghusalish have left many of us wondering as to how you were acquire such an understanding. We wish to know why this is."_ _

__It was Jason's turn to pause now. It was imperative he tread carefully - giving away too much might make him a person of interest, and one could never be too trusting. On the other hand, evading the question could be seen as refusal to cooperate, which was the last thing the League needed right now. Jason chose his words carefully._ _

__"I have a few contacts in your realm with whom I have accompanied on travels to Xan and Gol. I study languages for a living, and therefore it is in my best interest to assimilate as much knowledge as possible. In addition, I enjoy meeting new people, and observing and respecting their customs. I am able to converse well enough, at least to this level, but will still require the help of your representatives in assisting me as ambassador."_ _

__Jason considered his statement. Not quite the truth, but not an outright lie either. A little bit of buttering-up, too. He spoke the languages very well, for sure, but he didn't know everything. Futian he'd only discovered by accident, for example. Jason did have a few contacts across this dimension, mainly fellow travelers or kind people who had invited him to their homes, and he truly valued their hospitality. If the Council knew the truth of his "ability" - and the whole truth, mind you, they'd probably refuse to let him leave. He was sure someone would advocate "testing" him to extract the source of such ability - and they all knew what "testing" really meant. Torture. As much as he enjoyed coming to Xan, and found the Xanderians welcoming, Jason didn't trust anyone. He had learned long ago not to put past anything by anyone - in the right circumstances, one could do a whole lot of unexpected shit if pushed._ _

__Semeticai'a looked at him. Jason kept himself open and readable - palms flat on the desk in front of where he stood, face soft - and Semeticai'a smiled, nodding at him. He'd returned the smile, but it was a smile of relief. He had passed her test, for now._ _

__"Mr Red, I too have a query of my own." Jason directed his focus to a small, thin lipped Demishti - they were known for their shrewdness, dedicated to everything logical - it reminded Jason of someone he knew._ _

__"I felt it necessary to commission some research into you, Mr Red, and particularly what qualifies you as ambassador. I have found a few things...concerning."_ _

__And this, The Council murmured a little, evidently surprised. It seemed the Demishti, Taenolot, failed to involve them in such a matter, but the little prick continued, regardless of his colleague's irritation._ _

__"I have a few pieces here today in session. Krekov, if you please."_ _

__A young court attendant rushed towards the side of the room. Keying in a few buttons, a large screen appeared in the middle of the room._ _

__Jason thanked his lucky stares he and Tim had prepped exclusively for this._ _

__"My esteemed colleagues, thank you for your patience. Now, if you could direct you attention to the screen - exhibit A details Red here as linked to an individual called the Red Hood, responsible for notorious crimes, disturbing the peace..."_ _

__On and on it went - Taenolot took great pride in discussing Jason's crimes at arms length, especially the more gruesome ones. He had, however, failed to make the connection between the Red Hood and Jason Todd, particularly the Jason Todd that was once under the care of the billionaire Bruce Wayne, before dying at the tender age of 13. Throughout all this, Jason remained silent. He kept his face neutral as Taenolot yapped away, casting smug, punchable looks his way. Jason could feel J'onn at the periphery of his mind again, not wanting to intrude, but trying to keep him calm - as gently as he could, Jason pushed the Martian away, and J'onn, noticing the man's calm state, had retreated._ _

__Finally, bless _ed_ finally, Taenolot had come to an end. Shuffling his shitty little papers, he turned to Jason, eyes sparkling, as if he was just _waiting_ for Jason to blow up, to lose control, boil over in rage. But that was the old Jason. Jason under the influence of the Pit would have reacted in the exact way Taenolot was waiting for, and Jason would not give him that satisfaction. He _had_ changed; Tim, Alfred, Talia - they all said it, and he trusted them. He knew himself better than he ever did, and being self-controlled was one of the best things Jason had ever had. He took deep breath and addressed the council, keeping his voice firm._ _

__"Council of Elders, thank you for being here today. Council Taenolot, Your Honor, I must extend my special thanks for all the evidence presented against me today. It is true - I did commit those crimes; there is nothing to hide. I will not offer any excuses as to why; I highly doubt you would be interested in my life story. My actions are my own, and whether you believe me or otherwise, there has been a heavy price to pay for some of the crimes you have heard about today. However, not one piece of evidence kindly assembled by Honorable Taenolot demonstrates my ineptitude or inability to communicate clearly with you all today _at this preset time_ , and with the representatives of Xan and Gol also. The evidence you have been shown is close to four years old, and I argue that I am not the same person as I was then. Further more - and this is crucial, if I may boldly add - the League have deemed me acceptable to act as ambassador on their behalf. As you have so rightly heard, for a long time, I was on the League's warrant list - and yet, here I stand today, ready to work with, and speak on their behalf - surely, a man like me would think it ludicrous to offer my help like this, to the League, of all things? But even if this wasn't the case, then let me present to you the things I do have: I have the skills and the expertise in a large variety of areas - some of which _was_ demonstrated today. I speak Xalanese and Ghusalish fluently, have a good grasp on many of your customs, well-versed in engineering and the use of raw materials, and am ready to work, here, right now - in other words, I am and have everything you need in an ambassador. What makes me even better, however, is the fact that out of the many I'm sure you have asked, I am the _only_ one willing to step in and play peacemaker between all four of you: the Council, the League, Xan and Gol. But I still haven't told you the best part, not yet-"_ _

__Jason paused, looking around the room. The whole lot of them was riveted - Taenolot looked pissed, and Jason was loving every second of it._ _

__"-The best part, is that I don't want anything from you. From the time I and the League made contact, up til this very moment, I have not made a single demand. Not money, or other payments, not favours from the IGC, not a free pass on anything - not once have I asked you for anything, because _you have nothing to offer me_. Which therefore means that you have nothing to lose with regards to my appointment. So, all in all, the choice is down to you. Either you accept my role, in full light of my previous crimes - again, I stress to taking full responsibility to my actions; I have not denied anything - or, in light of these revelations, call for my dismissal. The only thing I will say in the event of the latter that such a decision will result in a delay to the reconstruction work on Xan and Gol, but truly, that is little of the IGC's concern. As you have stated a few times before - both planets started this war, not yourselves. I believe your priority is to maintain peace and order throughout the realm; everything else is secondary."_ _

__Jason knew he'd hit the mark. He didn't bother looking at Taenolot._ _

__"Your Honors, most respectable Council, thank you for hearing me today. I and the League have presented ourselves today, ready to accept your terms and work alongside your people. It is up to you, now, to decide whether you wish to proceed with the arrangement."_ _

__The silence was something else._ _

__Kaomato cleared his breath._ _

__"I believe a short break will be in order. In light of...unexpected news, we the Council will take the time to discuss maters amongst ourselves. We will reconvene once a decision has been reached. Thank you."_ _

__And with that, the League were dismissed._ _

 

 

____

__Nine fifteen, evening._ _

__Jason lay in bed. His heart still beat furiously, thanks to the adrenaline generated from the events of an hour ago. The League had arrived just over thirty minutes ago, tired, quiet, but mostly still in awe at Red,or rather, Jason Todd. Jason had...astounded many of them by the way he dealt with Taenolot's unexpected derailment. He had remained incredibly calm, and presented himself, and the facts surrounding his criminal past, well enough. After an hour of tense waiting, the IGC had once again requested the presence of the League before them. Kaomato had announced, in a rather embarrassed tone, that Jason be allowed to continue in his role as ambassador, so long as the League were satisfied with his appointment, and that Jason adhere to all of their laws during his stay. Taenolot was inconspicuously missing, and Jason would have grinned right there and then had J'onn not sent him a telepathic nudge, warning him to mind himself. They IGC had given the League and Jason all clear to start, but that didn't mean Jason was off the hook - they would be monitoring him, carefully. Any loss of control, or misunderstanding, any coming to blows - in light of Jason's past, the IGC would find it difficult to exempt him from punishment, and that included everything from harsh labor to death._ _

__The League had made they way down to the waiting ICREMA crafts. Yena had nodded to Jason as he walked past - news had spread quickly, and the man clearly respected Jason for his conduct, but also, unknown to Jason - the fact that the man had been willing to do what was necessary at the cost of saving lives. Yena had seen far too many plan, and debate, and confer, and discuss- before gathering again - all without making a single move. Sometimes, all it took was just one small step of action, but many of these "diplomats" didn't understand. They were typical academics; far too caught up in the theory behind it all, discussing the whys instead of planning for the how. Yena had known there'd be something different about Red - the way he stood apart from the League he'd arrived with was one clue. Yena and his team gad walked the League back to the waiting INCREMA; Jason had chosen to walk silently beside him, and it was as if the League consciously knew that the man needed some space - they had chosen to keep a few paces behind. Yena knew small talk would be nothing but white noise to the man so he kept silent, choosing to match Red's stride. Upon their arrival to the first INCREMA craft, both men had paused. Yena made eye contact with Jason, nodding briefly, and offered a small but respectable smile before holding out his hand. Jason had only hesitated a little before shaking it, also looking at Yena in the eye. It was a sign of understanding - men of similar calibre, and Jason had nodded, appreciative, before entering the INCREMA._ _

__After speaking to Jason's driver, Yena directed the rest of the League into the other INCREMA crafts - he gave Jason the privacy of being alone for a little while. Upon their switch to the Timuelae aircrafts at the border of ISSA1, Yena had directed that Jason be directed to a separate Timuelan of his own. It was a little gesture, but both he and Red knew the meaning behind it, and Jason could not be more grateful for the space. It had been...surreal to have such a large part of his life laid out like that in open court, before the League, before himself even. Though he'd prepared with Tim, it was still something to see it all laid out for him. Jason didn't regret killing all those sick, twisted, evil pieces of shit, no; he'd saved many potential victims for sure, but the way Taenolot had _delighted_ in it all, as if Jason enjoyed killing - that was what got him the most. He suspected that many, League included, thought he loved to kill, that he got off on murder - that wasn't the case at all.__

__

____

__Jason did want he had to do because it was _necessary_. He was the one who willingly chose to get his hands bloody, to lay aside society's morals on "justice" - the system was rigged to hell, corrupt as ever, and everyone knew it. Every day, Jason would hear about yet another sick shit - rapist, murderer, sex trafficker, who was walking free, charges dropped or a slap on the wrist, _or_ who was being let out years early for "good behaviour". None of them had understood. These particular people were not the ordinary kind that walked with their kids in the street, said hello to their neighbours, helped a friend out with groceries. These "men" were not "men" at all - they were demons in the flesh, sheep in wolves clothing -ready to kill, steal and devour, and do it all again the next day. And if the League failed to see that, then that was not Jason's problem. He did and would continue doing what he had to do. Jason work with the Ghosts had taken out several prostitution rings, full of young, scared women and children, fucking _children_ , for crying out loud, molesters, killers, corrupt politicians, those who committed total genocide at the expense of overworked tax paying citizens - and _Jason_ was the crazy one? A bloody joke._ _

__The League had arrived at Prepo, tired now. Jason had been the first to exit his solo Timuelan, and the group had waited till he was inside before stepping out of their own Timuelae. Somehow, they knew the experience had been jarring for the young man. Jason had maintained a cool front in the court, but from behind, they had detected a tiny tremor running through his frame. His shoulders had been tight, too. It was a downright miracle at how he'd managed to remain standing, composed, and neither of them were about to trouble him tonight._ _

__Jason checked the time again. Nine thirty. No matter where he was, the first night in a new place was always hardest to fall asleep. Jason fished out the Library's copy of Great Expectations and began to read._ _

__Today was only round one._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lekkas = lounges  
> cobores = kitchens  
> ebwereko = dining room  
> trentemien = entertainment facilities/suits  
> opreworke = gym  
> mapruto = massage and sauna  
> cinceci = theatre lounge  
> library = epo  
> shriomupkel = chicken saute, cheese and mushroom bake, sealed with a light dusting of shredded thyme me, and a side order of fresh leafy salad.  
> zolepoa = outdoor seating area  
> Elima: where the IGC is located  
> Patheto: the actual IGC building, on Elima


	14. First day of school, kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The League begins work.

Five thirty-five am.

Jason had been up for the last two hours, stretching, and his morning routine down in the lower ground gym, Opreworke, had given him a great head start. His sleep had been short, relatively light, but peaceful - he knew he wouldn't have slept deeply after last night's hearing with the IGC. None of the League had said a word to him; not on the way back to Prepo, and Jason had gone straight to his room without hesitation. 

Jason had finished in the gym and now stood, eyes closed. He still felt like he needed _more_ ; he needed a bit of fresh air, a change - he needed to go for a run. Jason thought back to his home in Daaver; most, if not all days started with stretches, but it was the morning run that really woke him up. The early rise of dawn, the light breeze, the _silence_ of it all - yes, that was what he needed right now. Heading up to his room to quickly change, Jason made his way down again and almost walked straight into Nyakwane, one of Jumnah's catering staff. Jason had to scramble for a moment to recall her name; the young Xanderian seemed to understand, smiling pleasantly. He'd told her of his intentions for a quick jog around the community, to which she had encouraged greatly - it would not be a problem, not at all- before stepping out of the Villai. Jason had been tempted to ask whether he could venture outside of Dancu, but he had a feeling it would be discouraged; it was only their first day, after all, and he did not want to put Nyakwane in a difficult position. Best not to push my luck, he thought. Jason took his time walking down the steps, past the lush foliage, the water fountains, up to the large silver gates. Holding his security tag against the intercom screen, one of the smaller side gates opened, and Jason escaped his luxury prison.

Jason ran a few laps around the community estate. It was bigger than he expected - around thirty houses in total, large sprawling Villiae, all elegant, with a good amount of space between each. And all completely silent. Apart from the clapping sound Jason's trainers made as he hit the floor with vigor, not a single other noise could be heard. It was eery, yet comforting. Jason was forced to pick up minute details; the wet huff of his breath as he exerted himself, the slap of his damp curls at the sides of his temples, the shifting of his t-shirt as he ran against the breeze - was this how Superman felt, every day? Jason didn't want to imagine it - all the multitudes of millions -no, billions of people, cars, machinery, _noise_ \- how on _earth_ was Superman, Clark, able to cope with all that?

Jason shifted his focus on his surroundings. The air felt...fresh, light - probably to do with being away from the city, Jason reasoned. It was the same everywhere - outside of the cities were usually quieter, more peaceful. If one added in the slower pace of life, green spaces, loved ones - it all made for a healthier way of living. Jason had always thought he was a city boy, through and through, but living in Danver had revealed the complete opposite: city life was forced upon him, and he didn't belong there. Tim definitely did - Jason knew the boy could make himself right at home in any city, whether that be New York, London, Tokyo - Tim had the connections, the resources, the mindset - he was built for the city, and Jason couldn't be any more opposite. It was one of the many reasons why Jason had always felt it odd that Tim chose to seek him out - they were different in many different ways, everything from skin tone, to build, to personality, their likes and dislikes - yet Jason could not imagine a closer friend. Opposites attract is what he'd heard in the past, but Jason didn't think that to be true. That line only worked if there was an underlying _understanding_ **and** a _willingness to compromise_. Friendships, relationships - all that took work; constant, consistent effort, to be there for someone, even when you don't want to be, and spend time with them, even when you'd rather be elsewhere. 

Jason remembered the early days of he and Tim's relationship, when the bugger simply refused to leave him alone. The boy had yet to say anything, but he showed up, every single time - Jason had known Tim would sometimes be stuck in one of his dingy, crappy little safehouses, waiting for hours - but Jason had never heard, nor seen Tim complain. Not once. Jason knew this because many a time he had finished patrol early, or even forgo it altogether, just to sit a few buildings over from his safehouse and watch Tim enter, set up their movie and food, and wait. Sometimes Tim ate a bit of the food, sometimes he surfed the web, other times he slept, but not once did he leave, or did he pick up the phone to complain. It was fascinating, scary, and surreal at the same time, to watch determination such as this. Tim was the exact personification of persistence - the boy didn't know how to quit. Sometimes Jason would leave his vantage point and make his way to the safehouse, watching the delight shine through the boy's frame upon his arrival. At other times, however, Jason would deliberately not show, curious to see what Tim would do. Their usual cut-off time was four am - if Jason still failed to show after this, then it meant Tim had picked the wrong safehouse, and the boy knew to expect a little white card teasing his failure somewhere along his next patrol route. But Tim surprised Jason all the more - four am, five am, six am - Tim would sometimes stay hours after the cut off point, still hoping Jason would somehow show. Jason had enjoyed the disappointment at first, but the more he chose to stay away, the more he hated himself for failing the boy. _That_ was why Jason stopped failing to turn up. If it were up to him, he'd never want to see any of the Bats again, but that face - that sad, disappointed face that Tim would make - it caused the boy to stoop, bent his head low, quiet, - Jason hated it. If spending time he didn't want to spend, with someone who stood for everything he despised, would make that same person as happy as can be, then Jason would do it. He had long made a point of putting others first and whether that was on the street, protecting the younger street urchins, or as a Ghost, it was all the same - others come first. 

Jason looked at his watch. six twenty seve - 

What? 

How had he spent close to an hour running, without his knowledge?. Time really does fly out here, Jason thought. He looked at his surroundings - he'd probably ran over six laps or so of the entire estate, and he was currently on other side. It would take him about fifteen minutes or so to get back to Prepo. Jason was in no rush, though - he'd checked his interactive tablet earlier, and they were due to leave for the day at eight am sharp. He and the League would all leave together and head straight to the CRNA. There, Traecao and his team would direct the League as to the work each would be doing today, whilst Jason would be left to look over the plans and paperwork of the scheduled reconstruction. It was likely he'd also have to make a trip down to the IGC at Elima as well to work with a few officials, and Jason was not exactly looking forward to it. By now, anyone who was anyone would have learned of the events of last night, and Jason was sure he'd be the star of today's gossip. He sighed. Being the centre of attention, _again_ , great, Jason thought, as he made his way back to Prepo.

 

 

The League made their way downstairs for breakfast in the Desyaana. Work was beginning today and whilst many felt relieved that it would soon be over, there was clearly some anxiety within the room in anticipation of the day ahead. Its just like the first day of school, Flash had commented. None of them so far had mentioned the events of the previous evening. All that mattered was that they were here now, ready to start work. The group sat down to eat, Batman included this time. Clark had stifled a chuckle, earning him a well-deserved Bat glare, and Diana had simply smiled. She knew of the bet Barry and John had made on when exactly the Bat would give up his self-sacrificing crusade and give into trying Xanderian food - John was determined that Bruce would hold out for the entire duration of their stay, and Flash was insisted the man would give in by day three, if not, till the end of the week. Unknown to both, Bruce had been well aware of their antics and decided to double cross them both, by joining in for breakfast this morning. Neither men would win their childish bet, and Bruce had smiled ever so slightly in their direction, much to their frustration. 

They were all here now, enjoying the selection of breakfast provided, save one. Diana had half a mind to invite Jason down for breakfast; though J'onn had advised her of such a move, that the man would be down out of his own choice, Diana had nevertheless made her way to Jason's room. After knocking a few times to no response, and peeking a little to find the room empty, bed laid, room perfectly in order, she'd closed the door, wondering. Had Jason left already? She was sure that they all would be leaving together today for the CRNA - maybe Yena had informed him of a change to his schedule. In any case, Diana decided to leave the matter. Jason was a grown man, not the little robin she'd once fussed over, and he'd been to Xan before. Jason would be fine, she knew, but a part of her still felt it necessary to reach out to him. Apart from that day in Auburn room, they had yet to spend any time with each other. Diana had kept all this to herself; she was sure Bruce had seen her speak to Jason that day, though out of respect, he'd said nothing. Clark wouldn't like the idea - he was overprotective like that, and the rest of the League save J'onn, didn't seem to care much either way. J'onn had spoken little apart to tell her "Give it time", without directly referring to Jason, and Diana had planted a small kiss to his cheek in gratitude. 

Breakfast was indeed lovely - Wei'ei, one of the young cooks, had kindly pointed out each dish: Propretos, spicy sausage, Yerui, a vegetable stew, apparently light but extremely filling - Diana had to agree there, Suijtalem, thin pitta breads lightly drizzled with oil and cheese shavings, Quraveiol cambutu, a type of meat samosa - these were absolutely stunning, and all, particularly the Flash, had taken large helpings, Yuymous (hummus), Likroe (eggs) - the list went on and on. By the end, they were all sufficiently stuffed, and had there not been work to do, Diana was sure most would be ready to head back to bed. At the end of it all, Jason had still not shown for breakfast.

 

 

Jason had made his way back to Prepo just before seven, only to run into Yena at the gate, standing next to a Timuelan. The Xanderian was alone, and Jason deduced that they were to have a private conversation. Turning his communicator to mute, he made his way over to the man.

"Good morning, Red. I trust that you and your colleague's night has been...uneventful, at least." Yena's smile was brief but kind, and Jason nodded in appreciation that he had deliberately chosen _not_ to dwell too much on last night. He extended a hand and Yena took it, firmly greeting him.

"Very well, thank you. Forgive me, but to my knowledge, I and the rest of the League are due to leave together for CRNA at 8am. Is there a reason as to why you're here? I mean no offence, its just that..." Jason trailed off, gesturing a little to Yena's appearance here at Prepo. Yena for his part, took no offence and chuckled before replying.

"No offence taken, Red. Changes were made to your schedule at the last minute; Traecao and his team thought it best that you arrive a little earlier than planned to see the set up before your colleague's arrival. I apologise for the inconvenience, it was certainly not planned. Are you able to get yourself ready before seven?"

"Of course, Commander. I understand, changes happen all the time. It's what, six-" Jason looked down at his watch before continuing "-thirty now? That's fine, I'll get myself ready before then."

"Thank you, Red, I appreciate your cooperation. I'll inform Traecao now and have one of the staff prepare us some breakfast to take away."

Jason nodded at the man before taking his leave. Quickly, he made his way upstairs to shower and dress. He'd left out his clothes the previous afternoon, before he'd taken a nap - a matching charcoal grey suit, lightweight, and maroon shirt, but he decided to leave the suit jacket in the end - it would be too hot. Jason debated wearing the Limpra suit he'd commissioned - it was only the first day, but since he had been requested down at the CRNA, the chances were that he would be taken to a few of the building sites, and who knew what kind of materials were there. It was better to be in the safe side, and Jason had worn the limpra suit under his own clothes. He looked at himself in the mirror - his chest looked broader than ever, but that was definitely not a complaint. It suited him well, and it would also give off the impression that he wasn't someone to mess around with. Jason took one last look at himself and put his apiliwe into his bag, before heading downstairs to the waiting Timuelan.

 

 

The ride to the CRNA was a pleasant one. The city was not yet properly awake, and yet, Jason had a strange feeling it wasn't _just_ because of the early hour. Yena and Jason had enjoyed breakfast - the Quraveiol cambutu and Yerui were two items he had missed dearly, and the delight on his face caused Yena to chuckle. The two had somewhat settled into an ease; not fully relaxed, still guarded, but there was an ...understanding between them, and that was why Yena had chosen to change Jason's schedule. Traecao and his unit _had_ asked for Jason to come to CRNA a little earlier than the League, but either of them could have easily updated such changes onto the man's Apiliwe without taking a trip to Dancu. Yena had personally sought to make the trip out himself, taking his own personal Timuelan, checking the craft thoroughly for any listening devices. Thankfully there was no need to sweep the chauffeur - almost all hovercrafts in Xan, Gol were driverless, operated solely by the city's internal power structure - chauffeurs were an outdated tradition, and usually reserved for more formal occasions when the wealthy and the influential wanted to impress.

Yena was curious about Jason, and after observing the man throughout yesterday, and hearing about his past at the IGC, realised it was the only opportunity he would have. From his understanding, the human was not part of the League - in fact, he was at odds with the League, and vice versa. The human spoke their language _and_ Ghusalish fluently - impressive, since the Ghusalem were not welcoming to outsiders. He had nothing to gain from the IGC, and did not seem like the type to be so easily influenced, or used as a pawn like the Superman. Yena wasn't sure who he could trust, and that alone meant that no-one was to be trusted. If there is doubt, then it is a certainty, he had thought. Yena was a high ranking official, both in private security and in the military, but that didn't mean he was included in everything. In fact, now that he thought about it, he _had_ been left out on a number of meetings over the past couple of months, a year maybe, and after receiving stern warnings following his attempts at discerning what had been discussed, Yena had given up on the matter, opting not to draw any more ire by focusing solely on his work. He was highly regarded but that didn't make him irreplaceable; his superiors had directly implied that. Yena knew he could in no way trust any of his colleagues, his unit, his superiors, with his concerns - there were too many that might potentially be involved, and if they knew of his suspicious, that would mean either his imprisonment or death. Jason might be the only person available who was not part of any of this, but still, Yena had tasked himself to find out exactly what the man knew and how he felt about the situation, _before_ divulging anything. He sipped his drink before speaking, looking out the window.

"How have you found things so far, Red?"

Jason turned to look at Yena before looking out of the window as well.

"Very well, thank you. We have been treated very well, I cannot lie, and I and the League are grateful for your hospitality." The man's tone was neutral, with a slight warmth to it. Yena nodded.

"I am glad to hear it. As I mentioned earlier, Traecao and his team will meet you and walk you through their plans, and take you to the sites the League will be stationed today. If you have any questions as to the plans, the schedules, anything at all, please do let either myself, my team, or Traecao's unit know."

"I will do."

"In addition-" Yena paused here, sipping his drinking, still looking out of the window.

Jason glanced at him, curious. What was the angle here? He had to tread carefully. Jason waited.

"There are a number of...concerns I have on my mind, that which I feel requires an outsider's point of view to discern their potential relevance. If I may confirm, you know what happened already, yes?

Jason quirked an eyebrow in response and said nothing. Yena _knew_ that he knew, otherwise he wouldn't have been made ambassador in the first place.

Yena looked at him now, seeing the raised eyebrow, and took the look as a _yes, i know_. He carried on.

"And you fully understand the IGC's ruling as a result, to all members involved, I believe?"

Jason's expression still hadn't changed, but now he leaned back in his seat. What was Yena trying to say?

"There are things which seem...a little out of place, so to speak. I cannot quite place an exact discrepancy, nor do I have the appropriate security clearance level to investigate as such."

Yena paused now, looking to see if Jason had caught on. He had. 

"It is difficult to voice these musings; I feel that they would not be gladly received. What I can say is this; there has been talk, amongst a few, that I am not too sure about; and general...grumbling at the IGC for quite a while now. Attempts at gaining more information has not been well received, lets put it that way. And now, with all that has happened, such grumbling has increased, both in frequency and in volume."

Yena held Jason's eye now. 

"I feel that there is more going on than meets the eye, and it seems to be just myself that is aware of something brewing in the works. From what you know already, have you any thoughts?" 

Yena knew he was taking a risk here, being so direct, but if he didn't act fast, then his people and his city, would lose a whole lot more. Things were moving fast now, and he knew time was running out.

It was a test. For Yena, Jason's answer to this question would confirm whether Jason was as he suspected - a man of his calibre, and therefore could be trusted with a few of his suspicions. On the other hand, Jason could use this information against him - the man could report their conversation, and already Yena had a history of "sticking his nose where it didn't belong" - he could be struck off and silenced in a number of ways. For Jason, this seemed like a test to gather how much he _truly_ knew of the situation. Yena could by lying; spying on him to keep him and the League blissfully unaware as to their true intentions, for whatever nefarious purpose they had in mind, but then why had Yena come all the way to Dancu, in one Timuelan, which, judging by the size and the way the Xanderian made himself comfortable, was his own hovercraft? Jason was also sure that his apiliwe would be able to receive changes and updates easily, without requiring the help of a physical messenger - so what had Yena been doing outside Prepo this morning? In addition, if Yena was telling the truth, then it _would_ make sense for him to keep his thoughts to himself, especially if he had indeed received warnings to mind his business - anyone could be involved. If Yena was in fact, lying, and Jason went ahead to report their conversation, then who would the IGC believe? A highly ranked, well regarded Xanderian, one of their own, or Red, a murderer, someone even the League had wanted to arrest at one point? Jason felt he should play it diplomatically, nice and neutral, acknowledging, yes, but not denying either - but that could risk Yena refusing to say anything else, and Jason knew the Xanderian was the best wealth of information he could hope for - Yena was an asset, simple as that. It dawned on Jason that they were both at risk here - already, Yena had put himself out there, truthful or otherwise. One thing was obvious, however: something _was_ wrong and they knew it.

Jason paused for a long while before answering.

"I do have...concerns. The only way I'll be able to determine the nature of these concerns is by watching and learning as much as possible."

Both men eyed each other. They were on a similar page, and both knew there was no turning back now. Yena nodded before straightening up.

"I will let you know where and when to meet. For now, you have heard nothing, and said nothing. As far as you are aware, you received an update early this morning as to the change in your schedule, and left Prepo at seven to meet Traecao and the engineering team. I was never here, nor have you heard from me since yesterday."

Jason nodded, and the silence returned.

 

 

Eight am.

The League had arrived at the CRNA, a large engineering base in the heart of the city. Jason had not shown at all for breakfast, nor had he left with them either. Sometime during their journey, Manhunter had reported Jason's communicator as now being fully active, changed from its previously "silent" status. Batman had frowned - Jason was well aware of the importance of keeping his communicator on and active at _all_ times, exceptions were to be notified through J'onn prior to disengagement. It made Bruce suspicious - what was Red up to? He had checked the timetable on his apiliwe meticulously, and had corroborated the information with the rest of the League. They would all be reporting to the CRNA downtown for eight am, where they would be introduced to Traecao and the team, and shown all the work to be done, before starting. Bruce wondered if a change to Jason's timetable had been made - it may have been the case that those down in the CRNA might want to meet Jason first, or the man might have been requested at the IGC - Yena had told them yesterday that Jason would be ferrying between a few different sites. In addition, it was unlikely Jason would have left for the city by himself - their security was carefully monitored. Bruce made a mental note to speak to Jason later. Upon their arrival at the CRNA, the League were promptly escorted up a few floors by a young worker, Yrey, who seemed taken with them all, particularly Hawkgirl, who was confused but slightly flattered by the attention, much to Lantern's annoyance. Bruce's previous deductions regarding Jason's absence were correct. It was therefore not a surprise to meet Jason already at the site, in deep conversation with a short, slightly overweight Xanderian - most likely Traecao, Bruce surmised - and a few others, all around a large table. As the League approached, they could make out a large holographic display of the entire city, complete with giant holes, - a perfect scale of the destruction. Floating above the display, however, were various buildings Bruce reasoned to be the ones that required repair work. Numerous tower blocks, residential buildings, air - Bruce's view was cut off by the booming voice of Traecao, fitted with a silver headpiece, and a watch that produced all sorts of updates mid air. Jason stood beside him, nodding to the rest of the group, arms crossed.

"Welcome, welcome, thank you for coming here on time." Traecao greeted each member warmly, a little too vigorously for eight in the morning, and even gave a small kiss on the cheeks of Shayera and Diana. Jason held back a smile; both women were taller than the Xanderian but he didn't seem to care. He reminded Jason of a large teddybear, those soft, cuddly creatures he had many a time stared at, during his nightly escapes in downtown Gotham, where he and a few other street rats would go about scavenging. It was their nightly routine, after such hunts, to take a walk through Gotham's city centre, dead in the night, and whisper at each other in awe at all the lovely, expensive things. The toystore had been one of their favourites; when they weren't being chased away by security guards, the group used to spread their grimy fingers right on the window, fogging the glass with their smelly breath, as they stared at the treasures inside.

"Let me introduce you to my team" Traecao started, and he, along with Jhurlus, his assistant, took the group round various workstations and offices across several floors. They met the administration team, the engineers, city planners, advisors, radiation experts, architects, surveyors, technicians - there were a _lot_ of new faces. And this was only off-site, at the CRNA - the League had yet to meet all the labourers, welders, civil engineers, construction crew, all based at various sites around the city.

Jason watched the league, mildly amused, as he remembered his first meeting less than an hour ago. After meeting the coordinating team and city representatives - Pertre had been present too, the smug git-, Traecao and his team had taken Jason on a whistle stop tour of all the reconstruction sites. There were close to twenty in total, between eight to twelve large sites and the rest smaller; Jason had quirked an eyebrow at this, thinking it a small number, and Traecao had laughed outright at his response. "You'll see soon enough" the Xanderian had said, smiling broadly, and Jason wished he'd never spoken. He had stood at each site, mouth agape at the damage - how the fuck had the League managed all this shit, Jason had thought, furious. Traecao had patted his back slightly; apparently the Xanderian crews on the ground had built much of the infrastructure that was needed, all the League had to do was to use their skills, alongside the equipment, to put everything back to together. 

Jason had looked at Traecao then - surely the man could see what he was seeing? This shit would take months, heck, years to complete! But Traecao had simply smiled in response and told him to continue looking up. Jason obeyed, and was stunned by what he saw - giant robotics, sort of like a massive claw attached to a crane on wheels- Ujuduwki, they were called-, the kind that appeared in sci-fi movies, seemed to scale each building, slotting the structured frames the crews had built into decaying tower blocks, across massive, gaping holes- all sorts. Best of all, the Ujuduwki moved rapidly, whirring away, scarily efficient. Jason stood, staring, before looking at Traecao once again. Why were the League needed if they had all this, Jason had asked, gesturing to the the robotics. Traecao had looked sad then, and, entering another Timuelan, had driven Jason to another site near the edge of the city, where the Ujuduwki, or rather, pieces of the Ujuduwki, had been stored. 

Apparently, during the conflict, one of the League - Superman or the Lantern, they weren't too sure - had thrown a large Matalan into the Udrema, storage base of the Ujuduwki. The resulting crash had damaged most of the robotics, and out of thirty, only six had been left unaffected. The rest were either completely destroyed, damaged beyond repair, or damaged but would take several months to repair; time that they did not have - the city was their livelihood, after all. _That_ was why the League had been called - the Xanderians would have undertaken all repair efforts by themselves, but they simply did not have enough of the Ujuduwki available, and the League had shown themselves as comparably strong as to the robotics. The actual Xanderians themselves weren't anywhere as strong, and so they compensated by ensuring their world was a technological dream as a solid line of defence. Jason was still a little unconvinced, however - even with the Ujuduwki, the League, wouldn't all this take time? He was reminded of his ignorance by Traecao's rumbling laugh - the time difference. Of course. One day on Earth was roughly one week here, and since the League were last here six weeks ago, Earth time, that would make it forty-two weeks -oh, God, Jason had thought, taken aback - they'd been doing repair work for over ten and a half months, close to a _year_. Traecao knew he'd got it then and had simply nodded, opting to remain silent.

Jason had understood then, humbled. Xan were understandably angry, for sure - they had not initiated the attack, and the League's intervention had cost them, but they also recognised that _without_ the League, the scale of destruction would have been greater. Six months! Jason was aghast. Six months in this mess - the city, her people, had been here all this while! They _had to be_ resilient. They didn't have a choice. 

Xan and Gol had both been given sanctions as their penalty for the war, and if they were given during the same time frame as the League's penalty, six earthly weeks ago, that would mean the city had been under sanction for _an entire year_. No movement in and out of the cities, no trading of goods - no wonder the markets were like a ghost town - nothing was coming in, and the repercussions were beginning to be felt. Jason felt sick - they had all been warned about the severity of the IGC sanctions way back, and now, because of the war, the IGC felt that a little punishment was in order, all to defer any future disturbances on this scale. Jason could see the logic behind it, but he hated it. It wasn't fair - the people were the ones now suffering the most. Jason could not blame Xan for how they felt about the whole situation, and their generosity was even more humbling, especially in their economic situation. And now that he thought about it, the League too would benefit from being out here. Instead of jail, they could soothe their guilt at the damages inflicted by helping rebuild the city, and get to finish each day in a nice comfortable environment, whilst the rest of the city was struggling. One rule for the rich, and one for the poor. Everybody wins, Jason had thought, bitterly.

 

 

"And that concludes the tour. Thank you for your patience, I know it is a lot to take in, but you will familarise yourself with the whole setup soon enough, I'm sure." Traecao said to the League.

They were back at the CRNA. Looking at the scale of the damage had been eye-opening, and all of them were glad the time out here was _much_ faster than on Earth. 

"As for me, I have a few meetings to attend. Jufriyi will now take over from here - he has been liaising with the head construction planners at all the sites you've visited today, and will direct you as to your schedules. Please, if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask myself or any member you see here today." With that, Traecao bid farewell and took his leave.

Jufriyi stepped forward. Stern faced, lips pursed, it was clearly he wasn't as happy to see the League.

"I am Jufriyi, and as Traecao rightly said, I am responsible for liaising between the supervisors at each of the repair sites. I have informed each crew on the ground of your imminent arrival, but first, it will be important to have you fitted into more appropriate uniform, before going through your schedules." Jufriyi took a look a the group before continuing. "Prior to your arrival, Mr Red brought us a limpra suit which we tested for effectiveness against a few of the materials you will come into contact with during the work." 

A few of the League cast glances at one another. When had Jason travelled to Xan? None of the League jets had been approved for off-world travel. Bruce already knew - Tim had spoken of Jason's previous travels to Xan and Gol, and Bruce suspected that however he usually travelled, Jason had done so again, without their prior knowledge. He gritted his teeth, annoyed, but remained silent.

Clark watched his friend. Bruce already knew, and his silence now meant that he'd inform the group later, away from this setting.

Jufriyi, for his part, took no notice of the group as he continued.

"The suit is appropriate to your needs, and Mr Red has left a few suits in the changing rooms designated. I will take you to the changing room and fitting area now, the Straebis and afterwards, a member of my team will escort you to the First floor, where we will go through each of your schedules for the day."

The League were directed two floors down to the lower ground floor, which held a large area, full of lockers, suit sizes, and were instructed to change. The suits provided, ashitmtreki, were similar in thickness to the limpra except that they were temperature adaptable, resistant to wear and tear, could thicken in extremes of cold and came with a small tracking device, apparently useful in keeping track of the workers. Once changed, they were directed to the bases's equipment facility, where they were assigned headsets, watches, tools, all charged to their security tags, and to remain on their person at all times. It was a good thing many of the group had been involved in various degrees of manual labour: Clark Kent, the farm boy, Bruce with his Batman agenda and WE, Diana with her skills as an Amazonian and training, John with the navy, and Hawkgirl with her training as Commander General. Barry was more suited to the chemistry side of things but the man didn't complain, happily accepting all that was given to him, and J'onn was a total mystery. Apart from a few hums, the Martian had not once spoken. The work would be tiring, demeaning for a few, but not hard. 

Now ready, the group were escorted to the first floor, where there were seven large visual displays in the air, each with a photo of the League member. Their timetables and the buildings each had been assigned to were out in front of them, a 4D display, and it made for an intriguing sight. 

Jufriyi cast a solemn look at them all before speaking. The man reminded Bruce of Alfred, just a little.

"All the information you see here are also on your tablets. I have only brought you here today to get a good idea of all the sites you will be covering. After today, you needn't make your way here - these screens simply give us a live update as to the progress made at each reconstruction site so far - it also links to the holographic display you met this morning, a few floors up. Remember that this is your first day, today is most likely the only day you'll be starting and finishing at the same time. Depending on where you work each day, and the progress made, your shift times will be different. A few of you might start earlier in the morning, some later, and at times, one or two might get a few hours or even the day off - it all depends. After we go through your schedules, I will lead you down to the first floor, where I will take you through the general format of each day. Once completed, I will finally escort you to the ground floor, before releasing you to your crews. "

Batman was first.

"Sir, we have been informed of a number of your skills, and best feel you would be most beneficial here, at the Yulkek, our financial operation centre, here, at the Udrema to help with the writing and assembly of the Ujuduwki, and lastly here, at the Ttreque, military storage unit, to help with the repair of a few Ttrewure, Xanderian military aircrafts that were damaged in the equation. Red has emphasised your finesse at mechanics, engineering and what you term "automobile" work, and we would be most grateful for your expertise. We will update your schedule as necessary with the rest of the work that needs completing, but these are your main priorities". 

Batman nodded. It was a good use of his time. Jason had clearly played a large part in where they'd be working over the next three weeks or so.

"The Flash, the energy you generate upon use of your speed will be of great help to our Na'vi, the city's internal power structure. In addition, your help with our crews will be useful to a few of our smaller sites, here, PIki, Kasle, Kerety and finally, Dhewov. We are near to completion, but with your help, the work will be done faster, and we can release you to support your team mates in other areas.

"Superman, your numerous abilities will prove adequate across all the sites, but for now, we'd like you to focus on some of the worst hit areas. The Okja downtown is barely hanging; you working alongside the Ujuduwki will help speed things greatly. You and the Lantern will also be primarily responsible for helping repair the ISSA bridge at the South gate - there are eight crews of workers all already stationed, and we are also receiving help from a few of our neighbouring planets, Elek and Catot, who have kindly lent us tools and energy converters to help repair the bridge. In addition, we would like you here, at the Requeir, the downtown Intergate border, and also here, Whujiu, to help with the welding with some of our heavier structures. Once you have finished with this work - and it should take no more than a week, your assistance with the Batman at his locations will be much appreciated."

Superman nodded, but inside, took a gulp. He would be flat out exhausted at the end of every day, for sure. He knew Bruce hated being reminded of his status as the only non-powered member of the group, but honestly, Clark would completely understand if Bruce hopped right out of here.

"Lantern, as mentioned, you and Superman will help with the ISSA bridge repair efforts. The Currundo, the city's hospital, requires reconstruction, and their water supply has been compromised. The Moputamen, the city dome, has a number of gaping holes, and the Xre, the baseball area, requires a new platform to be built. In addition, we have stationed you at another military base, Tewvavo, near Ttreque, to help with some minor military repairs; please assist the Batman with the Xanderian military crafts once you have finished here."

"Manhunter, we would like you to work a little with the communications and energy department down at the Na'vi. Our air traffic control at the Wreti, the Western and South air space traffic control, report malfunctioning with a few of the towers, and part of the control panel is failing to calibrate. You will be working under Heuremi, commander of that sector, and he will explain the work to you and the team in a bit more detail. Once complete, we would like to direct you attention to the Klekle, the Northern sector of the airbase, and Yukruto, the overseer for the work up there, will give you further instructions. Jupit'a, the city's defence interwaves, is missing a few bands, and we would be grateful for your expertise in astrophysics and wave energy."

J'onn nodded. Jason had given him jobs that were more solitary than the rest, and for that, he was grateful.

"Hawkgirl, greetings. Red has spoken well of your military attributes, and we would therefore admire your help at the Okret, the centre of military command. There you will meet General Ishiov and Superintendent Commander Djutio, who will direct you further. In addition, our team would like your help with the Protuk, the city's traffic control downtown - we've had complaints from a few citizens that the standing bay is failing to connect with their Timuelae, and we hope that the electrical component of your mace can go some way into calibrating the system. The other sites: Japa, Unimet, Greui, Zioneb and Eedwe, smaller residential facilities doted in and around the city, will benefit from your help."

Hawkgirl gritted her teeth slightly. Jason had recommended she be placed in military command, which she felt oddly grateful for - how did her know of her background?- but had then gone and undone her appreciation by having her placed in the heart of the city, amongst the people, and from her experience, people were _not_ her strong suit. Hawkgirl debated asking Jufriyi to swap some of her stations with John; it wasn't fair that the guy had all the military bits, but at the last minute, decided against it. It was as though Jason was deliberately riling her up, rubbing it in her face that she and the public were incompatible, and it was humiliating. Hawkgirl made a mental note to confront that prick later tonight. It was about time she gave him a good taste of his own medicine.

"Finally, last but in no way least, Wonder Woman."

Jufriyi paused here as he scrolled through Diana's timetable.

"Ah, yes, my apologies. We have stationed you to also help with the ISSA bridge, but you will also be based here, at Lemprewke, at the West city hall. The roof is missing, and eight of its columns are barely upright. In addition, we'd like you lend your expertise with the Eauian, almost all of the market trade along that area was decimated in the attack. The Thympreo, the southern gates of the city, require re-installation and Iete, the hovercraft bridge linking the east and west parts of the city, require restructuring. Furthermore, we believe you assistance in the residential areas of the downtown city centre with Hawkgirl will be of great benefit in our operation."

Diana nodded, but inside she felt....uneasy. She would have to be working with Shayera, once a close friend, now...an acquaintance at best, and mere ally at worst. Their relationship had never recovered from the time of Thanagar's invasion; Diana, like the rest, had felt betrayed by Shayera, and though the woman was back in the League, Diana had deliberately felt it best to maintain distance from her. Shayera had tried reaching out at first, a few times, but the cool, blank response she'd received from the Amazonian put an end to her efforts. They barely talked now, avoided each other in group meetings, sessions, even in public - a few had mentioned how the only two female core founders were surprisingly distant from one another. And now they had to work with each other? Great hera, Diana thought. She kept her eyes focused though, not wanting to see Hawkgirl's reaction - they both felt the same way, in any case.

Jufryi, finished with the timetables, took a quick opportunity to assess his new crew. They seemed to accept their timetables well enough.

"As I said before, all of these details are available on your apiliwe. If there are any updates or new changes at all, these will take place either before the end of your day, or early in the morning. Let us make our way downstairs to the ground floor; there I will speak to you about how each day will go, before dismissing you for work."

Jufryi lead the group down to the ground floor, which was alive with activity. The League counted thirty bays in total, some with groups of men already inside, and boarding various Timuelae to take them to work. Above each bay was a number. Jufryi allowed the group to take in the scene a little longer before speaking.

"We are now on the ground floor. Each day will be as follows: Each day, you will arrive at CRNA on the opposite end of this floor - you see the gates outside? Good. After checking in with security, you will make your way down to the the lower ground floor, to the Straebis, the changing room, before picking up your assigned toolkits. After swiping your tags electronically for checking out, you will make your way up to the ground floor. As you can see, above each bay is a number. If you look at your tablets-" Jufyi demonstrated on his own before continuing.

"-Each site has been designated with a number. For example, the work on the ISSA bridge where Superman and Green Lantern will be working is number 4, the Na'vi, 2, Protuk, 5, and so on. If you look at your tablets, you'll see today's date, for instance, and the site or sites you have been timetabled for today. Usually, the maximum number of sites you'll work in a given day is two, but if the sites are smaller, or if there is less work to be done at a side, then you might be given three or more for the day. So, let me get back to my point. You will arrive at CRNA, make your way downstairs to change, come up to this this floor, the ground floor and meet your crew in the correct bay. Usually your crew for the day will be already waiting in a designated bay. Together, you will travel enter the stationed Timuelan and head to the site designated for your shift. As I said earlier, today you will all start and finish at the same time. From tomorrow, the start times will be different, so please check your apiliwei accordingly. The shift is no more than eight hours, with a break in the morning, lunch, and then a break in the afternoon, before the end of your shift. At times, your crew may decide to stay a little longer than planned; please do cooperate - the more you can get done on one day, the better for all of us, but generally, shifts are eight hours max. Lunch will either be provided off-site, here at the CRNA if you wish to eat something before your shift starts, or if you are not designated to work today, then at home, at Prepo, or elsewhere should you wish. At the end of your shifts, a Timuelan will collect you and your crew back to the CRNA. As before, please change at the Straebis, check your equipment into storage, and make your way back to the ground floor entrance (to the same place you arrived), where there will be a waiting Timuelan ready to drive you home."

"Are there any questions?"

Clark spoke up.

"In terms of our devices-" Clark glanced to Lantern's ring, Hawkgirl's mace before continuing, "-are we allowed to take them with us, or are we to rely solely on your equipment?"

Jufryi smiled for the first time during their meeting him.

"You are permitted to take your equipment with you. All we ask is that we be allowed to scan it into our systems like any other toolkit, before and after leaving the site. Since the IGC's sanctions, it is necessary for us to keep account of all materials, on and off-site."

"I'm still not clear on what happens if we finish earlier than expected at a site, or how do we go about working two sites? Is there a limit as to how long we spend at each? When do we know when to go to the other place?" Flash spoke, arms crossed.

"I apologise for the lack of clarity." Jufriyi bowed a little at Barry. "If you finish earlier than expected at the site, and have none other planned for the day, then you are permitted to either help your colleagues in other areas, or take your leave for the day. There is no stipulation on either choice - once you finish, then the remaining time is yours to use as you wish. If, however, you finish earlier than planned at one site, and have another site booked, then you can either choose to take a Timuelan ordered for you and make your way to the other site, to get a head start, or take lunch and eat, if that is what you want, or take a Timuelan to the CRNA and rest for a while, eat - before taking Timuelan from the correctly numbered bay and joining the rest of the crew at your next site there. This applies to however many sites you will be working each day. I should have told you this, forgive me - there are rest suites and other facilities available for your use on the third floors - your tags will give you direct access to them. Now, as to how long is spent at each site? That is up to the discretion of the head construction planner, or HIPA, at each place. They are the ones wearing red headsets and red security tags - very visible. Each HIPA will direct you as to what exactly they want you to do with the crew each day, and have already liaised with the HIPA of the second site, as to how long you will spend at each place. In other words, ask the HIPA. They will tell what your task for the day is, how long you will spend with their crew, and what time you will leave via the Timuelan to arrive at the next site. Does that answer your query?"

Barry nodded, scratching his neck a little. "Yeah, thanks."

Diana shot him a smile, which Barry returned, a little sheepish. He'd asked good questions, and there was no reason to feel embarrassed over them.

"Very well. If that is all..." Jufriyi looked at the group. No more questions. He nodded.

"Again, I will stress that if for any reason you have a query, or would like more information about a matter, please do not hesitate to speak to me, my staff or Traecao. Should you be off-site and wish to communicate with us, please tap the red button at the top right of the apiliwe screen and speak your query - we will answer to you directly. Now, please check your schedules and your site numbers before making your way to the bays. Most of your crews have already been dispatched, so you will be taking a Timuelan by yourself. If you need help, I can walk you through the process and take you to your bay, but otherwise, I will be stationed just over there-" Jufiryi pointed to a small, brightly lit office, a few feet away in centre of the room. "-in that office. Does that all make sense?"

The League nodded. It was less complex then they'd been expecting, and the Xanderians, along with Red, had strived to make sure that the work allocated was within their abilities, that they received breaks, food, and adequate rest - it was rather homely, if one could call it that.

"Thank you, Jufriyi. Should we need help, we will turn to you." Manhunter nodded at the Xanderian who bowed his head slightly, and took his leave.

The League looked at each other.

"Well, I guess its time to get to it, then."Barry murmured, flicking through his apiliwe at breakneck speed.

One by one, each person made their way to the transport bays and left the CRNA, ready to start work.

 

 

Jason leaned in the back of the Timuelan, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

It had been a long, _long_ day. After meeting Traecao and his colleagues, Jason had been ferried to the fourth floor, where he'd spend close to eight hours straight looking at all the plans for the reconstruction. Each site had its own team of engineers, construction crew, who then all reported to the central team here at the CRNA. Jason had sat down with them and gone through each planned work bit by bit, flitting between paperwork, drawing up maps on holographic display, scribbling, writing, pointing, marking - by the end of it all, Jason was sure he was going to lose his hand - it seemed to simply stop working. The office had laughed loudly at his complaint, before giving him a headset to wear - the Yakajje would act as a wireless note taker, and he'd be able to speak his notes, or thoughts even - there was an actual function for that- aloud. Jason had been so caught up in the work, he'd missed a few of J'onn's nudges, enquiring as to how things were with him so far. Jason replied telepathically; there was too much work to go through, and speaking aloud would be distracting. Jason had taken a break around four, maybe five, he wasn't sure - time had flown by, and there was still much to go through. But Jason would not be deterred. By ten pm, it had just been him, Traecao and a handful of others. A few of them had given him several looks, and even Traecao's warm demeanor had blunted a little, asking Jason if it be possible to continue the next morning. Jason was close to snapping them to silence, wanting to get all this done - he didn't care if staying up all night guaranteed finishing everything - he was prepared to do it-, but in the end, Jason relented, apologising for losing track of time. The comfortable atmosphere had returned, Jason was forgiven, and so they went home. Pertre had paid a visit earlier, but seeing the paperwork and plans all up on display, had made his excuses after an hour, claiming a meeting or whatever crap, to get out of the job. Jason had ignored him entirely. So long as the weasel stayed out of his way, Jason couldn't care less.

And now he was on his way home. He would be arriving in a few minutes, and was sure most of the League would have been in bed by now. Jason had conversed extensively with Traecao, Jufriyi and a number of his colleagues during hour long conference calls, regarding placement of the League at the reconstruction sites. He and Manhunter had reviewed the skillset of each member and assigned them to the areas that would make best use of such skills. Jason yawned now; they were nearly there now. He had given up on dinner; it was late, and all he wanted now was a shower and his bed. Food could wait til tomorrow. 

"Arriving at Danu, Red. Please scan your ID at the gate." The automated voice spoke in the Timuelan. Wearily, Jason leaned out of the window and placed his security tag on the intercom scanner at the gate. "Enter. Good evening, Mr Red."

"Yeah, yeah, just hurry it up already." Jason could feel his eyes closing as he nodded off to sleep. God, he was _so_ tired.

Finally they were here. Jason moved on auto-pilot, letting his feet drag him through the compound, up to the house. Placing his tag against the entrance scanner, he shuffled slowly, coming to a stop on the stairs. The house was quiet - just as he thought, all worn out and tucked up in bed. Jason debated making a hot cup of Cacaoui, the earthly equivalent of hot chocolate. It wouldn't be up to Alfred's standard, no way, but with a few cream shavings and a packet of Makra - thick, chewy biscuits - delicious-, Jason surmised it would be worth it. Dropping his bag by the floor, he made his way into the kitchen, only to come face to face with one pissed off Hawkgirl, staring straight at him. Jason groaned - he actually groaned aloud. What had he down _now_ he whined inside.

"Red." Hawkgirl started, tone acidic. 

Jason looked at her for a second before moving straight to the cupboard. If he and her were going to get into it, then he was going to make himself comfortable.

"See, I don't know how you guys roll on Thanagar, but when a guy comes home from work, one might expect, oh, I dunno, a nice home-cooked meal, a beer or two, kids all freshly washed and ready to take papa's shoes, hang up his coat - you get what I'm saying? So-" It was only instinct that saved him as Jason ducked, mere seconds from receiving a heavy ass blow to the jaw from Hawkgirl.

"What the actual fuck, Hawkgirl? Seriously, what the hell is up with you?" Jason damn near hissed at her, eyes awake now.

Hawkgirl made to attack him again, and Jason, fed up to be dealing with all _this_ when all he'd wanted was a nice cup of cocoa and some biscuits, moved instantly, griping her in a shoulder lock. Not enough to cause her to pass out, but enough to knock some sense into her feathery little head.

"Get off me!"

"Alright, let's try this again. I'm going to ask you _what's up_ and you, as the grown ass woman you are, will sit down and tell me _what the fuck your problem is_. Hawkgirl's wing was right in his face, and Jason wanted to sneeze, but knew the act would wipe away his macho points, so spoke carefully instead. Hawkgirl remained silent - Jason swore he could hear her teeth grinding.

"You know you can, like, lose your teeth if you keep up with that shit, right? Nerve damage, root canal disease - that's a whole lot of ugly to deal."

Jason tried for comedy. Hawkgirl huffed, shrugging him away, hard, before taking her seat, glowering at him.

"Oookay then." Jason brushed off a feather before speaking again. "Look, I dunno what's going on, but its late, I'm tired, and we've all got to get up early tomorrow. So I'm going to _turn my back now_ -" Jason turned slowly, deliberately, as Hawkgirl rolled her eyes "-and I'm gonna make myself a nice pot of cocoa. If you're up to it, I'll make some for you too. Do yourself a favour and either help me find some damn biscuits, or leave me the hell alone. Your choice." 

Jason didn't look around as he poured a a cupful of casato (milk) into a pot, stirring it with a little sugar and cream. Behind him, Hawkgirl had muttered Thanagarian curses, he'd guessed, but after a few minutes of almost total silence, begrudgingly made her way to a cupboard and set down a packet of Makra on the table with a thump. Jason had looked at her then, eyebrow quirked. She stared right back - yes, the noise had been necessary. Sighing, he added the cacaui powder to the mixture before pouring the lot into two large mugs.

Jason brought the goods to the table. Sinking into his chair, he yawned, rubbing his eyes. 

"Right, young lady. Speak or forever hold your peace." Jason's eyes were closed as he savoured the taste of the cacaui. Delicious.

Shayera rolled her eyes. She had a good hundred or so years on him, so to speak. If anyone was the baby here, it was this guy.

"Why dd you have me assigned to all those residential buildings in the city centre?" Shayera spoke straight to the matter at hand, and Jason appreciated her for it.

"'Cause you can do it - is this what's pissing you off? Seriously, I mea-"

"You know my history. You know my experiences with the public, and like the asshole you are, want to rub it in my face. **How dare you** \- do you have _any_ idea what I've been through?" Shayera's voice had quietened dangerously. Even without opening his eyes Jason could tell the woman was close to losing her shit again.

"Is that why you think I and the rest of the Xanderians assigned you there, hmm? To humiliate you?" Jason opened one eye to look at Shayera, who by now was close to getting up, fists clenched.

"Well why not? Its not as if you're _known_ to be anything other than a giant prick!" Shayera had shifted in her chair now, ready to fight. Jason wasn't going to give in.

"Oooof, you got me there." Jason kept his voice low. "I'm flattered - thanks for the Bat analysis, but know this - that's not why you're there."

"Then what is it? And why, of all people, why did it have to be with _her_?"

Jason didn't need to ask who _her_ was.

He opened his eyes to see Shayera stood up now, braced. Jason sighed. He really did not have time for whatever the fuck this was.

Jason waved her to sit down, but the woman remained standing, defiant. He shrugged his shoulders - her choice. Opening the packet of Makra, he bit into the cookie, allowing the crunch and chewiness to add to his enjoyment before responding.

"J'onn and I worked hard to make sure that each person's skillset would be used in the best way possible. And you're right, it was me who advocated you working down in the city, right in the midst of the public, but it wasn't for the reasons you think." 

"So wha-"

Jason carried on, ignoring Shayera's attempted intrusion.

"I made sure you were placed in the heart of it all, with all those people, because its about time you stopped hiding."

The air seemed to suck out all life forms as Jason watched Shayera struggle with the revelation.

"Who the _hel-_ "

"You've been hiding for too long, Shayera-" Jason let the look of surprise on Shayera's face fly past him and he continued. "-hiding out of fear, out of a belief that you aren't wanted, that you're a misfit, that you made a mistake and should be forever punished forit - yes you did. But you know what? I don't know many who would have been brave enough to do what you did back then. In the face of immense pressure, you stood against your own, your people, your home, your planet, all to stand up for what you believed was be right. And now, you're paying the price for it."

Jason's voice was quiet but firm. Shayera was speechless. 

"Now, you're in the midst of a group you once called friends, not quite trusted, and yet not sent away either - sort of in limbo. You keep to yourself 'cause on Earth, everyone knows who you are, what you did, and they despise you for it. And Thanagar - Thanagar is no longer an option for you. You step one foot in that place, you're dead, no questions asked."

Jason paused now, allowing it all to sink in. The woman was rooted to the spot, eyes wide, mouth open. Lost for words, he thought. Jason took another bite of his biscuit before continuing.

"If I wanted to "humiliate" you, then trust me, I'd do it right to your face, not behind your back. And if it _was_ like this, then I'd have made sure that all your work would right in the heart of the mess: all the residential, downtown projects would be your job. But that isn't quite true, is it? We had you promoted to military command for pete's sake, because your experience as a Thanagarian Commander General makes you best suited for military operations. I gave you the public projects not to rub it in your face, but to _help you_ , believe it or not. You can't hide forever, and one day, you'll get tired of running, tired of hiding, of apologising, when you and we all _know_ you did the right thing. It was scary as shit, and despite being the only one to take a stand for the truth, you did it anyway. Being in the midst of the public will help grow your confidence. It'll immerse you with people, Shayera, it will give you a chance to just... _be yourself_."

Jason stopped, taking a sip of his hot cacaui. He had missed this.

"And as for Diana? Honestly, I had my suspicions about you guys, but didn't really know until now, of course - you confirmed it all. Look, I can tell you this: there are some things _you just can't fix._ No matter what you do, or however much you bend backwards for that person, things won't ever be the same again. But you can never really know for sure until you've tried, and I mean, really try. Unfortunately, its on you to make the effort - it was your actions that led to the result, and so if you're willing to try, then you'll have to be the one to reach out, to make the effort. It's hard, embarrassing - and I'm sure your efforts will get rebuffed many a time if they haven't already - it's humiliating for sure, but man, you've gotta _try_. You need to give it _everything_. Put in your best, make all the moves, show her that _you're trying_ \- and leave the rest to her. You play your part, and the rest is in her court. If she decides to reciprocate, well, that's all great then, and you can buy me a car as a thank you. And if she chooses to ignore it, or worse, throw it back in your face - that's fine too! So long as you know deep within yourself that you've done _everything_ possible, then that is _all_ that matters, you hear?"

Jason looked at Shayera now, but the woman's face was angled away. He could see that her eyes were large and shiny.

With a sigh, Jason stood up now, taking a few biscuits with him, and made his way to the stove, re-filling his drink. Jason stopped by the entrance, head angled towards her. "What you have is an opportunity. We're not on Earth; we're far away from expectations and people. It's a clean slate for you guys. Don't waste it."

And with that, Jason went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desyaana = breakfast room  
> Apiliwei = interactive tablets, pl. Apiliwe is singluar.
> 
> *sorry, did a little editing this morning as last night I was tired, changed the paragraph about Jason discovering why exactly Xan needed the League's help.


	15. Second day misfits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is said that the first day is always the hardest.
> 
> They lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gr-Xin = greetings, formal, used to address a superior.  
> dicfrat'ac = Thanagarian term for dick-headed frat boys who think the world owes them something, dicfrat = sing.  
> epsi = Xanderian currency, similar to pounds/dollars  
> obos= cents/pennies
> 
> Update: forgot about the line breaks, sorry, my computer was playing up! All done now :)

Seven am, and already, Jason was neck deep in work.

He'd already been here for close to two hours, determined to get a head start on the work. Last night's sleep had been restless and by three, Jason had given up on sleep. Going through his stretches and a brief morning run had awakened him well enough, and by five fifteen, Jason had been on the Timuelan, headed straight for the CRNA. He'd left roughly the same time as Superman, who gave him a small, weary smile, and Jason didn't have the heart to blank him in response. He'd given the tired man a brief smile and nod of his own, as they entered separate Timuelae. Jason had checked his apiliwe before leaving; today's schedule was nearly jam packed - a meeting with Pertre, the IGC contact, the city's advisors downtown at city hall, and Jason had yet to complete his review of the reconstruction work with Traecao and his unit from last night. 

Jason had learnt through Traecao and Jufriyi that he had been given leeway as to the flexibility of his schedule - in other words, Jason would be able to move a "few" things around in his day, and possible postpone certain items for a few hours, so long as they didn't involve the IGC. Jason was relieved to know this - he could structure his day a little more to avoid going back and forth too much. As a result, Jason had moved his work at the CRNA as the first priority task to complete this morning on his apiliwe - the task changed colour from "yellow", which meant it was being moved or in the process of rescheduling, to "green" - the newly rescheduled time slot had been approved. Jason had made a move to change his meeting with city hall to a little later in the day but the task had remained "orange" - still being decided; it would change colour later once a decision had been made. If any of these new changes were not satisfactory, then the task would turn "red" and would remain in its original time slot. A little note had appeared when Jason moved his CRNA work review task - apparently, Traecao and his unit would not be due to arrive till eight, but Jason would be able to gain access to the base via his security tag.

And so here he was, sixth floor entirely to himself, flitting between tables, visual displays, holographic plans, jotting notes into his apiliwe. Jason estimated he'd have finished the review of the plans by around three or so in the afternoon; hopefully city hall would agree to meeting him around half three, instead of the eleven o'clock slot they'd arranged. Jason looked at his watch: seven fifteen am. He signed, flexing his neck. Jason hadn't seen any of the League (apart from last night's impromptu scare-in-the-dark with Hawkgirl) since yesterday morning, but he didn't have to imagine how they must be feeling - Jason had seen their schedules; he'd helped set them up, and knew that the work would be tiring, even for their super-powered selves. It was why Jason had been so insistent that the League receive adequate rest breaks, time to recover, one or two periods "off-work" etc. Jason thought back to last night - Shayera had irritated him a little by her outburst. He'd half expected her reaction, but her emotions had compromised her reasoning skills, something he was well versed in, and Jason was a little disappointed - in some way, he had expected more from her. 

It had taken Jason, J'onn and the rest of the Xanderian coordinators hours and hours of planning, timetabling; designating each League member appropriately with regards to their skillset. Jason _had_ tried to make sure that they were all given equal amounts of work, but for the "stronger" heroes - Superman, Wonder Woman, their work would be slightly more demanding than the rest. Superman's schedule in particular was the worst; the Kryptonian didn't have _any_ "off-work" periods; only time for sleep, eat and rest. His help would be required across most, if not all areas, something the Xanderians were keen to stress -somehow, they'd heard of the Kryptonians from the League's multiverse, and knew that they weren't exactly required to eat, sleep and rest to function as they did-, and Jason had to fight, as diplomatically as he possibly could, to ensure that they treat Superman not as a work engine but as a person, too, and allow the man time to recover. It's called fucking slave labour, Jason had been close to shouting out at one point had J'onn not warned him. Jason often left such meetings shaking his head, wondering _why_ he had fought so hard for Superman - would the man even appreciate it? From enemies to now making sure the guy had at least eight hours of sleep each day - the change was something Jason couldn't quite wrap his head around. 

Jason made a mental note to ask the League how they were coping when next they were together, though he knew the likelihood of such an occurrence was low. Jason had initially debated asking them on a one to one basis, if they felt the work was do-able, and whether they wanted a change to their work:rest ratio, but he knew it was unlikely he'd have time in his day to do this, and was sure any moment not spent working would certainly be used for resting, for both himself and the League. Bruce, in particular, was one he'd have to approach separately. Jason knew the Bat would be partly stubborn, not wanting to appear as "weak" or requiring support, especially in the midst of his colleagues, but Bruce had been with the League for over ten years now - they had learned much together, and one thing Jason understood about Bruce was that the man recognised his limits as a human being, especially on this team. For all the things Jason damn near hated about the man, there were only two he respected about him: one: though Jason hated admitting it aloud, Bruce understood his limits, and allowed himself to be helped by others when no other options were available to him - Bruce hated it, of course, but recognised he'd be foolish to turn his nose up at the extra support, and two: Bruce had taken Jason in when not a single soul would think to do so. Though it had only been for a short time, and though they relationship had been...complex, to say the least, Jason acknowledged that Bruce had stepped up to provide basics that every person had rights to - a home, food, shelter, a little education, and had at least given him respite from the horrors of street life as an orphan in Gotham. For those two reasons, Jason gave Bruce a little respect.

Unknown to all, however, was that Jason had actually agreed during the initial meetings, that the League would take breaks, and work for no more that ten hours a day at the very most, in exchange that Jason take only the absolutely necessary breaks himself (ie no "off-work" breaks, so he could forget about trips to the market or exploring the city), and that the Superman cover as much groundwork as possible. The only time Jason was to be away from work was to sleep and eat; the rest of the time would be accounted for, meticulously. There was much work to be done, and time moved faster out here - the IGC had made it clear that work was the first and only priority. Superman would have his main tasks, but also be required to lend a hand anywhere that requested such help. Jason had agreed to this bit if Clark too was given breaks; the Xanderians were initially reluctant, but both parties had eventually compromised: Superman would get his breaks - to sleep, rest, eat- but he would not receive any allocated "off-work" periods. It was the best Jason could do, and so he'd agreed. Jason had asked J'onn _not_ to let the rest of the League know about this deal; it was the only way the Xanderians would agree to the League exercising these rights, rights that were not recognised out here. J'onn had frowned at this, but Jason reminded him that they would not be on Earth - rules regarding slave labour, humane working conditions - all that meant nothing in this multiverse. They were under the jurisdictions of the IGC, of Xan and Gol, and if Jason working flat out guaranteed the League a few basic rights, then he would do it. Others first; that had always been Jason's motto. Jason hoped that Superman would understand should the man ever find out - he was the strongest, and most equipped in terms of skillset, but he was also the leader, and a leader bears the responsibility of his team.

Seven forty-nine am. Jason yawned loudly as he checked his watch again. Traecao and co would be arriving soon. Jason looked around him. He was glad he had opted to come in early, the peace and quiet had been a nice start to the day and he knew he'd be bombarded with noise for the rest of it. He took a break and made his way down to the third floor Cobore. Some capeta, or coffee, would be in order.

 

 

Bruce closed his eyes as he held his position. Focus. Feel the stress of the muscle. Utilise the tension.

Breathe in.

One,

Two,

 **Hold**.

 **Hold**.

Breathe out.

Bruce did this several more times on the handlebars, balancing his weight on the frame. It was imperative he keep his body continually trained to balance its weight sufficiently; though he would not be using much of his "physical" abilities throughout his work on Xan, Bruce knew it was not an excuse to slack in his training and strengthening regime. He had made his way down to the opreworke this morning, only to meet Jason at the bottom of the stairs, smartly dressed, slinging his bag over his shoulder, speaking Xalanese. Their eyes had met, and Bruce had nodded his good morning at the man before continuing on his way. Jason hadn't even paused mid-conversation; he'd simply looked at him, putting on sunglasses, before heading to the front door. Bruce had wanted to ask Jason about the reason as to why his communicator had, for six minutes, been muted the other day, and why Jason had failed to inform them of the change to his schedule regarding his early departure, but seeing the other man now, hand scrolling through his apiliwe, talking to his contact as he made his way to leave - it was obvious that such questions would be better asked later. Bruce understood that Jason would probably be working non-stop throughout their entire stay; the League knew that as ambassador, Jason would be the point of contact for various parties, a busy job, and it would therefore be rare to see him around. As he neared the end of his gym routine, Bruce thought back to the events of the previous day. 

The League had left the CRNA around ten, after being shown all the reconstruction sites, talked through their timetables, fitted in their work uniforms, and dismissed to work for the day. Bruce had listened to the work he'd be doing with interest. He was to be stationed in three areas, and most of the work would be a variation of engineering and technology, things he enjoyed. The financial operation at Protuk would be tedious but perfectly doable; Bruce was CEO of WE, after all, and thankfully, the work was only a small part of his overall duties. 

Bruce had arrived at Udrema, his first job of the day, to a crew that were very professional, both in outlook and in greeting, and was led by a young engineer, Freika, to the HIPA, Orepret, who'd directed him as to his tasks for the day. Bruce was to spend up til lunchtime working on the control centre and wiring of two Ujuduwki, or Ujuds, as the crew nicknamed them, after which he would spend a little time working on the claw mechanism of the robots, before departing for Protuk at four, where he would finish for the day by six thirty in the evening. Temperatures had reached close to forty degrees, a combination of atmospheric changes and heat generated from the machinery, and Bruce was certain he would have passed out had the limpra, and ashitmtreki proved to be a sheet of cooling relief, allowing him to work with ease. As it turned out, a lot of the fumes and radiation material used in the repair of the Ujuds were thick, and likely toxic, particularly to the League who were not used to this multiverse's atmosphere, and Bruce knew he had to thank Jason for bringing along the limpra suits. He _had_ scoffed at the idea, believing the League's and whatever materials the Xanderians provided would be adequate, but his work had quickly shown him an exposure to elements Bruce had never heard of. He owed Jason an apology, something he felt uneasy about. Apart from his altercation with Dick, Jason had not caused trouble, for himself or with anyone else. The man had proved himself to be the ultimate professional: calm, well-resourced, and the two of them had worked together in the week before the League's departure, checking their equipment and conducting safety checks. It had been...something, to stand so close to a man he once called a son, yet neither of them made any move to rehash the past. J'onn, even Clark had remarked how _well_ the two of them worked together, and a part of Bruce was reminded of a young, freckled face, with a high voice, passing him tools as they worked under the Batmobile all those years ago. 

Working with the crew at Udrema had been little different to Earth - Bruce found that the Xanderians were quite companionable, even friendly at times, but they, and Bruce himself, never let him forget his status among them. Bruce had realised early on that though the League had been welcomed and treated kindly by those in the administration, the same could not be said for the people, those at the bottom, - they were the ones who'd been affected the most. Bruce had detected a coolness in the way the people regarded him, and by extension, the League; the Xanderians seemed to accept that the League was here to help, but recognised that they had played a role in the damages sustained. At lunch, many had stared, and a few had nodded in his general direction, but most left Bruce to his own devices, opting to keep the distance. Bruce did not mind. Solitude was a compliment of the highest order, and Bruce had used the quiet as a rest from the noise of his surroundings. Bruce's work at the Protuk was much easier. The rest of the afternoon was spent in the city's financial hub, looking at Xanderian trade routes within the city, helping in data storage, and it made for a nice break from the manual labour of the last few hours.

It would only be till later that the evening when the League returned back to Prepo. Superman had arrived last, and the group were witness to the way he took his time to enter, stifling a yawn. Clark had smiled at them, brightly, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. They were all worn out, and yesterday had only been the first day, and the shortest. Dinner had been a quiet affair; even Barry hadn't spoken as much, and though they had retreated to the ground floor Lekka to relax, eventually, they had bidden each other an early goodnight, trying to recuperate in preparation for the next day. And now tomorrow was here, bright and too early for their tastes. Bruce finished his routine with a grunt, and made his way upstairs to take a shower before breakfast, a pleasant affair. Once in his room, Bruce checked his apiliwe for any new updates - there were none. Today would be spent across two sites: Udrema and Ttrewure. He knew Clark had already left, and by the sounds of it, Hawkgirl was just closing the door - military work would always start early. Diana and Barry would start a little later in the city. By seven-thirty, Bruce had arrived at the CRNA, and after getting changed and logging out his equipment, he departed at eight am with the rest of his waiting crew, ready to begin work at the Udrema. It would be six in the evening before he stepped foot again into Prepo, exhausted, muscles strained from a full ten hours of work put behind him.

 

 

"Commander Yena! It's been a while! You look well." 

Checkov greeted Yena warmly. As the two gripped the underside of each other's forearms, a formal Xanderian greeting, Checkov caught the eye of Pertre, who nodded at him in acknowledgement before making his way into one of the smaller rooms. Things were proceeding as planned.

"General Checkov, Gr-Xin, Sir!" Yena saluted his superior. "Thank you. I did not expect you here, sir, at the Patheto."

"Yena, Comrade, when you reach my stage, then believe me, eighty percent of your day will consist of nothing but paperwork and meetings."

The two laughed.

"Is there anything I can help with, sir? I have a meeting of my own in about thirty minutes or so bu-"

"No, Yena. I appreciate your offer, but no thank you. I'm afraid this meeting is nothing but general feedback about the new airbase we are building outside Humret."

Yena bowed his head in respect.

"How are things with the League? I hope they have not proved too troublesome."

Yena smiled briefly. "No sir, they have not. They are amiable, and make little, if any, demands. From my point of view, it appears that they would like to start and complete the work as quickly as possible."

"Very good, that's what we want to hear. As for that "Red" character, the chatter I've been hearing has been...interesting, to say the least. I am not one to gossip; so long as the man is capable and adept, that is the extent of my concern."

"Perfectly stated sir - the man has not said much, but appears up to the task."

"Sir, we're ready for you now." another voice belonging to a young female, Uyumo or whatever her name was; Checkov had seen her trailing Pertre like a dog, directed at him through an open door. He peered in - the Generals and a few of the Council were already seated, waiting for him. He cleared his throat.

"Comrade Yena, I've a meeting to attend. Keep up the good work, and keep me well informed. If you need help, just ask." Checkov offered a hand to Yena, and they shook, firmly.

"Very well sir. I'll take my leave. My regards to the rest of the Generals." 

The two saluted before Yena took his leave.

Checkov watched his subordinate a little longer. Yena had been _quite_ persistent in volunteering to be assigned to the League's security detail, which had caused some displeasure amongst Checkov and his men, but to avoid suspicion, they had granted the request. Checkov, in particular, was irritated. He and Thempre, head of Xan's private security, had made a number of moves over a few months to ensure that Yena was never far from their sights. The Xanderian had asked too many questions, voiced ideas that would hamper the progress he and his conspirators had made, and they'd all agreed that it was best to keep Yena close. Killing him would draw suspicion; Yena was well liked all over the place, but it was important that he be left in the dark as to the plans Checkov and a few select others were making. It was...challenging, a little; though Yena had quietened down a few paces after several warnings, he was still a threat. The arrival of "Red", their new unknown, had left a few of the conspiring party slightly troubled. The human spoke both languages very well, and from the information that Pertre and Taenolot kindly forwarded, had been to their planets in the past. Red was therefore an obstacle, but his position as amabassador, negotiator and point of contact between Xan, Gol, the League and the IGC, would make it nearly impossible to take him out quietly without too much notice. Red was a central figure, and now, Yena had attached himself to the the group's security. In addition, Checkov had received a report from his contact at Prepo villai that Yena had become an aquaintance of sorts with Red - an unreported, unmarked Timuelan had arrived with only Yena in tow around seven yesterday morning at Prepo - all League movement to and from Prepo was to be clearly noted, yet no such event had been logged in for that day, and for two passengers. 

Checkov did not like this - Yena was not the kind of person who would simply "forget" things, but the rest of Checkov colleagues regarded the matter as "minor" - hadn't Checkov heard that neither the League nor Red liked each other, that the man in questiom had not too long ago, was a high priority League's arrest list? Red was clearly not a stupid man; the way he'd handled himself demonstrated that he was reasonable, and reasonable meant suggestible. If Red could somehow be.... _swayed_ into taking a back seat whilst the group made their play for power, then all would be well. Judging by the man's past and his distance with the League, the idea seemed attainable, and Checkov and his colleagues put Pertre on the matter. However, the Xanderian was having "slight" difficulty in connecting with the man - Pertre had not made the best first impression, and Checkov had his men "remind" Petre of the consequences should he fail to move close to Red. Pertre had understood immediately, and had agreed with much vigor, pleading, and begging - pitiful, that he be given a second chance for the job; Checkov dismissed the rat with a wave.

Checkov gritted his teeth. Red _should_ have been dismissed from duty by the IGC; Thempre had a few of his Earth contacts compile a large dossier on the man - he was a murderer, a deranged, unhinged mess - and the information, passed on to Taenolot, should have ensured them a slam dunk of a victory. Taenolot had failed in his job to present Red as unstable as possible; a man with no regards for the law, for reason and order - clearly Taenolot would too need "reminding" of his position in the Council, and his ugly children to boot. Checkov made a mental note to have Lierna send to the failure an ear, a finger or two from the hideous offspring - Taenolot would cooperate sure enough; Lierna took great pride in her "work". Taenolot would dare not fail again. If Red could not be silenced quietly, then he would have to be swayed into either taking a step back and allowing them to stage their coup, or to take part in it. Red had said that the IGC had nothing to offer him, that he had no demands - Checkov knew that was a lie. Every person - man, Xanderian, Ghusalem, Humino, Elekian - all, at one point or another, had a price to which they would concede; some higher than others, but eventually, all fall like a house of cards when the offer is lucrative enough. Checkov decided to put one of his special forces men eye on Red. Clearly his men were too stupid, and having too many eyes on Red would make him suspicious. It was a matter of discovering what Red wanted most, what he was willing to do to get, and Checkov was determined to find out. As for Yena, well - yesterday's shenanigans was only the beginning. Yena would meet his comeuppance soon.

"Sir-" It was Uyumo again.

"If you could lead us in, thank you."

Checkov turned swiftly and entered the meeting room. He'd deal with both Red and Yena later.

 

 

Three twenty-five pm.

He just about made it.

Jason entered city hall, slightly irritated that security had taken twelve minutes to sort their shit out. He was about to ask the receptionist the location of room A.02, where he was due in less than five minutes to meet with the city council, when a young attendant, Lumov, stepped forward. Bright smile, cute. in that librarian kind of way.

"Gr-xin, Mr Red?"

"That's me." Jason smiled at her, and added in a wink for good measure. The Xanderian blushed, tail curling in the air, as she stumbled over her words to introduce herself. Lumo, Lumov, Jason didn't know, nor did he care - he couldn't afford to be late to this damn meeting.

Lumov seemed to recognise his need to keep to time and walked briskly, smiling, and kept small talk to a minimum, for which Jason was grateful. He'd lost track of time - it had only been two forty-five pm when he'd received approval of the new time slot for the city meeting, and he'd hurried, lunch forgotten, into the waiting Timuelan ready to escort him. At last, Jason had finished reviewing the plans for the reconstruction work - and he'd sat in the Timuelan, sinking into the plush seats, relieved. He really did not want to spend yet another day on the same work. Jason scrolled through his apiliwe. He had updated the tablet with his all his notes, including the ones he'd made using the Yakajje - he would bring the city council up to speed with the things learned so far, before they would take over and discuss things from their end.

"Sir, we're here now." 

They were in front of a large room, big marble doors, the same entrance as all the other rooms on the floor. With a smile, and a nod in thanks, Jason entered the room. Only a few more hours to go, he thought.

 

 

Shayera sighed.

Last night had been...difficult to come to terms with. The truth _had_ hurt, and Shayera slept little as a result, turning listlessly. The Red Hood was right. It was time to stop hiding, but she was still so afraid. Apart from the League, Shayera had nothing. Hawkgirl was her identity, and if that were to be taken from her, then... Shayera had been unable to complete the thought. She couldn't risk losing her position here in the League, and yet, the loneliness was eating her alive, slowly. The Hood had told her the truth, the complete, entire truth, and now that it was all in front of her, Shayera didn't know what to do. Not once had the man tried to comfort her, or tell her otherwise - he'd held nothing back in his talk, and yet, it had all been to encourage her. For some reason, the man was oddly kind to her; not sweet nor caring, but in that blunt, almost cruel way of his, blunt and straightforward. The League was a public organisation, no matter what Bruce put down on the accounts, and that meant dealing with people, face to face, something Hawkgirl dreaded each time they left for a mission. And then there was Diana; her former friend, someone she admired - now, they could both barely stand to be in the same room as each other. Had it really been that obvious? Shayera had to admit, she _had_ given up very early on in her attempt at mending her fractured relationship with the Amazonian; it was demeaning trying to befriend someone who clearly wasn't interested. Apart from Barry, none of the League had shown any real interest at her presence, her inclusion - though Shayera knew that they were not to blame, every moment spent at the watch-tower left her wondering what was the point of it all. What _was_ the point? They barely cared if she was there, so why did she bother? Even on the one or two occasions Shayera had missed, none of them had asked after her. None had filled her in - even when she _had_ asked, they usually dismissed it as "nothing important", that she hadn't missed anything too concerning. Shayera had felt dejected throughout, and this mission wasn't making things any better. 

Shayera focused on the present. She was close to finishing at the Okret for the day. General Ishiov and Superintendent Commander Djutio had shown...surprise at a woman in their headquarters, but they'd wisely kept it to themselves, though the disdain was clear on their faces. Some of the Xanderian soliders at work on the base had stared, shocked. Apparently, there were only less than thirty women in the entire Xanderian army, and less than a handful rose through the ranks to become Commanders and Generals. Shayera smirked; their reactions had been almost comical. They were expecting Hawk _girl_ after all, so really, there was no excuse. Shayera didn't mind though. She had long been well versed in thinly veiled misogyny for the duration of her adult life, and the military was certainly no exception. Shayera paid no attention to the whispers - she wore a silver star brooch, reserved for only the highest of ranks, and walked with her head high, mace in hand. Ishiov and Djutio had quickly swallowed their pride, however, when they saw a little of Shayera in action. Sharp - frighteningly sharp, brisk, no-nonsense, with a wealth of experience on hand - Hawkgirl was exemplary, and it showed. She understood and could explain everything from mechanics, to logistics, strategic planning, delegation - and this had been all without Shayera taking one step onto the training grounds. 

There was quite a bit to do: headquarters was having difficulty with the communications of two smaller military bases, part of the reserve gate wiring had been severely damaged after taking a hit from an incoming Matalan, the East side patrol guard centre required restructuring, and the central command centre would benefit from specalised expertise in advanced planning, delivered by one Thanagarian General. Shayera had taken to the work with gusto, and those around her, initially skeptical, were taken aback by the speed and efficiency at which she worked. The woman clearly knew her stuff, and by the time Shayera and the small team assigned to her, all male, were taken for lunch, the whole base was awash with awe. Conversations seemed to trail off as Shayera walked into the dining area. A few of the women seated on one table rose and saluted her, proud that one of their own had made it, and the female servers who dished the food made sure to provide Shayera with _very_ generous helpings. Shayera had smiled throughout all this, and made sure to thank the ladies warmly. We have to stick together, she'd told one, and the whole group nodded, agreeing.

After lunch, Shayera was taken round to the training grounds. There were a _lot_ of people at the sidelines, waiting, watching her, and Shayera just knew exactly what was about to happen next. A squad of Xanderians, the Sicai'ari, were practicing what looked like a version of the Thanagarian Yyuimuela, a twist-choke hold that involved flipping the opponent over the shoulder or the knee, and using the momentum to slam them down, arms pinned back. It was a difficult one to truly master; on Thanagar, one could expect adequacy in a year or so if diligent, Shayera perfected the move in less than three months. Her and her team, along with the Generals and the guides, were about to move on to the other side of camp, when a voice rang out.

"General! It is impolite to leave a session if one has not dared to partake, at least."

The whole base seemed to stop moving. Shayera didn't turn around, but she did smile to herself, softly. She knew someone would eventually want to challenge her, and she pitied the fool. Yes the Xanderians, and the Ghusalem were technologically advanced, but it was the _technology that was advanced_ , **not** the people themselves. The average Xanderian was in fact comparable to a human, and even their military was on a similar scale. It was the work of their hands that put them ahead of Earth, but their hands were just the same. The Sicai'ari, specialised Xanderian forces, were on Earth's equivalent, special forces, Carei, the navy seals, and so on. Shayera knew she'd have fun at this. She'd wanted to blow off steam for a _long_ while now, with the League and now this place, and the fool that had spoken would serve as a great opportunity for an outlet.

Shayera turned swiftly towards the voice. Tall, well built male, cropped hair, smug, cocky - typical military jughead. She recognised him - he and a group of similar looking soldiers had been raucous in the dining room, laughing in the face of the servers who'd asked them not to leave their area in such a mess after eating. Shayera had glared at them but they laughed even louder, reverting to a strange dialect that left a few of her own team members embarrassed. Ah - they're cursing me, Shayera had deduced. The urge to pummel them to the ground was strong, but she managed to resist it, throwing an apologetic smile in the servers' direction. They were many like that back on Thangar, dicfrat'ac they were crudely named; young recruits who believed they were on top of the world, untouchable, who thought spending a few hours or two beefing up in the gym put them above her, a mere woman, and the youngest Commander General in the entirety of Thanagarian history. These dicfrat'ac failed to understand that appearance had nothing to do with strength, much less reasoning, military tactic, and deduction. Shayera had wiped the floor with them, _every single time_ , and she would do so now, in front of everyone. They would learn their lesson today. 

"My apologies. If you would be so kind." Shayera directed this to the rest of the squad, who had by now rapidly cleared the space. 

She glanced around. All the sideliners had moved closer now, whispering eagerly, waiting for the action. She also noted that a few of those same kitchen staff, servers, the ones that those dicfrat'ac had disrespected, had made their way outside and were stood along with everyone else, watching. Shayera smiled. She'd give them a little something, just for their enjoyment. Shayera handed her mace to one of her junior clerks, a young Xanderian called Pikqu, or Piki for short, who stared at the instrument.

"I'd be careful of that if I were you." Shayera looked at Piki now - it would deter his curiosity for sure. She knew the power her mace packed, and loved surprising people who frequently underestimated it. Piki got the message, gulping.

Shayera turned to look at her opponent, offering a hand. The Xanderian looked at it, mockingly aghast, before he and his shitty friends burst into laughter. He spat on the floor near her feet. An insult - one didn't have to Xanderian to know _that_.

Shayera said nothing. She didn't even look at the glob of spit, as foul as it was. She'd watched how the soldiers took up starting positions before fighting during the tour and she did the same, impressing the crowd, who murmured, excited now.

Her opponent still stood arrogantly, grin upon his face, and without warning, made to attack her, full speed ahead.

But Shayera was no fool. The speed the dicfrat moved at would not even be considered a beginner's level on Thanagar.

With a quickness too fast for many to comprehend, Shayera side-stepped the Xanderian, elbow to the throat, knee to the groin, and used the momentum built to hook one leg around the man's waist, tossing him into the air. They wanted to see a _real_ Yyuimuela, welp, they would get one, and this prick would be the guinea pig. The Xanderian was still in the air as Shayera soared to meet him. Grabbing his head in a chokehold, Shayera tossed him further upwards, _again_ , pinning his arms in a painful cross behind his back. In the next second, Shayera hooked an iron arm round the Xanderian's neck and with a piercing battle cry, flew -no, dived both of them straight down into the ground at break- _neck_ speed. The sound that emanated travelled as shock waves that could seen _and_ felt across the entire damn base, and the crater left as a result was large enough to fit eight cars lengthways. 

Nobody moved.

Shayera remained in her position as the dust settled around her, knee to her opponent's back, one arm still locking the Xanderian face down by the neck in a choke hold. She used her fingers to discreetly check for a pulse. Thready, weak, but still present. Merely unconscious then - pity, Shayera thought. A moment later she was up, brushing the dirt off her. Without a backwards glance, she left the scene, to the stares, gaping, and stunned silence of her spectators. Shayera turned to the right slightly, right to the place where the "lowly" kitchen staff worked, who were now cheering, whooping with delight, and saluted two fingers right at them, proudly. Their glee increased at the gesture and Shayera resumed her tour of the rest of the base, team trailing behind her, afraid, and past the shock on the faces of General Ishiov and Superintendent Commander Djutio. Shayera had made an incredible first and lasting impression, one that none, particularly these "dickfrat'ac" would forget.

 

 

Seven eleven pm.

Jason was on his way back to Prepo.

Yawning, he rubbed a hand across his face. The city hall meeting had droned on for far longer than he'd expected, but at least they were all on the same page. Speaking of the city, Jason was now growing concerned at the...quietness of it all. He'd frowned as he surveyed the area, waiting for his Timuelan to escort him to the ISSA traffic border gateway, where he'd take an INCREMA craft to the IGC for his meeting with Pertre. It was far too quiet, and checking his watch, the afternoons were usually a hub of market activity-the IGC sanctions! Jason had slapped his head in remembrance. Of course. It would also explain the hostile looks he was getting from the public - it was obvious he was one of the "protected visitors" - his security tag made it clear, and Jason hated that it made him stand out so directly. Jason couldn't blame the people. Trade had slowed immensely, prices were far higher than before- Jason had seen a bag of Krpata, Xanderian grapes, for a mind boggling five epsi - a few months ago, Jason knew he'd been able to pick up a bag for less than .sixty obos. Inflation had surged, but income had failed to rise in comparison. Jason had spoken to Lumov whilst he waited- there had been two demonstrations over the last six months at the situation, led by people angry at the state the IGC's sanctions had left them in. Everyone was struggling, and by his status, Jason could see why the once friendly Xanderians he'd visited in the past were more distant on this occasion. He couldn't blame them - if he were in their position, barely making ends, the economy having taken a hit due to the intervention of foreigners, and now had to watch as these same foreigners went out and about in the city, protected, likely living in luxury accommodation, and travelling for free - yeah, Jason would be pissed.

Pertre's meeting had gone a lot better than expected. Much better, actually. It seemed that the Xanderian had warmed up to him _considerably_ and had offered Jason food and refreshments, something he'd forgotten about the entire day. It had taken Jason by surprise, but as the two sat together, discussing work, Jason had let the surprise go. Pertre was...kinda cool, actually. Maybe the guy had had a bad day when they'd first met - Jason imagined the workload as an IGC advsior would be highly tedious, having to liaise with representatives from all the other planets in this multiverse - even during today's meeting, they'd been interrupted no less than four times in two hours, and Jason began to feel sorry for the guy. Pertre, instead, had laughed it off, saying it was all part of the job, and Jason had respected that. By the end, Pertre had apologised for the unlikable first impression he'd made, and Jason could not hold it against him - it took guts to admit having fucked up. In fact, Pertre had volunteered to look over Jason's schedule, and offered to move some of their meetings to down in the city - that way, Jason wouldn't have to travel all the way out to the IGC each time, and Jason had been relieved by the offer. The two had left on good terms, shaking hands, and Pertre had walked Jason down to his Timuelan, regaling him with a little of his past, and how he came to work for the IGC. The Xanderian had apparently worked his way up; from a lower class background, he'd shown much promise, and had won scholarships to school and higher study as a result. Pertre clearly knew his stuff, and the fact that he took some time to explain a little more of the unfamiliar, as well as suggest a few city attractions, did much to change Jason's initial negative impression of him. 

On entering Dancu; Jason held his security tags to the intercom scanner and mentally tuned out the automated voice. Dinner would be great right about now, Jason thought, as he made his way into Prepo's compound. Once in, he paused. Voices. He looked at the time: seven fifteen. He knew Wonder Woman and the Flash had started a little later than the rest, he wasn't sure the exact time; it was likely that they'd either be back by now, or would be due to arrive very soon. That left J'onn, Superman, Batman, Hawkgirl, Latern and himself. Jason knew there was another ebwereko to eat in, but he wasn't about to deny himself some pretty good food out of fear, no fucking way. Jason went upstairs to shower and change into something a little more comfortable before making his way down to eat.

 

 

Jason opened the door and walked into the Ebwereko in one swift motion. The conversation seemed to falter slightly; Hawkgirl met his eyes before looking away, J'onn nodded to him, Clark nodded and offered a small smile, and though his expression failed to change, Bruce dipped his head slightly, acknowledging his presence.

Jason rolled his eyes.

"Please, don't stop on my account", but his snark wasn't _quite_ as biting as he'd hoped; the tiredness betrayed him, leaking into his tone. Jason took a seat next to Hawkgirl, who was at the far end. She looked a little surprised but Jason ignored her, helping himself to a plateful of sorts. Pecas, cambutu, Isjbi (fish), Jedhe (salad), the remetas (sauces) - he didn't care, as long as it all went in. Jason ignored the amused looks he was getting and ate, taking out his apiliwe, mind drifting from the background chatter. He spent time assessing his schedule for the week- God, there was a lot. Long days, meetings, paperwork - it was all the same shit, and Jason couldn't wait to be done with all this. A few mins in, Jason remembered what he'd wanted to ask the League: their timetables. It was unlikely they'd be together like this for a long while. Jason paused and looking up, found that almost all of them had been watching him. He sighed, rolling his eyes, and addressed the room.

"Not that I hate the attention, truly, its flattering, but now that I've got it, I might as well ask: how's it going with the work? Are you getting enough breaks?"

The surprise in the room was evident.

"Uhm, yeah, thanks, it's alright." Jason looked at Superman, and knew it was a damn lie - the kryptonian already had bags under his eye - was that even possible?

"It is as expected. We have been able to take breaks, as agreed." J'onn looked at Jason. Jason nodded. He saw Clark and Bruce frown at that last bit.

"As agreed?" Bruce's tone was a little too cold for Jason's liking, but he chose not to respond.

" _J'onn, wanna take this?_ " Jason spoke telepathically to J'onn, who merely gave him a _look_ for speaking.

"There were a few...challenges when drafting the timetables. It was important to us that we work well within our limits, with adequate rest breaks."

"And why do I get the feeling there's something else you're _not_ telling us?" Clark sat back now, folding his arms, quirking an eyebrow at Jason.

Jason, on his part, quirked his own in return, before answering.

"Hmm, nah, you guys know all you need to know. My way, my rules remember? So long as you're not being overworked, and you can take time to rest, eat, shit, whatever, then that's all you need to worry about. Speaking of work, has there been any trouble with the crews on the ground? Or the people?"

It was Bruce's turn to frown now.

"Is there something we should expect?" Bruce narrowed his eyes at him.

Jason debated for a few seconds before answering. "No. Things are...delicate, if I can put it that way. I'm not expecting the Xanderians to go all out for us, happy as can be when they've been under sanction for close to a year now, by my calculations, and that shit has been hard on the people, so I hear. Apparently they've had two demontrations down in the city - prices have risen, and trade has slowed down to only a fraction of what it is normally - I _knew_ something wasn't quite right when we first arrived; it was just too quiet. Anyway, the point is this: its my job to make sure that one: you guys do your fair share of the work without being taken advantage of, two: that you be allow enough time to rest, recuperate, charge your batteries, and three: that you're safe. So if you're getting trouble from the crews on the ground, or what not, then I need to know."

Jason surveyed the room.

Hawkgirl piped up. "Apart from the usual military misogyny, I've had no trouble so far."

She looked to the rest of the room.

"Nothing."

"They seemed quite nice."

"They were professional in their duties, as I expected."

Jason nodded. "Very good, that's what we want. I'll keep you updated if there are any changes. If security is an issue, then I'll raise the matter with Yena and his unit. Other than that...-"Jason paused. "Hang in there. It's tedious, boring, and each day will probably leave you worn out by the end, but keep going. From what I've read, hell, seen so far...we got the better end of the deal. It's just these three weeks, and that's it, shit's over, and we go home."

Nods all round, and even a little "thanks." Jason tutted to himself before he went back to his apiliwe.

 

 

Dinner over, the group had made their way to one of the Lekkas to relax a little before turning in for the night. Jason, however, opted to go to the first floor library, the Epo. This particular epo had a tiny kitchen unit in the far corner of a room - the Xanderians clearly knew the value enjoying a good read with a hot liquid and cookies for sustenance. Jason wanted to unwind from the day; he needed a bit of time to himself. Snuggling in with a new book in hand, an old Grecian myth he'd found years back among his possessions; -the spine had faded away, taking the name with it, and the rest of the book was written in Ancient Greek - Jason sat in the corner of the room, lights dim, with a cup of cacaui beside him and a plateful of Chebetas, shortbread biscuits with salted caramel embedded in them. 

His set up was perfect, and it would have remained perfect until bedtime had he not been interrupted.

The door opened with a quiet "whoosh". Jason couldn't see who it was so he waited. Judging by the number of steps taken and the way the floor responded to the weight, the intruder was male. The footsteps were heavy yet light at the same time - Bruce's were solid muscle and made a heavy thump sound, so it wasn't him, J'onn moved gracefully; he seemed to just _glide_ on air, Barry and Diana had only just arrived, so most likely would be at dinner; apparently Lantern had dined with his new military buddies and had thus gone straight to bed upon his return to Prepo, which left onl-

Superman.

Jason sighed, squeezing his temples. They _really_ had to stop doing this.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are." He sang aloud.

The footsteps paused before coming into full view.

"Jason?" Clark looked confused, and a little embarrassed too.

Jason raised an eyebrow at him - it was first time Clark had addressed him by his name, and he didn't like it.

" _Jason_ ? Sorry, _Clark_ , don't know anyone here by that name. _Red_ however, is. What can I do for ya?" Jason dryly replied, not bothering to see how red Clark's face had turned. The guy was so easy to embarrass, it was comical. He continued reading his book, sipping his cacaui.

"Sorry about that. Just needed a little quiet, some space..." Clark trailed off, awkwardly rubbing his neck.

Jason knew if he rolled his eyes back now, they'd be lost inside his head forever. Clark was the ultimate definition of the term "aw, shucks." Instead he sighed, loudly for Clark's benefit. Clark turned to him and gave him a _look_ , not an outright glare but not amused either. A part of Jason felt a little guilty - he was the reason Clark was in such a state, and the next few days wouldn't be any easier, but that didn't mean he would take it easy on the man, of course not.

"Well, I dunno about you, but if you just, oh - _take a look around you_ , you'll find that this is a library, a nice, quiet place ,with a whole bunch of stuff to read. So pick something and sit ya ass down already." Jason, sarcastic, had said all this while reading, not making eye contact. He could feel Clark's glare burning holes into him but he didn't care. Was he just gonna keep standing or what, Jason mused. He was about to kick the guy out when Clark moved, eyeing the shelves. Apart from the odd creak now and again, the place was silent, and Jason had to marvel at how a big man could make hardly any noise.

Clark made his way over to the seating area and sat down with a squelch. Jason looked at him then, with a "really?" written across his face. Clark looked back, firmly, but Jason could see how the man tried to keep from smiling. 

"You always take the good spots." Clark muttered, and Jason stared at him, incredulous. He actually looked about him - Clark was right. He _was_ currently in the best spot, near the window, so his view now and again was like that of a movie, in the perfect seat. Jason laughed. He didn't plan to, and so loudly too, but it was hard to believe that the man of Steel, _the_ Superman, was sulking over a chair. Clark had let a real smile out then, and the atmosphere became a little lighter. Jason looked at Clark for a moment before turning back to his book.

"You know, apparently the best way to enjoy a good read is with a hot mug of cocoa in one hand and a couple of biscuits in the other."

Clark had looked at him then, a small smile on his face.

"There's a little kitchen unit at the end of the room; you'll find a pot of caucai, or cocoa there. Help yourself. Or not."

Jason's tone was casual, but it didn't hide the fact that he'd just offered Clark a tiny olive branch, and they both knew it. Clark had hesitated, just a little, wanting to see if the offer was genuine, but Jason had refused to look up. All he wanted was to read his book in peace. After a few moments, Clark had returned with a hot mug of cacaui in hand, and curled up on a chair with a book. Once the boy scout had gotten himself comfortable and the blessed silence returned, Jason quietly pushed over his plate of chebetas to the middle of the table without a word. Clark had looked at the plate, surprised, before looking in turn at Jason, yet Jason still kept his focus steadfastly on his book. They weren't friends, no - it was just two people reading in a little library who just so _happened_ to share a few biscuits, that was all. As long as the other wasn't willing to drag up old shit, then for now, the Library would be their cease fire zone, and both men understood the gesture. And so, Clark had read, helping himself to a few biscuits, while Jason merely drank his caucui. And as the time crawled by, Jason found the atmosphere...pleasant. He needed solitude, yes, he had Tim, Alfred, Talia - his family, but he didn't have friends; he'd never had any, and wasn't about to start now. And yet, here they both were, two polar opposites, sitting in a cozy room, reading and sharing a plate of biscuits, late into the evening.

Friendship is overrated, Jason thought, but sometimes, a little companionship isn't so bad.


	16. Loose thy tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yena tells Jason about his suspicions.  
> Yikfract = yikes, shit, fuck. any of those meanings. rural Xanderian dialect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really tired now guys, ao3 formatting proper messes me about when I try to upload at night. I'll edit/spell/grammar check tomorrow!
> 
> p.s. added a little to the beginning to make it clear where Yena and Jason are _and_ much further down, changed it so that Yena was having less duties, not more - ie he was being shut out for a while.

"Nine pm, tonight."

Yena sipped his mug of capeta before continuing. They were in one of the smaller offices high up in the CRNA, on the pretense of reviewing "security" detail.

"Your final meeting should finish around eight, eight thirty. Around seven or so, you will put in a request to have a _chauffeured_ Timuelan to take you home. Remember, this will be an unusual request since almost all Timuelan are driverless; therefore, when one of my team queries you about it, you will say it is because you'd like a quick tour of some of your favourite places through the city, before you go home. At the end of your meeting tonight, your request will have been approved and there will be a waiting Timuelan with a designated driver. They will take you into the heart of the city, and as you approach the Evfankten bridge, you will ask to be let down here, on the pretense of walking around for a while, wanting some fresh air, and grabbing something to eat, since dinner will have most likely finished serving on your return to Prepo. Get off the Timuelan, walk down to the bridge, and as you go past, to your right should be a row of little shops opposite the river. One of these is a bookshop called Apretei, or Archives, housing some of Xan's oldest artifacts. A dimly lit storefront, but it will catch your attention enough to enter and browse inside. The shop will be empty apart from myself, at the very back, so make your way to the rear by going through the hallway behind the cash register. The shop is usually very quiet in the evenings but for twenty to thirty minutes, the shop will be closed. I know the owners; they usually take a small break just before closing time to go for a walk through a little of the city. We will therefore be alone. After our discussion, you will pop into the Breadhiski shop a few doors down; they have a delicious selection of hot meals to take away, and then make your way back to the Timuelan."

"And what will be your excuse if you just _happen to be seen in the area?_ Jason quirked an eyebrow at Yena, who half shrugged.

__

"I will be stationed at the Okja downtown in the afternoon to have a look at the security perimeter; anyone other than the workers should be well aware of construction work going on, but I will review the measures installed at present. It is not far from the meeting point. And if anyone happens to question my roundabouts and my purpose for being there, especially at night, then I will say that I was marking out the perimeter borders and sites for extra lightening. A very valid excuse, since those changes _are_ actually needed."

__

Jason nodded. Not bad. Whatever Yena was willing to tell him was enough that he'd come up with a reasonable excuse in the event of being discovered.

__

"Speaking of security concerns, I was at city hall a few days ago. Apparently there had been one or two demonstrations in the past few months?"

__

Yena looked grim at that. "You were not supposed to know anything about that." At seeing Jason cross his arms, the Xanderian sighed before continuing.

__

"Not enitrely correct, but yes, there have been two protests staged down at the city hall in the last eight months. Most were ordinary workers, the people, those who have been worst hit by the IGC sanctions. As a result of trading cessations, many workers, businesses etc have been unable to receive imports from all the other planets they deal with, and vice versa, which has meant a strain on their finances and living situations. The city has tried to provide subsidiaries, rations, but the longer this goes on, the less likely they can keep this up. Xanderian trade routes have of course been affected - I believe one of your colleagues is partly involved in helping create new routes within the cities but..." Yena shook his head.

__

Jason said nothing. Batman was stationed at Yulkek, the city's financial centre. A little chat would be in order.

__

"Your people being here is...not ideal, but the people recognise that _without_ your intention, things would have been much worse. At least you are here, trying to fix your mistakes. Any hostility you may receive is not to be directed at you, per se, but more towards the IGC. I had a few of those under my charge sit down to analyse the frustrations of the people at these rallies, and the most common thing to note was anger at the IGC, not the League. In their eyes, the IGC have compounded matters; now they,the people, are being forced to starve whilst having to deal with a damaged city. And though I shouldn't be saying this, I cannot blame them. To them, the whole situation comes across as though the _people_ are being punished, rather than the perpetrators who started the war, and now they have to suffer for their mistakes. Every day, hatred against the IGC grows steadily, and newspapers have begun denouncing them. Here-"

__

Yena caught Jason's eye and angled his head down in front of him. Jason followed the movement to find himself looking at a thin flat screen on the apiliwe built into the table. He eyed the headlines of the articles. The latest Timuelan for sale, some sort of beauty spa...and there it was. "End times are here, and we have the IGC to thank". Jason felt uneasy. Judging by the number of comments received - more than two thousand plus for an article that was written only a few hours ago- it was likely that more than a few shared similar sentiment. Jason looked back at Yena who had been watching his reaction, nodding.

__

"Now you see. Their anger at the IGC and their harships overshadow any hostility they have at the League's presence. As I said before, you are at least here, in the midst, willing and helping make amends. Perhaps the IGC's biggest mistake was to be so far away from this." At Jason's confused frown, Yena held up a hand to explain.

__

"My apologies, I'll explain. The IGC are based in Elima, in that giant Patheto. Coupled with their ancient wealth, longstanding power, and now these sanctions they have imposed on many who had nothing and wanted nothing to do with this conflict, the IGC gave created the impression that they have little to no concern as to what happens here, to the people. It is the _perception_ , Red, that matters, and that is what the people see. They see a group of old diplomats, who may or may not be aware of the current climate, who, with the power given to them, have acted without proper regard to the "ordinary" people, the public. In their eyes, none of the Council will go through this - they are well protected, shielded from such consequences, and at the end of the day, are able to retreat to their own luxurious comfort zones, away from the sufferings of the masses."

__

Jason remained silent, watching Yena closely.

__

"Let me make it clear: this is _not_ my opinion; it is what I have observed and heard so far-"

__

"So what do _you_ think about all this?" It was Jason's turn to sip his capeta.

__

Yena looked at Jason, head cocked slightly, before flicking his eyes above Jason's head. "That is irrelevant. I report on what I see and what I hear." The firmness of his tone gave it all away: _not here_. Jason bent his head slightly, listening. Two Xanderians had entered their floor, talking loudly with each other.

__

Jason nodded, straightening up. Message received.

__

"Fine. On the basis of that information, do the League need to be concerned about additional security measures whilst at work?"

__

Yena shook his head. "No. I do not believe that will be necessary, for now at least."

__

"Very good." Jason looked at his watch now. One thirty pm. "I'm afraid I due for a meeting at two, so I must be going now."

__

"A pleasure."

__

Both men shook hands, and Jason took his leave. Yena sat back a little, finishing off his capeta. The risk was already decided the second he decided to approach Red, and now tonight was real - the moment of truth. Yena stilled himself to remain calm; it was imperative that things appear absolutely normal. He knew there had to be watchmen, spies, even in his own unit, monitoring him. Yena looked at his apiliwe, scrolling mindlessly, and thought back to the events of earlier.

 

 

Today's meeting at the IGC had been a large group meeting with a few of the Council elders, his superiors, advisors and himself. Yena had arrived a little late and upon entry, noticed at the corner of the eye the easy going small talk between Red and Pertre, the IGC contact to Xan. They caught his attention and briefly nodded a hello, and though Yena dipped his own in acknowledgement, inside, he was concerned. When had _this_ happened? Yena had been there with the rest of the welcoming party to greet the League on their first arrival to Xan; he was sure that Pertre had grumbled, moaned at having to "play nice" with this "Red", a human,unfit to stand in his presence - even when he and his minions of assistants escorted the League to the IGC that same day, Pertre had remained cold, unimpressed by it all;- and yet here they were, talking amicably?

__

Yena frowned a little. He'd missed something. Asking Red about the sudden change directly would come across as either jealousy, of which his wife would find amusing, nor was Yena completely friendless, or make Red suspicious, and Yena knew that the opportunity of sharing his thoughts with a neutral, third party, like Red, who was willing to listen, would not come again for a very long time. Pertre was a red flag; the Humino were known to be sly and cunning; warm and friendly when they wanted something from you, and once they had what they wanted, cool, tossing you aside without a second glance. Pertre shot a look at him then, an ugly smirk, before continuing his conversation with Red, and Yena found himself gritting his teeth in response, hairs standing up on his neck. He was up to something, Yena knew not, but it was obvious that the Humino was up to no good. Red _must_ be unaware, but Yena had to approach with caution. If he told Jason outright that Pertre was not to be trusted, then how would that information pertain to his _own_ trustworthiness? And what if Pertre had already told Red that he, Yena, was to be kept at arms length? Yena sighed, rubbing his temples a little. He tuned one ear to the meeting and another inwards. Red did _not_ seem like the kind of man to be led so easily like that; what if Red was merely keeping a professional front, a ruse? Yena could not tell. Maybe tonight's meeting will help clear up a few things, Yena thought, and sitting up straight, he turned his focus to the meeting at hand. There was nothing he could do now, anyway.

 

 

Clark checked his watch. Two fifty one pm. They were on only day four of all this, and already, Clark was worn out. It was strange, he'd thought - he was _Superman_ for pete's sake, and he was already tired from a little manual work? Clark shook his head as he hefted yet another heavy load across his back and flew up fifteen stories to where the workers were laying down the material. Manual labour was something he'd been brought up on; living in a farmhouse made one immune to laziness and shortcuts. Clark smiled a little as he thought of his parents, the farm - Pa would probably chuckle to himself or something before regaling him of his adventures as a boy, the "twenty" mile walk to school and yada yada, blah - Clark would always tune out then, and Ma would give him a little clipping on the ear, smiling as the told him to pay attention, even though she knew it was all bull anyway.

__

God, but he was _so_ tired already. He noticed that he'd been increasingly becoming so since work, which of course, Red had warned them about, but still - the constant moving, placing, inserting, welding - having to use all his powers, his strength day after day, was draining him. Clark thought about asking Red to see if they could let up on him a little - the man had asked about how they were coping at dinner a few days back, which had been surprising but...nice, in a strange way. Jas-Red, Clark corrected himself before thinking further - Red had been slightly blunt but caring, and it left a mark on them all. Though the man, and J'onn, had refused to go into detail as to what exactly they had to do to get their timetables arranged as they were, which left him frowning, and Bruce on edge, Red had shown concern for their safety. Clark wasn't sure what to think about the man anymore. Before all this, Red Hood was one of the worst villains he'd ever come across; arrogant, unrepentant, a man who delighted in the mass murdering of people who were by society standards, "evil"- but still - that didn't excuse the fact that by law, each person has a right to stand trial. What was the point in having a justice system if the people it governed failed to respect it? Clark wasn't blind, nor was he naive by any stretch - he knew that the "system" wasn't perfect, that mistakes were made, but where he once he believed in right and wrong, good and evil, the events of the past few months here, and with Red, had caused him to question himself. Red, Jason Todd - Jason had been pissed on hearing Clark said his name - the man was slowly becoming an enigma. Apart from one or two occasions, Red had not made fun of them, or mocked them. Sure, he was cocky, arrogant even, snarked and smirked, but as for taking delight in their predicament? No. And if last night was any indication - Red had gone further for them than they were truly aware to ensure that they were being treated properly. The fact that the two had been able to remain in the same room, the library, without attacking each other, much less share biscuits, was an outright miracle. Jason Todd was the definition of a "grey area", in fact, the League's intervention on this multiverse was a massive "grey area" too. They did the right things, and yet, "karma" had not rewarded them as expected.

__

Clark was drawn back to the present by a crew member waving his hand in front of your face.

__

"You okay, Mr Superman?"

__

A short Xanderian was looking at him with concern now. Most of the workers so far had been civil, but few went out of their way, just as Red had warned them - "don't expect anybody to bend over backwards for you."

__

Clark paused for a moment, wiping his forehead. Sweaty, and feeling a little faint, Clark put an arm out to rest against one of the pillars. He closed his eyes - when was the next break? The last time he'd checked his watch was just before one, lunch, and it felt like they'd only had a five minute break instead of the hour they'd had.

__

Clark felt a little tap on his shoulder.

__

"Here."

__

Clark opened his eyes wearily to find a large bottle of water in front of him. He took it, drinking greedily, savouring it all. He looked at his hero with a grateful smile and gave them man a quiet "thanks." The Xanderian said nothing; he appeared to be trying _not_ to make too much eye contact; already a couple of crew members were staring. Clark decided to save the man from his embarrassment by stepping away, giving a brief smile, before returning back to work. The guy couldn't have scurried away any faster, and Clark felt a little pang of loneliness. He'd been working flat out, and apart from Red and that group dinner on the second day, he hadn't seen any of them around. Both he and Red were often the first to leave Prepo and the last to return, yet Clark knew Jason's schedule was even longer than his. Clark had run into Traecao at the CRNA one day, just as he was heading down to the Straebis to get changed to his work uniform. Traecao had greeted him warmly, and just for a moment, Clark let out a small smile, something he rarely did these days. After exchanging pleasantries, and the usual "how's it going" mantra, Traecao had mentioned something about them being lucky to have Red; Clark wasn't too sure, he was still fighting against sleep then and had failed to hear everything, but the Xanderian said something about thanking Jason, that it was a wonder where Jason got all the energy from to go up and down on his feet like that. Traecao had left then, patting his back, and Clark had stood there, wondering. He knew Red's job would be pretty busy, but it sounded like things wouldn't have been the way they were without Red, and Red had refused to say anymore about it.

__

Clark sighed as he returned back to work. It was lonely, leaving Prepo early without speaking to anyone apart from a polite "good morning" to the kitchen or catering staff, whoever was around, and then to return back to Prepo after a ten hour shift, usually to go straight to bed, before waking up a little later, if at all, to eat something. Somethings his shifts wouldn't even be ten hours; the HIPA supervisors would ask him in that polite, cool way of theirs, if Superman could just stay a _leetle_ bit longer, not much, you see, just to help out with one or two things here and there. What they failed to leave out was that those "one" or "two things" could sometimes take up to an hour, two even, and Clark was too polite to tell them no straightout. He knew it was his(and the League) fault, but at the same time, they too were working. Clark believed that it wasn't intentional - his Xanderian crew mates worked hard, harder than him sometimes - none of them were superpowered, and for the progress of the work, most, if not all, were willing to come in a little earlier, and stay a little later, to help with the repair efforts. Clark couldn't stand in the way of that, seeing as he and the League were responsible for some of these works. Clark didn't have the heart to say no, and his body was paying the price for it.

__

But it wasn't just his physical efforts taking a toll on him, it was the loneliness too. The greetings he would make to the staff before he left and after he arrived was, a lot of the time, the only interaction he would get for that whole day. And when he returned to Prepo, if he had any energy left for food, Clark would find that he was by himself a lot of the time, eating alone. The rest of the League were either sleeping, having just returned from their shift or in preparation of their upcoming one (they were all rota'd for night shifts, and Jason had tried his best to bunch them together so it wouldn't mess with their sleep rhythms too much), or they were currently out at work and wouldn't be due to return later, by which time Clark would be drowsy, heading up to bed for another early start. The exhaustion was draining, but the loneliness gnawed at him - it was worse, in fact. The work would be better stomached had there been a familiar face to talk to, chill with, just someone to catch up with, but there was none. Clark wished for home. Home with his friends, Lois. A large, increasingly bitter part of him wished the League had never agreed to help the Lanterns in the first place. Clark was always the one advocating for peace, for cooperation between space agencies, to "lend a helping hand" - well, in the future, he and the League would have to think twice about that. Clark didn't regret the League helping to save all those lives, he just... _didn't_ expect for those who in any case, _should_ have originally intervened, to now turn around and point the blame at the League, that they "fucked up."

__

Clark eased his back gently. He checked his watch discretely - four twelve pm. Only forty eight minutes to go - Clark prayed with all his heart that his crew would keep their mouths shut and leave on time today. If they wanted to stay a little longer, then Clark was sure he'd scream. Already, he was imaging getting into their waiting Timuelan, heading back to the CRNA, getting changed, fooooood, and sleep. Clark shook himself awake. Focus, he told himself. He decided that he would try to speak to Jason tonight if possible, since his shift tomorrow was starting a little later, which meant he'd hopefully have a bit of a well-deserved lie in. If Jason wasn't around, then it would have to be J'onn. Clark yawned. Alright, forty minutes to go and then you're done for the day, Clark encouraged himself, as he carried on with work.

 

 

"Could you pass that over here, please?"

__

Diana passed over the tool without a word, and without making eye contact.

__

Shayera bit back a sigh. "Thanks." She flew off to tie the rest of the frame.

__

Shayera had been working on a rota'd basis since the last two days, and Diana had only just joined her for the next shift. Eight forty one in the evening. Shayera looked at the clock again. Eight forty three. And again. Eight Forty four. Shayera almost growled in frustration - why was time mocking her like this? A night shift was nothing; a couple of night shifts in a row was sweet mercy compared to weeks of thirty six hour block Shayera had to endure as part of her training, back on Thanagar. She gritted her teeth and continued her work. This was worse than when she had to confront her betrothed Hro Talak about the plans for the League. At least when he found out the truth, he dumped her straight away, leaving her to rot in her imprisonment without even so much of a backwards glance. Here, on this team, with half who didn't want her anyway...now having to work with the one who wanted her out the _most_...it was demeaning. Shayera took a look down below. Diana was steadily working, smiling at a crew member who'd happened to offer her a flashlight. Shayera looked away. They'd left Prepo together without speaking uttering a single word, shared the same Timuelan, all the way to the CRNA, and now out here, in Greui, it was as if they were complete strangers. From close friends who'd practically made a pledge to discover the joys and strangeness of man's world together, to now not even greeting one another - Shayera swallowed bitterly. She didn't want to be here, not with _her_.

__

Anyone else was preferable, even Joh-no, not John, but someone else, at least one who didn't openly despise her. Shayera would even take the Batman at this point; distrust aside, at least he'd get the work done. Hell, even Red - the man would probably try and get a rise out of her, but even he knew how to play ball, from what she'd seen so far. And...he _was_ kinda nice, actually. In an odd, distant, straightforward way - he cared. Shayera cast her mind to some of the things she'd read about him, and the thought came to her suddenly: The Hood had never, ever, done anything for himself. Everything - from the murders of criminals, to terrorising against the Bats - everything had been done _for_ someone else, _on behalf_ of someone else, to prove a point _about_ somebody else. Not once had Shayera heard, or read, or seen Hood claim anything for himself, other than the two terms he'd laid out back at the watch-tower that day. The realisation made her pause for a little while. His concern at dinner a few days back had taken them all for surprise; Shayera had been unable to meet his eyes that evening, and instead of the little quips, snarks here and there, Red had surprised her. He'd sat beside her, offering a brief smile, before dishing a whole lot of food on his plate and turning his attention elsewhere. He didn't try to engage with her, but at the same time, his presence next to her seemed to convey support, the "I get it" kind that doesn't have to be expressed by words. Red had directed his query about their work to the group _but_ he'd looked at her _first_ , not J'onn, or Batman as she expected. Shayera had felt a little part of her warm inside at the thought that someone, and Red of all people, would go a little out of their way to hear what she had to say.

__

Shayera was still pissed though - looking at the work now, she could have easily finished it alongside the crew, without Diana's help. She thought about Red's advice. Good, thoughtful, reasonable - and she hated it, but she would at least try.

 

 

Jason looked at his watch. Eight thirty pm.

The meeting downtown was the same as the others: updates, planning, change of said plans, then dates for reconvening. Yena had wanted to meet him at nine pm. Jason made his way out of the city hall to a chauffeur waiting beside a Timuelan.

__

"Evening." Jason stretched a hand towards the elderly Xanderian who smiled and shook his hand.

__

"Red I presume? Good evening sir, I am Reulo, your driver for this evening." The Xanderian looked kind, and Jason decided he liked him.

__

"Yes, it is Red. A pleasure to meet you, Reulo. Shall we?"

__

Reulo made to open the door for Jason but Jason declined with a polite smile, opening the door himself, and getting into the back. Reulo bowed slightly, and made his way to the front.

__

"I've been told that you'd like a short tour through the city as we make our way to Prepo, is this correct, sir?"

__

"Just call me Red, Reulo. And yes, thank you. Its been a while since I've visited, and It would be nice to see a few spots before I go home."

__

Reulo raised his eyebrows at this, a little confused. "You're human, but your Xalanese is good, close to a native speakers. How?"

__

Jason chuckled a little. "My visits are always usually between a few days to a couple of months even, and I love learning new languages, I pick them up quickly. I've also got a few friends here and there so they can make fun of me when I mess things up."

__

Reulo laughed. "That's what friends are for, no? Well, I can tell you that our people appreciate those who make the effort to learn our languages and our culture."

__

Jason nodded. It was pointless otherwise - it reminded him of the countless times he'd been to Spain only to hear British people asking for fish and chips, and berating speakers for speaking English instead of Spanish _in their own damn country_. The mind boggles, he thought.

__

Reulo began his tour.

__

"So Red, welcome to Eain, Xan's capital city, as I'm sure you're aware of. Touyour right now, we are approaching the Xre, home of Xanderian's baseball league, the Xreptica, last year we made it to the final only to be beaten by those pesky Elekians..."

__

Jason tuned out Reulo a little as he thought about what Yena would say. What were his suspicions? It was a little obvious it had something to do with the IGC, but the fact that Yena found it impossible to speak to his own people, his unit or superiors, made Jason think of a possible conspiracy. A little James Bond, he thought. He drifted a little, offering a few "hmms", "oh really" and "yes, I remember now, thank you" every now and again. Reulo seemed to get a little excited that his guest had such an interest; Jason felt bad he was about to stop that interest by asking to walk around in a few minutes - the Evfankten bridge bridge was fast approaching, but Jason made a note to give positive feedback about Reulo to Yena and co to compensate.

__

"Ah Reulo, this area looks lovely. Quaint, its so peaceful, even! It looks familiar, wou-would you mind if I walked around a little? Just to get a bit of fresh air, stretch my legs, have a look at the area - I've been sitting down all day and a change of scenery, _quiet_ scenery would be great." Jason feigned reminiscence in a wistful voice. Reulo was desperate to please.

__

"Of course sir, that shouldn't be a problem! It's just that, I have my orders to take you straight to Prep-"

__

"I understand Reulo, truly, but it shan't be for but it shan't be for too long, honestly. I'd just like a little break, its just..." Jason sighed, adding for effect, and Reulo looked sympathetically at him. "everyday is full of meetings and whilst meeting new people is great and all, I can't help but wanting a little quiet time to myself, you know? Just a-" Jason yawned before continuing, "-break."

__

Reulo was almost sold, but Jason could see what was making him so hesitant: fear of repercussion.

__

"Don't worry Reulo, if anyone does ask, I'll make it clear it was because I'd asked, insistently, and you were only trying to cooperate, and not upset the visitors with regards to the work we're doing. Here-" Jason drew out a wallet he'd kept just for this and pulled out a couple of crisp notes, probably about sixty epsi in total. Not so much that the man would think it a _bribe_ , but enough to make it worth his while. It was a little he'd kept from a few odd jobs he'd done here and there when he needed cash quickly, here on Xan, without drawing any attention as to his lack of ID and security numbers. Reulo cast a quick look at the notes, eyes widening, before looking away. What the human was offering him was more than he'd made in a week last month; damn the IGC, he cursed.

__

"-This is to get yourself something, a bite too eat whilst you wait if I'm not back in a few mins. Do you have any children, grandchildren perhaps?"

__

Reulo nodded. "Yes, sir-I-I mean, Red. One little girl, and a boy is on the way very soon."

__

"Well congratulations are in order, then!" Jason patted the Xanderian on the back before giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I've forgotten how much things are here, but I can't imagine how expensive all of this is - I know it must be tight because of the sanctions and so on. So here, take - get something to eat, buy something for your little ones. I just...I need a bit of fresh air, a change, just for a little while. It'll be nice to re-jog my memory of the area, too."

__

Reulo took the money. Did this human even know how much he was giving him? He tried to give some back, it was far too much. "Sir, pl-"

__

"Reulo, its fine. I have no use for it." Jason sat a little forward, allowing his security tag to dangle in front of him, glowing in the dark. It was obvious as to his status: special visitor under Xanderian protection, and it was therefore unlikely the visitor would miss such an amount. Jason watched Reulo decide to take the money. Sold, he thought.

__

"Thank you si-"

__

"Red, please Reulo, and its no problem at all. _Thank you_ for this, I can't tell you how much I've needed this. And as I said before, if it comes up, I will be _extremely clear_ that it was I who asked you to stop, that I needed a breath of fresh air, and that you were just doing your job. Does that sound agreeable to you?"

__

Reulo wasn't stupid. Being a chauffeur was considered a low class job, but it was certainly better than being a market trader, which a lot of the "little" people were, those who came into the city for work. Many of them were the worst off as a direct hit from the IGC sanctions, and Reulo, though one of them, would have suffered had he not used the little education he had to apply for jobs such as his current position. Administration and clerical work was out of the question; he was not "educated" enough for that. His age was also against him, and in the end, after weeks of trying, and no longer able to stand his family's suffering, went aggressively for a chauffeuring job. Most Timuelan were driverless, so chauffeuring jobs were rare, but desperate times call for desperate measures. His shifts were flexible; Reulo called be requested at any time of the day or night, and his job was simple: drive. Ask no questions. It was why he hadn't asked the human as to his purpose for all of this; he didn't _quite_ buy the pretense of "needing a break" - the man was a protected visitor, and everyone knew these chosen ones lived in Dancu, a highly secure, private gated community; many believed its guests lived in absolute paradise, all expenses paid, anything and everything they could ever wish for, so why the human wanted to go for a walk, in the evening, by himself, in a city he'd admitted not visiting for a while, _and_ giving him a sizeable amount of money - well, Reulo knew the rules. Drive. Ask no questions. So long as the man was willing to make it clear Reulo had only been doing their job, then Reulo would accept the situation as "unexpected." The visitor was _always_ in the right, and their comfort came first. If Reulo taking this money whilst turning a blind eye to whatever this "Red" character was up to would make "Red" happy, then who was he to defy orders?

__

Reulo nodded, smiling a little. "Yes, Red, it is very agreeable. If its alright with you, I'd like to put away a little for my family."

__

Jason let out a small smile before descending from the Timuelan. "It's yours, Reulo - do whatever you wish."

__

He looked around him, taking in the sites, eyes slightly wide, aware that Reulo was watching him. He began walking, reading a few shop displays, looking at the shop names - all looking like just another foreigner sightseeing. Reulo had to commend the man; had he not been around ferrying people of the higher classes, those who did all sorts of nonsense that they considered "normal", he would have fallen for Red's act, which was for the most part, very believable. Reulo settled in his seat and snoozed lightly. He didn't want to see anything that would hold him accountable; once Red had left his sight, then he'd wait for a few more minutes before grabbing a cup of caucui and a few of his granddaughter's favourite biscuits.

 

 

Eight fifty seven pm. Jason looked at the little bookshop; Apretei was a little haven of treasure, mystery, full of lost culture and time. Jason felt he wouldn't mind browsing the story properly sometime in the future. Playing the part of a curious visitor, he gazed a little at the display, reading a few texts, using his hands to form a C-shape at the corners of his eyes to peer into the store. Dimly lit, quiet - just as Yena had said. Jason didn't look around before entering - doing so would look suspicious, certainly not in line with the image he'd created. He walked in, looking up as the bell rang at the entrance door.

__

Inside was lovely, like a quaint little cavern. Jason took his mind off the display and made his way to the back, where he found Yena waiting for him.

__

"Just in time." Yena rose to greet Jason.

__

"Yeah, sorry, had to pull off the "I just want a break and a bit of fresh air" act to the driver. Jason grinned at Yena, who chuckled.

__

"Whose your driver?"

__

"Reulo."

__

"Ah, he's no problem, I assure you, he's seen plenty worse and has remained a fly on the wall throughout all of it. He's a good soul, and he won't talk. Shall we?"

__

They took their seats at the table, which housed a few sandwiches, tea, coffee and a few pastries. They took their time eating, relaxing, before Yena spoke again.

__

"Thank you for meeting me. I appreciate that its a risk we're both taking. Where there any problems leaving from your last meeting?"

__

"Nah, none at all. There's barely anyone around, I'm certain I wasn't followed."

__

"Good. Now, let me ask: apart from myself and my charges, have you met any other Generals one to one?"

__

Jason paused, wracking his memory. Apart from a few nods and handshakes here and there, he had yet to actually speak to any at length.

__

"The odd introduction here and there, but no, not in depth."

__

"Fine. Even better in fact, the less you know, the less they'll be able to see you as a risk."

__

Jason quirked an eyebrow at Yena who smiled briefly before continuing.

__

"A little backstory: the IGC, as you know, is made up of a Council of Elders. Ancient beings, governing this multiverse for thousands of years - they promote peace and unity within the realm. And, for the most part, all has been well. Each planet is home to entirely different races of peoples, beings - they aren't perfect, but the IGC has done rather well to stamp out prejudices, hatred - they were the ones that first commissioned the ISSA bridge all those centuries ago to promote working relationships between planets. As a result, our multiverse has flourished greatly, and the bridge is one of our proudest achievements. Free for movement, services, people- we import and export a whole lot, and are able to experience different cultures, tastes, and ways of living all across our realm. It is an exceptional achievement, the best and most recognisable to date."

__

"However, as I said before, the IGC are not perfect. I won't go into too much detail - you have a library at Prepo and the main city Library downtown, but the IGC have made mistakes in the past. Rulings that have either been too soft or too harsh, or none at all, but with good intentions, no doubt. Whatever the case, it is always the people that are effected the most, and it doesn't help that the IGC are seen as these untouchable group of beings, in elevated positions of unlimited, and unchecked, power. For the last hundred years, maybe even more, there have been...rumblings of discontent at the IGC, specifically at _why_ we have to obey them. I did not pay attention at first; it was mainly the odd person now and again, but now that I think about it, the discontent has always been there, and it has risen steadily too. Not to this extent however, that people stage demonstrations against the IGC - this is all brand new."

__

"Anyway, back to my story. For about five years or so, there has been a number of...movements within military command. Several meetings with Generals, Commanders - I'm sure I saw a Ghusalem once too. Much of our focus has been on weaponry and technology, use of radioactive warheads - apparently, an entire science lab has been built several miles outside the ity, and is _very_ heavily guarded. I've not seen it myself, only whispers and rumours run amok here, but one thing I know for sure - to get to this lab is very difficult - a private road, only one way in, and one way out. Clearance of the highest order is needed from multiple dignitaries from up top, and any who is found to have unauthorised access or trespassing, is either taken out completely, or removed from the premises, never to be seen again. I have personally witnessed a few heavy armored tanks and military aircrafts, Ttrewure, heading over in that general direction, and all who are involved in the transportation of materials to and from the site are firstly, few in number, and secondly, thoroughly vetted."

__

"Over the same period, I noticed an increase in activity. I was put in charge of fewer duties charge and responsibilities, for a short while. My colleagues of the same ranks accepted change as normal, but I did not. A few of the units and soldiers, particularly the Sicai'ari, Xanderian special forces, kept being sent on more missions, and these missions were not logged in nor accounted for. They would have sections of their training logs redacted, and if asked as to where they had been going, they would either refuse to answer, or tell you that you did not have appropriate clearance."

__

Yena paused here, seeing if Red was still following. Jason sat, arms clasped, waiting. Yena continued.

__

"And then sometime before the beginning of last year, talks between Xan and Gol broke down. We've never fully been at peace with one another; our state has usually been one of "mutual tolerance" - so long as the Ghusalem minded their own business, and vice versa, then all was well. The talks specifically pertained again to nuclear weaponry, except Xan was claiming that Gol's supposed stash were affecting our life support systems, and Gol were in complete denial. I don't know how this came about, but apparently there had been a few scientific reports demonstrating proof that our energy waves had been altered by a certain material found on Gol. Talks began to turn hostile, with neither side owning up to anything, and that's when the Lanterns were called. I think one of them has a contact, friend maybe, somewhere in the military, I'm not too sure, but the Lanterns were suggested to step in as a neutral party. As much as we were in bitter disagreement, both planets agreed on one thing: that the IGC not be involved. The Council do not take well to inter-planetary disputes, and the penalties for such an occurrence has been known to be harsh - the sanctions are actually quite mild with regards to the other measures the IGC have used in the past. The last such events was thousands of years ago, and was so effective that planets close to dispute usually thought twice about whether it was worth arguing, especially if it meant getting the IGC involved." 

__

"But the Lanterns were unable to help resolve matters, and to avoid the IGC - they too knew of their penalties, they had been around for a few of them and knew the effect on the people, and since they have experience in a number of multiverses - thought the League might be more effective. Most of us were unaware as to the existence of your "League" - but the Lanterns described them in great detail to us; a group of highly skilled, advanced persons, all from different planets, and we were intrigued, and asked the Lanterns to send our a request for their help. As I'm sure you've realised by now: our technology is advanced, our science further ahead, but if you were to strip all that away, then it would be very clear to you and your League that ultimately, we are powerless. What you have is a group of people with strength, power, flight - _all on their own_. Apart from one or two of your men, none of you need technology like we do, so to now hear that there is a group where even one individual has the strength of a hundred, a thousand Ujudwki? People who can fly at dazzling speeds, faster than our best aircraft, a man who runs so fast _time has to change to accommodate him_ \- you see why your League became so appealing?"

__

Jason gritted his teeth. The Lanterns had pretty much auctioned them off, but it was the League themselves that sealed the deal.

__

Yena broke off to look at the clock. They didn't have much time left.

"-It seemed as though the minute our representatives, Xan and Gol, heard about your League, particularly the Superman, things took an interesting turn. I'm not too sure about this bit, please forgive me, but to my knowledge, I think your League organisation was close to refusing the request. I can see why; it was not their problem. But... _somehow_ , just somehow, our parties managed to worsen the situation - there were now calls of going to war, destabilsing the multiverse etc - and it seemed that they had _intentionally_ made things out to be worse than necessary in order that the League actually step in to prevent annihilation. It was as though they _wanted_ the League, here, but for what, I do not yet know."

__

Yena looked at Jason now, but the man was unreadable. Jason, for his part, was seething. He, Hawkgirl - they _knew_ something was up, but with the pressure of millions of lives been lost to war and destruction from two warring planets, especially if _the League could do something about it now_...and with the promise of only intervening as a "neutral third party" - Jason could see why the League eventually chose to step in. They stood for justice, hope, truth, morals, what's _right_ , If they hadn't, then it was very likely the League would have been seen as "failing to do their jobs" - in other words, total hypocrites, and partly blamed for the lives lost as a result. Jason sighed at this new deduction. Yena took pity on the man, refilling his capeta, before carrying on.

__

"Your League stepped in, clearly maintaining that they were here as a third party, neutral in stance, only to help prevent Xan and Gol going to war. But neither side made it easy for them. It seemed that each wanted to _deliberately_ provoke the other, and it got to the point that war seemed like the only option - it was that bad. There was no negotiation, none wanted to listen, and it was as if all the hostility, dislike over the years bubbled up to the surface in a spew of hatred and intense loathing. The League saw no other way out but to call the IGC and take the matter to them, which was the right thing to do of course, but it turned Xan and Gol on them. And yet, the IGC were merciful. They let us go with threats of a sanction only. And how did we repay such leniency? By going to war. Gol initiated the attack and used Superman as a pawn - they sent their own people to their deaths. Truly sickening. We on Xan retaliated of course. The rest you know. By the time everything was over, and the IGC gave us our penalties - what we eere hoping to avoid in the _first place_ had now come to pass, and it has been downhill even since. All the information, the data, equipment, logs pertaining to that fateful day when things went to hell has been collected under the orders of the highest in government and military. We in the middle and lower ranks have been denied all access. We cannot analyse anything, collect more information - nothing at all. My people are suffering under these sanctions, and I feel that this all somehow is _part of the plan_ \- I mean, we were in the clear, relatively speaking, when the IGC let us go with only warnings, so why did Gol initiate the attack? Why go to war in the first place? I think it was to get something, and war was either the perfect excuse or a complete distraction to what's _really_ going on."

__

Yena took a breather here, collecting his thoughts. Everything had come out, his thoughts, his opinions, his suspicions - all had been laid on the table. What Jason said next would determine here on next.

__

Jason took a few breaths and stood up. He walked around the room, deep in thought, trying to go through all that Yena had said. If the man was indeed telling the truth - and Jason believed he was; Yena had far more to lose than he did- then what Yena was alluding to, knowingly or unknowingly, was a conspiracy. he faced the Xanderian.

__

"Who else knows about all this. The way you've linked it all together, all that you know, at least?"

__

"None apart from us in this very room."

__

"And your superiors? How much do they _suspect_ you know?"

__

Yena paused, taking his time to consider this. He had raised a few eyebrows at his attempt to discern what was going on, and his insistence at being in charge of the League's security during their stay, despite more important matters at bay, was sure to have raised a few suspicions.

__

"I did cause a little irritation some years back when I tried to nosy around, but I let it go, and they have been satisfied ever since. I have continued to progress in my military career. However, I'm sure a few were taken aback as to why I asked to be placed on you and your team's security arrangements. They felt that the task was...less of a priority than other matters at hand. If they haven't already, then they'll be watching me."

__

Jason nodded. That was a reasonable thing to expect.

__

"And as for me?"

__

"You? Well, to be honest, apart from chatter at your colourful past, not much interest."

__

"Good, but I'd like to know the answer to this: How did the Council get hold of my history like that? I expected it - it never hurts to be prepared, but I just didn't know _how_ they would get the information, and more specifically, how Taenolot got hold of it. I mean, I assume someone somewhere was in communication with a contact or two on Earth who did their research, but do you have any ideals as to the likely suspect? or suspects, possibly?"

__

Yena thought. It was a question that had nagged at him a little, but it had been pushed to the back of his mind with all that was going on. It was unlikely Red would have disclosed such information about his past during the early initial meetings with the IGC, Xan, Gol whilst he was still back on Earth, and when he eventually came alone to introduce himself. Doing so would have the IGC cancel his appointment immediately, without question. Having the dossier play out in court _after_ the contracts were signed, accepted, and after Red had shown value as a speaker native in their languages, was a wise move indeed - it would make it _very_ hard for the IGC to refuse his permission, especially a man who was by all accounts, quite neutral in the matter, between all four parties, and willing to wade through all that political shit to get the job done. No, unless there was one of their own in a similar standing, the IGC would agree to Red's position no matter what.

"I cannot tell; this is the reason why I have opted to tell no-one apart from yourself. Let us reason: your appointment here is so far unexpected, yet surprising. I think many underestimated how good you were, and it showed particularly during the League's timetabling talks."

Jason nodded. Slowly, but surely, he'd been proving everybody wrong, and they all knew it. "If we say for now that there's a... conspiracy at hand - hypothetically speaking. A group of individuals, probably those with the highest clearance possible, so think big - a small select group who _might_ have something to gain from all this, if we go on what you've said today. How much of a threat, then, would I pose to this group?"

Yena looked at Jason, thinking. "Honestly..I think, not much. Hypothetically speaking, if there is something, then its been in the works for years now, and I doubt your arrival here is enough to disrupt their plans, especially as you've made it clear your interest is in the job only."

Jason nodded before looking at the time. Nine thirty ni-oh, shit.

Yena looked at his reaction before doing the same. "Yikfract. Our time has come to an end. My friend, thank you for meeting mere here this evening. I know it was risky for you, for us both, and I appreciate you just listening to what I have to say."

They shook hands. "No problem Yena - in fact, it is _you_ I have to thank. You've helped me to fill in the blanks. Listen, I will try to keep my ears open. Obviously the League cannot know about this - anything and it will raise red flags with all that are involved, and since we don't know what's going on, we cannot risk any destablisation until we have something more concrete. All we have is speculation right now. Unfortunately, it just means that their skillset will be more and more attractive as they keep working, and I'll have to trust that they remain on guard throughout. I've told them already not to trust anyone, and to keep their eyes open. If there's anything, how can I reach you?"

Yena took out a small device from his pocket. A thin, flat oval shape - the exact shape as his security tag. Jason looked at him, a small smirk on his face.

"Let me guess, it fits onto my tag like-" Jason brought up the device close to his tag, and watched, fascinated, as the device seemed to melt seamlessly to the underside of the tag. He held it up against the small lamp in the corner of the room - checking it over and over again - it was as if nothing had changed. Jason looked at Yena, who simply smirked in return. 

"Press your thumbprint against your tag. When a timeslot becomes available for you, either hold your thumb against the tag, which will confirm it, or tap it lightly twice, cancelling it. Your schedule is far more rigid than mine, but you cannot make or cancel appointments at your end by yourself - you have to let the other party know, and they will pass on the request."

Jason nodded." Yeah, its easier for me to agree to when from my end; I'm jam packed nearly all the time."

"Jam packed?"

Jason laughed. "It's an expression on Earth. It's the same as choc-a-block, or up to your eyeballs - it means that you've got a lot of work to do, or things to be getting on with, or that your day is full up with things like meetings - you get my drift."

"I'll never understand you humans."

"Me neither."

The two men chuckled and shook hands.

"You're clear on what else needs doing before you leave?" Yena looked concerned.

"A few doors down, Breadhiski, get a take away, then make my way back to the Timuelan."

"Good. My friend, until next time."

Jason dipped his head in acknowledgement and took his leave. Yena waited for another fifteen before leaving through the back entrance, which would lead him a few blocks down to the opposite side of town. It would be easy to spot if he was being followed.

 

 

"Reulo! I'm sorry, honestly, I was caught up and stopped to grab a little something to eat. Here, I've got something for you."

Jason smiled warmly at Reulo, who he'd woken up from his nap. The Xanderian looked a little flustered, before remembering where he was and what he'd agreed to.

"My apologies si-Red, I thought I'd nap a little. Oh, Red, I cannot possibly except this, pl-."

"Please, Reulo. It's the least I could do. After how I've inconvenienced you tonight, away from your family I'm sure, please, just a little token of my thanks."

Jason held out the large bag of food he'd brought Reulo. He knew the Xanderian would most likely have chosen to save the money, rather than spend it on his food. A true father is one who knows the meaning of sacrifice, Jason thought. Looking at Reulo, far older than himself, too thin, weathered skin, having to work as a chauffeur for someone barely into adulthood, and to do it all so humbly? Jason was touched. He ended up buying out almost all of the food available at Breadhiski, much to the delight of the servers.

Reulo looked at him, then at the bag, staring, eyes a little too shiny for Jason's liking. God, this wasn't fair.

Reulo seemed reluctant to even touch the bag, as if it was all a cruel trick, and Jason would snatch it away from him, taunting him cruelly.

"Reulo." Jason kept his voice low and soft, a little as he used to for scared children hiding behind the bins in the many of Gotham's back alleyways.

"No strings attached. It's not out of pity, or guilt. It's yours. And this one here too, I wasn't sure how many of you there were, but I hope this is enough, at least for tonight."

Jason had bought two large bags in total, full to the brim with food, and just a little pot of some stew he hadn't bothered to check the name, along with a cup of greten 'ai olo, green tea with lemon shavings. He used the remainder of the cash in his wallet to pay for Reulo's family's food, and charged his own to the security tags around his neck. That way, if anyone where to check the events of tonight, they'd know that Jason had made a quick stop to buy a little food.

Reulo couldn't stop staring, at Jason's heart clenched. No-one deserved to live life like this. He watched the man flit between the bags, and his face, wantig to see if the offer was genuine. Finally, Reulo gave a small nod, and accepted the bags Jason handed over to him.

"Sir-Re-"

"No "sir", never again Reulo. In fact, it should be the other way round. You don't need to thank me for anything, you don't owe me anything. Come on, lets make our way back to Prepo, its getting late for both of us."

And with that, Reulo started the engine. Jason pretended not to see the way Reulo dragged a thin, shaky hand across his eyes every now and again, nor did he make any comment. Dignity cannot be bought, Alfred had once told him that.

Twenty minutes later, they were at Dancu. Jason made his way down; Reulo hurried to meet him, but Jason held out an arm to stop him.

"Red, I must-"

"Whenever you're with me, you don't have to do any of this." Jason gestured to Reulo who was half out the car. "No opening doors, no sir, no offering to get me food - I've got two arms and two legs, they're there to be used." He paused, allowing the silence to stretch a little longer before speaking again. "All I want you to do is listen. Just...listen, and then you can go home.

"I...have been where you are, in a way. I didn't have anyone but my mother, and even she was taken from me. I lived alone for a long time. But the one thing I've learned is that respect is not earned, far from it. You cannot demand it, enforce it, or pay for it. Respect is earned. And a true maker of respect is held by the way a man thinks of others, especially when he himself is in need. So, Reulo." The elderly Xanderian was looking away from him now, tears beginning to fall. "I don't know you. I don't know your history, your situation, but what I _can_ see is a person, as advanced as you are, in a job that others may feel of a lower status, to ferry an individual far younger than he, all for the sake of the well-being of others who rely on you, through no fault of their own. And if the little I can do tonight is to make sure you have something warm to fill you up, and with a small amount tucked away to help get you through this time, and to make sure that I give you a reference so good your employer has no choice but to keep you on, then so be it, and I am ready and happy to do it.

Jason stood where he was, little to Reulo's quiet sobs. He'd never been one for comforting like Dick, but he had learned to do so with Tim, and he did so now, his arm on Reulo's own, a gentle and reassuring presence. Eventually, Reulo had looked at him, a small grateful smile, and nodded. Jason had nodded in return before patting the Timuelan.

"Go home Reulo. You've a family waiting for you."

Jason watched as Reulo made his way home.

In his tiredness, he had failed to notice a pair of blue eyes watching intensely at the interaction.


	17. Lies in the darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason sets Bruce in his place, and receives an unusual request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but very, very important, as was the last chapter!

Clink.

The gates to Dancu shut quietly, and the Timuelan merged with the sky.

Jason stood a little while longer, letting the breeze wash over him. He was so, _so_ tired. Jason let his bag drop to the ground for a moment, and the heavy weight instantly relieved his shoulders. Stretching, he yawned, feeling the tension in his muscles and down his back. A good night's sleep was definitely in order, for tomorrow was another long day. He closed his eyes, clasping his hands behind his head, and let the quiet of his surroundings seep into him. Yena had said much tonight, and Jason knew he'd spend every moment _not_ actively working going through the information he'd been told. Even now, it appeared that a "conspiracy" was very likely, but Jason couldn't know for certain. His everyday movements were heavily monitored, restricted apart from a bit of leeway now and again, and so far, none of the League had reported anything of concern. All they could do for now was to wait for those involved to make a move. There was nothing concrete, no physical proof - just heresay and speculation.

Jason was very tempted to tell the League - they were a formidable group after all, and surely, they had the brains ie Batman and Hawkgirl, possibly, to try and outhink the situation. But they had _only_ just started work, and that was the problem. Jason had worked hard, with J'onn's help, to get everything in order, in accordance with the IGC contract. All the meetings, tense negotiations, the waiting, reviewing - all that going back and forth had been for a purpose, and a lot of compromises had to be made, particularly on the League's side, to meet the IGC requirements _and_ to keep Xan happy, since their planet was the most affected. Gol was slightly more lenient, but that didn't make it any easier to work with them. Jason, the League - all of them knew they were being watched carefully, and if Yena's suspicions were correct, then none could afford for anything to go wrong. For one thing, thousands of lives were at stake. Jason knew that it was not uncommon for war to be used as a distraction from the real objective, or an excuse to partake in something otherwise inexcusable, and if this war fell into any of those categories, it meant that the concept of life - the lives of the people, the citizens, families - all of that was either one. not a problem, or not of great concern, or two. a necessary expense for those pulling the strings, to achieve something they believed was more important at hand. The realisation made Jason's skin crawl, and shaking his head, he made his way into Prepo.

Jason walked to the first set of stairs on the ground floor. Up ahead was one of the ebwerekoe, and out of the corner of his eye, he felt something. Watching him. He turned sharply to meet a pair of steel blue eyes.

Bruce.

They made eye contact for a few seconds. The man was sitting there, a mug of capeta, probably, at his side, dressed in all black and charcoal grey, comfortable casual, and Jason was instantly reminded of cold dark winters, hot chocolate, embraced by a warm, solid pair arms, reading. He blinked away suddenly, feeling a lump rise in his throat, before he swallowed it down, forcefully. It was obvious Bruce had been waiting for him, and Jason wanted to get this over and done with. Groaning inwardly, he walked into the room, placing his bag on the table, and put his hands in his pockets, waiting. This shit better not take long, Jason thought.

Bruce watched him a moment longer before speaking.

"Where have you been?"

Jason smirked a little. Was daddy-o still trying to play the part of "concerned", overbearing father? It may have worked, just a little, back then, but there was no room for it now.

"Who wants to know?"

Bruce gritted his teeth a little, and Jason's smirk turned to a grin. He loved being one of the very few people on Earth who could rile Bruce up like this, even with the simplest of things. Jason considered it a gift.

"This is the fourth time you have behaved in such a manner. On the first day, you failed to inform us of your separate departure to the CRNA. Despite all assurances, you failed to obey the simple rule of keeping and maintaining an active communicator at _all _times - there was a six minute unaccounted muted delay that you have yet to explain the reason for. Then, at dinner a few nights ago, when questioned as to the nature of your enquiry - "has there been any trouble with the crews on the ground? or the people?", you deliberately failed to provide sufficient background that _led_ to such a question being asked, and now, this evening, nine fifty pm, you are only just arriving, from where is anyone's guess, and with a chauffeured Timuelan, a rare formality here in Xan."__

____

"With all that in mind, I would like an explanation for your behaviour."

____

Jason stared at Bruce for a few seconds.

____

And started laughing. God, these Bats were hilarious.

____

"Wait..." Jason trailed off, still looking at Bruce. "You're being serious? Well, shit."

____

"I will not have anyone, particularly you, jeopdarsing our wor-"

____

"Hang on a second. Clearly you've forgotten how exactly I came to be here in the first place, and what you guys agreed to for all this to happen. Two terms: follow my lead and once its over, I walk away, no strings attached, record wiped clean. And since we're counting - I mean, I dunno whether you're just getting old or you've had just one too many concussions- this is the _third_ time I've had to remind you that's its _my way, my rules_. Which means, dear old Batsy, that _**I don't owe you shit**_. You and the League knew what agreed to when you hired me, and your only job here is to do the fucking work that's been laid out for you - work that took me bloody ages to organise, so a little appreciation wouldn't go amiss."

____

"Our deal was that you work for us, provided strict supervi-"

____

"Nope, nopety nope, I never agreed to that. _You_ assumed that, not me - heck, how on earth are you gonna supervise me out here? Can't very well do your job and spy on me half the time, can ya?"

____

Bruce stood up now, eyes furious. Jason was up to something; the man was far too isolated, and had been given power over their schedules, and therefore, their time. Trusting him was a mistake that the League would have to pay for, dearly. Bruce held his composure, just barely. His voice was low but angry, and he gripped the table, knuckles white.

____

"I have a duty to protect the League, and since you cannot provide anything substantial, then you are more likely a threat, and threats are either minimised, or taken out altogether."

____

"Then take me out.

____

The silence was deafening. None had misheard _that_.

____

Jason's voice was soft, and that made him deadly. He walked around now, hands still in pockets, head angled at Bruce. Taunting. Bruce felt his anger flare up within him, but he refused to show any outward emotion - he would not give in to Hood, no matter what. He would not give that man the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper. Jason, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying himself and his voice held a mixture of slight fury and cold professionalism. The man knew exactly what he was doing, even as he moved closer to Bruce, head cocked to one side, studying him, and it set Bruce on edge. Jason was planning _something_ , and it made Bruce mad that he was outside his element. The dynamic had changed; the balance of power favouring Hood over him was difficult, if not impossible to accept, since Bruce was so used to calling the shots.

____

"It really is that simple - according to you, anyway. Either you find a way to "minimise" me, which, considering my position is pretty integral at this moment, is probably _not_ the best option to go with, or, take me out."

____

Jason stood less than a foot away from Bruce now, still smiling, and it took all of Bruce to hold himself together. Remain calm, he told himself.

____

"Like I told the Boy Scout, you really don't have any other choice but to -on, what was it I said again? Ah, that's right - trust me. Or, at the very least, trust that I'm getting the work done."

____

Jason paused a little, and it forced Bruce to look up at him. Jason spoke, eyes not straying once from his former mentor's face.

____

"In case I haven't made it clear, I'll say it again, and this time, I hope you won't forget it, for your own sake. You don't get to "choose" when to be concerned. Not over me, or what I get up to, or who I'm with, or how I spend my time - none of that. That was a long time ago, as I'm sure you've yet to forget, and you've made it clear where you stand, and best believe, I'm on the same damn page. Right here, right now, and for the foreseeable future: this-" Jason gestured to the two of them "-is nothing. There is no "we", no "us", no team."

____

Bruce flinched.

He _had_ made that clear, and yet, out in the open, it felt so...morbid.

____

"This job is the first and only time I'll ever be in your near vicinity, and I'll say it again- this is a job. It's a job I intend on doing well, and that means that I take everything, and everyone into account. I make sure that you're all working the right shifts, at the right times, that you're given enough time to rest and recuperate, that you're able to work safely and within your limits, that its fucking _fair_ , as much as possible - and I do all this whilst trying to work with the other parties involved: the IGC, Xan, and Gol. Never, ever, mistake my asking about any of you as "concern". All of you - this whole mission-, is a reflection of my work and my skills. A portfolio. So whether you hate me and my methods or otherwise, means nothing, short of nothing, wrapped in nothing, and in the end, _absofuckinglutely nothing_."

____

Bruce stared at Jason, frozen. He tried to find his tongue to speak, but it felt heavy and laden in his mouth. His heart was beating too fast - but he _had_ wanted this, hand't he? For there to be no more Jason, son - only Batman putting down the Red Hood. So why did a part of him feel so hollow on hearing this? He tried to stamp it down, dredging up memories of murder, violence, and pain, but it wasn't enough.

____

Jason had turned away from him and was now looking out the window. The garden was wonderfully clear in the night.

____

"We're in this together. I chose to enter this mess, even though your stupidity and numerous fuck-ups throughout all this have _de nada_ to do with me. Therefore I, too, want this job done well, cause if shit goes sideways, then I'm caught up in it too. If there is anything that I feel the League should hear about, then you guys will know. If I feel there is any concern as regards to your safety, your ability to do the job, then I'll keep you all well informed, and take the appropriate measures to rectify the issue. Until then-."

____

Jason broke off now, yawning, turning, and made his way back to the entrance. He didn't have time for this shit. Picking up his bag, he turned his head slightly to one side and addressed the other occupant in the room.

____

"Stay in your lane, and I'll stay in mine. And if you're finding that difficult to do, then ask Dick. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to explain to you what happens if you don't."

____

The air in the room seemed to turn to ice at that last statement.

____

Jason stood for another second, letting it all sink in, before making his way upstairs. Sleep was calling his name, and he would not disappoint her.

 

 

Tuesday mid afternoon.

____

It was the League's second week of work, and they had all fully immersed themselves into their work schedules. Most of them had had a good break over the weekend in between their shifts, particularly making use of the trentemien in the house. Diana and Barry had taken the extra time apart from sleeping to stroll down to the city, Hawkgirl had gone rock-climbing in the rural outskirts a few miles away, Lantern and J'onn chose to stay at Prepo whenever they weren't working, but Bruce had remained largely out of sight, impervious to Diana's coaxing. Superman and Jason, however, were not so lucky. Apart from a couple of hours to eat and sleep, Superman had worked throughout the entire week-end. Their shift patterns meant that Clark was left alone, for the most part, and with the night to say swtiches, he found it difficult to fully rest. Clark had caught Jason one morning just before leaving and tried talking to him about his work schedule, but the effort proved unsuccessful. Jason had been, oddly enough, quiet, listening intently, understanding even, and though sympathetic to the situation, firmly emphasised that their timetables could not be altered unless it was at the discretion of the HIPA supervisors at their rota'd sites, and only in exceptional circumstances. Everything had been pre-arranged well in advance, and making changes now would not go down well. Clark had accepted the diagnosis with a silent nod, but it weighed heavily on him. Jason had watched him, feeling a little sorry for the Kryptonian - he knew Superman, and Clark most definitely, was a social person - the man enjoyed spending time with people, and Jason knew what it was like to live in the midst of others, and yet, feel so alone. Jason had encouraged Clark then, telling him that there were approaching half way regarding their length of stay; that before Clark knew it, it would all be over. Clark had looked at him, face a little brighter, appreciative, only to see that Jason turned away already, leaving for the day.

____

Jason too, had worked the entire week-end. Unlike Clark and the rest of the League, however, there were no set limits on the number of hours Jason worked, other than eating and sleeping, and those in charge took full advantage of that fact, with meetings that, lasted for however long was necessary. His days had been gradually lengthening since their arrival, and now a short day for him, was no less than twelve hours - and that was on a _good_ day. At present, Jason's days involved early starts, well before daylight, and he usually found himself returning to Prepo anywhere between twelve to eighteen hours later.

____

The day Jason had left by five in the morning and returned at eleven at night -he couldn't remember which day, they all seemed to merge into one - that day had been nothing short of hellish for Jason. In fact, he'd stumbled from the Timuelan, drowsy, unable to walk in a straight line, and had fallen asleep at the front entrance, right beside the intercom scanner. Diana had "happened" to walk by then, and seeing Jason stationary through the windows, head bowed, swaying on the spot, had quietly made her way to him, ushering him inside without a sound, helping him up the stairs. Jason had been too tired to argue. He couldn't even blush at the situation - he'd simply allowed himself to lean on Diana, her arm a comforting weight on his shoulders, as they made their way to his room. Jason had awakened a little then, eyes ever so heavy, looking at his shower door. He _did_ want to shower but the effort required at the time was far too much to comprehend, and he'd settled for washing his face and brushing his teeth. Somewhere during all this, Diana had slipped in the bathroom and left a pair of pyjamas for him on top the toilet. Jason had changed, lumbering out, and Diana had returned to her position, guiding him to the bed. She'd tucked him in then, pulling up the covers to his upper chest - she'd remembered that her boy hated the quilt too high up, Jason had always felt like it would suffocate him-, fluffing the pillows, and had sat beside him on the bed, feet stretched out, running a hand through Jason's curls as he fell asleep to the movement. Not once had Jason protested, and Diana felt like punishing those who'd exhausted the man. In the end, she'd stayed with him for a few hours, content that for the first time in years, she'd been able to watch over him as he slept. Diana had missed that greatly - one of her favourite past times were Jason's visits every couple of weeks or so to her London apartment, and the fact that it was _only_ her he allowed, outside the family, to hug him tightly, to tuck him in, smooth his hair, kiss him goodnight - it was a precious gesture of his acceptance, and love for her, and Diana had treasured it deeply.

____

And though Jason had left for the day the next morning, it would be almost thirteen hours he returned. Both knew that it was no coincidence Diana had been there that night - she'd waited up, purposefully, just for him - the League barely saw him anymore. The first thing Jason did upon his arrival to Prepo was to make his way over to the Lekka where the League were usually found. Jason had walked right into the Lekka where most of them were seated, Batman included, nodding a hello. He'd walked quickly over to Diana, who had been sat in an armchair, watching him, and kissed her on the cheek, before leaving again just as quickly, not looking back, and without having uttered a single word through all of it. Those who were present were hushed into silence by the gesture, but Diana had sat proudly, with the biggest smile on her face, and eyes bright with happiness. Only the two of them understood what that had meant. Jason was letting her in, little by little, and it made her heart soar with glee.

 

 

"One new alert."

____

Jason checked his apiliwe with a slight frown. He prayed with all his might that a meeting had been cancelled, or postponed to another day. His eyes flickered briefly to the bottom right corner of the screen: five minutes past four. Great, Jason thought. He'd been in this meeting, the last for the day, for the past hour, hour and a half maybe, and he was desperate to go home and sleep. Taking a slight breath, he clicked onto the alert.

____

"Six pm: meeting at 1207re'tu, Uir, Eain."

____

No name, no contact details.

____

Jason was curious. This was odd; almost all of his scheduled meetings had a name and a form of contacting the named individual, but then why had Yena given him that device for his security tag if he could make anonymous meetings via the apiliwe? Jason had checked his security tag frequently - nothing had come up. After not hearing from him, Jason grew concerned -could Yena be in some form of trouble? He wasn't sure, but the risk of asking around for him would make worse the situation if Yena happened to be in trouble. And now this alert had arrived. Jason decided he would attend this address - bringing back up was firstly impossible - they were all being closely monitored, the League weren't available for impromptu A-team shenanigans, Jason didn't have any authority to command anyone over here _and_ he had no idea how to arrange such a gathering, and secondly, even if backup could be requested, such a presence could create suspicion and force whomever requested the meeting to think twice about sharing what they knew. If it wasn't Yena, then Jason would wait a little longer - the man was in military command after all, and very busy. Thursday was the deadline; if Yena failed to make contact again by this time, then, taking to account the League were due to leave next week, the matter was either not as serious as previously thought, or Jason would make a few inquiries about speaking to Yena, in order to locate his whereabouts should the Xanderian be in distress.

 

 

Five fifteen pm.

__

At last, the meeting was over

Jason didn't care - he barely shook hands and bowed as left, eyes already dragging down. There was a Timuelan already waiting for him out front, and Jason couldn't be more relieved at the sight. He'd left by four this morning, and already he was looking forward to a hot shower, eating food in bed and then sleeping for etern-

__

Ah, shit.

__

That damn meeting, the six pm one!

__

Jason cursed inwardly.

__

"Why the fuck does it always havta be me, for crying out loud?" He groaned, putting his head into his hands. Jason stayed like that for a few moments longer before sighing, loudly, and looking out the window. The Timuelan seemed to be heading North of the city, a little less attractive than the rest. Jason tried to keep aware of his surroundings, wanting to memorise the route, but he struggled to stay awake. The gently whirring of the engine, and the plush interior made for a _very_ comfortable environment, ad Jason felt himself succumbing to sleep.

__

"1207re'tu, Uir, Eain, we have arrived at your destination."

__

The automated voice jolted Jason from his slumber. He yawned, eyes bleary, and took a good look around. Very quiet, almost like an old industrial town converted into residential buildings, but without the people. It was strange, and Jason felt his sleep disappearing as the alertness took over. He glanced again - the Timuelan had entered a small building, gated, and the front door had been left on. Jason cocked his head slightly - no security cameras, no armed personnel - so this was a little more personal, a house, maybe. He departed the vehicle and made his way inside.

__

A young attendant seemed to appear out of nowhere, and Jason was thankful for his training, otherwise his scream would have been less than pitiful.

__

"Sir, right this way."

__

The attendant turned quickly and strode through the corridors, floor after door after stairs, until they reached a steely grey door.

__

The Xanderian stood aside, gesturing her hand towards the door, face set like stone. Ah, not following in then, Jason surmised. With a polite nod, he entered the room.

__

Jason was taken aback by the sheer _grandness_ of it all. Comfortable, clean, antique-looking - it was as if the little bookshop he'd visited to meet Yena last week, the Apretei, had thrown up all its old treasures and artifacts into the expanse of the large room. A homely little seating area was placed overlooking the window.

__

Jason stood where he was for a moment, just looking.

__

"I take it you have an idea as to where all these things have come from."

__

An old voice rang out from the seating area. It sounded familiar.

__

Turning, Jason walked towards the voice, only to falter slightly as the figure rose to meet him.

__

Elderly female, judging by the petite stature and slightly stooped back. Long flowing robes, kind, crinkly eyes, a knowing smile - he recognised her instantly.

__

Semeticai'a', head of peace relations on the Council, looked back at him, smiling warmly.

__

Jason couldn't have hid his surprise even if he tried.

__

"Your Honor?" He spluttered, bowing.

__

Semeticai'a' laughed, a quiet, rusty sound, and Jason found it comforting. She reminded him of Alfred.

__

"My dear, don't look so surprised. Please, sit."

__

Semeticai'a' gestured to the couch beside her, and they both sat.

__

"Caucui? Capeta? or would you prefer Greten 'ai olo?"

__

"Any will do, thank you, Your Hono-"

__

"None of that, dear boy. "Sem" will be just fine." Sem winked at him, and Jason couldn't hide his smile.

__

"Here, have something to eat. We have sakruiuto''oeow, salmon with pawn sauce, aewcte 'dado, pork sandwiches..." 

__

Sem pointed out the trays upon trays of sandwiches, all delicious looking as the other. He bowed again in thanks, much to Sem's chuckle, and they began to eat. Sem began to point out various artifacts around the room, and Jason found their histories fascinating. From the way she spoke, it appeared that she had been present, during that very time - some of them dating _thousands_ years years back, and the look on Jason's face caused Sem to laugh loudly.

__

"No, you cannot know how old I am. Some things are impolite, don't you know?" Sem cocked her head knowingly at Jason, smiling, and he felt himself blush in return. 

__

The silence that followed after was comfortable. Jason looked around again. A couple of the artifacts looked _very_ similar to the ones in Apretei. Why would Sem ask to meet him here, in this place? Unless...ah. Jason realised why but decided to put her to the test.

__

"All this-" Jason said, gesturing about the room, "-where could one obtain similar items?"

__

Sem grinned. "There are very few places where one can buy these things. There's a place near some of the reconstruction work in the city, just past Evfankten bridge. Wouldn't you agree?

__

Sem blew on her green tea, smirking at Jason, who sipped his own beverage in response, refusing to confirm or deny anything. Their eyes met for a moment, and Sem's smirk turned into a smile, before she put her cup down, clasping her hands.

__

"It is good that you met Yena. He is a very honorable man, highly respected; a man of integrity - such qualities have become harder to find these days." Sem looked out the window. The sky was only just beginning to darken, at the very periphery, and the sunlight that remained made for a lovely contrast.

__

"I do not know what he knows, nor how much - but I believe he and I have the same suspicions as to what is _really_ going on."

__

Sem looked at Jason to see if he understood. Jason nodded, and she turned back to the window, continuing.

__

"I imagine he must be seeing quite a lot more of such strange activity, being as he is military. I have not spoken to Yena about my thoughts, nor vice versa - it will minimise the risks of being caught "colluding", and it offers each of us protection should there be a...purging of those suspected of being traitors to Xan, if you follow."

__

Jason did follow. Had Yena and Sem been caught sharing what they know, they would have been accused of conspiracy, planning a coup, the perfect scapegoats should anything go wrong, and death was the standard penalty. Jason had learned a little of Xan's customs from his previous travels, and in his opinion, death was far more preferable than the other types of punishment. One example was banishment into the harsh deserts of Ghbretjy, a planet where time was apparently meaningless, where one could expect the days to be a mix of the harsh, bitter cold and soaring, fierce heat, the two episodes interchanging multiple times a day - those who'd been set there usually lasted a day, two at the max, before dying due to the intolerable stress on the body's system.

__

"I do. And, if I may, where is Yena? I've not heard from him since we last spoke."

__

"I have received word that he has travelled to Elek to discuss matters of a sensitive nature, I'm sure you understand. He should be back no less than Thursday - he is to fill us in next day."

__

"I do."

__

"Good."

__

Sen refilled her teacup before speaking again.

__

"There is talk...talk that is often negative in nature, at the IGC's governance. Before _any_ decision is ever made, no matter how small, we have appointed advisors, lawyers, and many more, who undertake a thorough research of all sides involved, even in cases where it is clear who is at fault. The sides involved will state their arguments and their requests, and we as the Council take everything into consideration - the research, all we have heard, the likely impact and effects, before we make a decision. The decisions we make will always have future consequences, and it is our responsibility that they are made with the best and most honorable interests at hand. This means that we may spend years deliberating on a matter - that is how seriously we take our responsibilities."

__

"However-" Sem paused here, taking a sip of her green tea before continuing "-there has been growing resentment within the ranks, particularly the military, at the "power" they believe the Council welds. They are of the opinion that we are free to do as we wish, without consequences, and their dissatisfaction at the supposed power balance in our our favour shows how little they understand of the IGC. The IGC, and the Council itself, is accountable to all. We represent all. Our duty is to the people of our realms, all people, that they be treated as equals, and that the laws that govern this realm are as fair as possible. We try our very best to adhere to this principal, but we are not perfect, unfortunately. We have made mistakes, and very often, it is the people, whose lives we swore on oath before entering office, who are the worst affected. When things are well, then the people are content, and they are happy with us, and give us support. But as soon as anything threatens their comfort, then we are criminals of the highest order, and ought to be imprisoned at the very least for our mistakes."

__

Sem sighed.

__

"I cannot blame them for thinking in such a way, but there are few who truly understand how government works, and the different structures, trade routes, representatives, customs that are in play. And now with the IGC sanctions on Xan and Gol, the discontent is clearer than ever."

__

"The people have a right to free speech, Your Honor."

__

"It's Sem, please, whilst we are in such an informal setting, and yes, they do. They have every right to protest at what they feel is unjust, but I feel that the resentment is being "encouraged" if that makes sense. And the discontentment has spread to some of the highest law enforcement agencies in the land, particularly the military. We have had to send out a few warnings in the last ten years or so, particularly with regards to the unlawful movement of weaponry and hazardous material, and they they have generally compiled, but a few have been "irritated" by our decision-making."

__

Jason sat, thinking deeply. If there _was_ a group, a "conspiracy" - God, he hated that word, it was so overused as a cliche -, with grumblings against the IGC, and from what Yena had shared, then the most likely suspects _would_ be those within the military. They had the skills and resources to stage a coup, and with the growing discontent amongst the people, those planning such a venture would most likely have the support to do so, _especially_ from the people, if they made promises that would "solve" such dissatisfaction.

__

"What would you like from me, Sem?"

__

"It isn't much from what I expect from you now, but I'd like to keep your eyes and ears open. There are conspirators, I've become more certain of it as time goes on, and if you are willing, I'd like you to work with Yena and find out who they are. I am aware of your meeting, as you know, and as long as is necessary, for yours and his safekeeping, that will stay between the three of us. Yena is a good and capable man, and, from what we know about your history already, and your current standing, you have the skills to help him and us discover the conspirators and put a stop to their plans. If there was anyone else available, I would task them instead, but I cannot trust my own people, and I have my suspicions about a few of the Council."

__

Jason took a guess. Someone who didn't like him... one person came to mind.

__

"Taenolot?"

__

Sem looked a little taken aback, before bowing, a sad expression on her face.

__

"I cannot say for sure, but his outburst on your first day was a complete surprise. It blindsided us all, apart from yourself - your composure led me to believe that you were somehow _expectant_ of something of that nature..."

__

Jason bowed a little. "It never hurts to be prepared, Your Ho-Sem, sorry."

__

Sem smiled now, touching his hand lightly. "We all have a past, a history, Red, and that cannot change. What we can do, however, is determine how we progress from here, right at this moment, and if I compare the man whom we heard in great detail, to the man I've heard and seen throughout the last week, then I believe that change is possible, and for the better."

__

Jason swallowed at that, the praise heavy on him. It was the first time someone save Tim or Alfred had looked at him in a positive light, and highlighted that he had, indeed, changed. If an actual alien could recognise it, then there was no excuse for anyone else to remain deliberately ignorant to the fact.

__

"That means a lot....thank you, Sem." Jason dipped his head a little, unable to meet her eyes at that very moment. They were a little too blurry for his liking.

__

Sem squeezed his hand before letting go. "You have nothing to thank me for, young man. Just keep at it, and keep going, no matter what anyone says, and you'll find your feet soon enough, I'm sure."

__

A little silence filled the air before Sem spoke again. Jason straightened up on hearing her.

__

"Work with Yena, Red. Find out who the conspirators are - I will provide both of you with the means and the access should it be necessary. It would be nice to be kept updated as to your progress, but we are both very busy, you especially. Meeting like this was a risk I had to take, and I do not want to put you in this position again. Understand that you and the League, Yena even, are being watched, and anything that is out of the ordinary - even the little that causes suspicion, will be taken as _absolute certainty_ , and will be acted upon without hesitation. The choice is up to you, of course, but for now, with all that is stake, the lives of thousands, until more is known, it might be best to keep things between the three of us. Is that clear?"

__

"Yes, Ma'am."

__

Jason agreed. It was a good idea - drawing attention to their suspicions would probably get them all killed, and Jason was _not_ about to have another go with Lady death again, no sir.

__

Sem sighed at the title, smiling, knowing Jason was teasing a little, and looked about the room once more, explaining the histories of a few of the other artifacts in the room. Jason smirked and helped himself to a few more sandwiches, listening, full of interest at the rich history.

__

Another thirty minutes passed before there came a knock at the door. Time to go, Jason thought.

__

The conversation drew to a quiet close. They stood, Jason bowing in respect.

__

"Until next time, Your Honor."

__

"Until next time." 

 

Sem bowed a little, and watched as Jason took his leave, offering a brief smile, before taking her seat again and pouring a fresh brew of tea.

It was only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trentemien = entertainment suites


	18. The plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the plan is finally revealed.

Eastern military base, 06:35730, 0403838, Thursday evening, ten pm.

 

 

"Yes, of course. Excellent news, thank you for the update."

Checkov nodded a few more times at the instructions given to him before bidding farewell. He disconnected his apilio before turning and addressing the rest of room, who were gathered around a large table, conversing over a map of the city.

"The foundation has been laid. Meshibosh, how goes the preparation?"

Meshibosh grinned nastily as he gulped down a berk'a in one go. "My people are set to go. By Friday, the gatherings will take place in the Urshet'ec underground here-" he pointed at the map, "-here, close to Evfankten bridge, down by the Opoulo river, in a few empty sites up in the Northern industrial parts, and by the old hospital down South. Meetings are set to start between eleven to one in the morning, and should finish no later than four."

"Good work, comrade." Thrempre raised his own glass of kaelena in his colleague's direction. "As for you, Lierna?"

"The demonstrations will take place Saturday afternoon, starting here, at the outskirts, and building quickly into the evening as they make their way downtown. I estimate close to five thousand protesters, at the very least. People from all over will be taking part, and we will have our own people situated in the midst of the crowd, stirring up emotions in order to keep the movement going. The aim is to whip up such a frenzy that the most _intense_ atmosphere will have been created, lasting from late Saturday evening to the early hours of Sunday morning - ideally, we will now have a mob of angry people, not just protesters, causing a full blown riot all throughout the city."

Lierna stood proudly to attention. As a former member of the opposition party, she'd later switched sides, betraying her colleagues, opting to enter the "system" after witnessing the wealth and power that one afforded in such positions. Lierna had never regretted her decision, and now that they were making history, she was determined that she play her role well, looking forward to her new promotion as Commander General of the entire Xanderian army after the coup.

"And where will the League be situated during this time?" Junio, Gol's secretary of state, spoke, his deep voice reverberating across the room. Checkov found him irritating.

"We have access to their apiliwe - I'm uploading their timetables now." Thrempre typed in a few lines of code into the control panel at the end of the table. A holographic display appeared, detailing each member of the League and their schedules. "As you can see, comrades, each member has been situated at various points in the city, finalising the very last of their projects. Batman will have finished at the Ttreque by Saturday mid afternoon, before working at the Yulkek for the remainder of his shift. Flash, Hawkgirl and Wonder Woman will already be stationed in the city residential areas; Flash at Kasle and Dhewov, Hawkgirl at Greui and Zioneb, Wonder Woman at Eauian in the morning before assisting Hawkgirl in the afternoon of her final shift. Lantern will have completed the last of the Mouputamen."

"And as for the Superman?" Checkov asked, coolly, and all leaned in, ready to hear the answer.

Thrempre smiled. This part was the best.

"Wonderfully on schedule, as planned. The man will be worked hard across the entire city, and by the afternoon, should be sufficiently weakened enough that he will be unable to resist his "rescue" from the mob."

The room murmured excitedly.

"Very well. Make sure that the mobs across the city _really_ let loose, have your contacts instruct the people to strongly demonstrate and express their feelings -especially towards each member of the League at their construction site-" Checkov was about to lit a romolo, satisfied at the plan in motion, when Junio cut in.

"Run through the entire plan, everything."

Checkov gritted his teeth but allowed the interruption. If not for the fact that both Xan and Gol needed each other for their coup against the IGC to be successful, he would have had that dirty Ghusalem slain on the spot.

Thrempre dipped his head slightly before complying with the request.

"Of course, sir. Today is currently Thursday. Friday, tomorrow morning, I will have the orders sent to make contact with the Feuwity, the laboratory ten miles away from the city. They will run through final checks on the holding cells designed for each of the League - the Superman will be based in the Ikisi, a separate facility entirely. Each space has been designed exclusively to target each member, weakening them enough that they can be considered powerless. That Friday, the League will go about their work as scheduled, an early start, and all finish by the early evening, a twelve hour shift, and taken straight to Prepo. All requests to leave Dancu, for any reason, will be denied. By Friday evening, from eleven onwards, key leaders of the protests will be stationed at the various points that Meshibosh has kindly pointed out. They will discuss with their inferiors the plan for the next day protests, where people should meet, and the importance of maintaining peaceful protests initially, up until Saturday evening, when things will turn violent."

"Saturday is when the demonstrations will take place. From the rural outskirts, by six pm, the people should be at the outskirts of the city, and by eight pm or so, they will be in downtown, angry, still protesting, but not yet violent. Each member of the League, including their ambassador, Red, will be told to stay where they are, guarded by security on the pretense of their own "safety." They must not be allowed to leave their current stations. After eight or so, we will contact the leaders of the protests, and they in turn will signal their men in the crowds: this will be their go-ahead to turn violent. The atmosphere will already have been intense, but on hearing this order, the city will become a full blown riot, chaos - and have them attack places of leadership, like the town hall. Large groups of protesters will be gathered around the sites where the League will be stationed, shouting profanity, hurling objects. At this point, I will have units of my men dispatch the counter-terrorism protocol, sending police forces into the centre to get a hold of the situation and the protesters. However, I will have ten or so unmarked, large, specialised Timuelan - the Ju'jug'o, sent to where each of the League and Red are based, and our security forces will usher them into these vehicles, one in each, on the pretense of getting them to safety. But, of course, as we all know, these Ju'njug'o are in fact holding cells, and will have the correct combination of gases, pressures and materials to knock the League member unconscious as soon as each enter their Ju'njug'o. From there, they will all be driven to the Feuwity, and be carted off into their specific holding cells."

Thrempre paused, making sure all were following before continuing.

"You will _all_ receive three alerts - one, when the League member has been safely deposited into the Ju'jug'o, two, when they have arrived at the Feuwity, and three, when each has been placed into their holding cells. Once the latter has been received, then you, Checkov, are to inform the IGC of the situation down in the city, _and_ to emphasise that all is under control - the ring leaders are to be "arrested", before being paid off and released a days later for their troubles. The IGC will ask about the League, their whereabouts, and you will assure them of their safety, that they are secure, and are on their way to Gol - Ireo and his team have already prepped convincing communication logs that have records of the sign-in thumbprint identification of each League member at the correct departure time, and coordinates of the Ttrewure, military aircraft, leaving Xan, and heading to Gol. Of course, the League are to remain on Xan, in Feuwity, until we have extracted and drained them of the source of their powers, especially that of the Superman. Once completed, we will compile the extracted material to merge into all our genetic programs, and finalise completion of the entire nuclear armory, part of which will be sent to Gol, and in the end, strengthening both Xanderian and Ghusalem technologies, making us _**virtually indestructible**."_

The group looked at each other, smiling at the thought of brimming with all those powers inside them.

"Whilst the extraction is ongoing, our contacts over at Elima, including Pertre and Taenolot and those stationed across the ISSA bridge's border patrols, will be notified: they are to refuse all access to the bridge, keep the IGC on lock down, and take the Council hostage. Xanderian and Ghusalem military commanders: Checkov, Junio, and the rest, will come together and head for Elima. At the IGC, they will give the Council the option of stepping down quietly from their positions, but not before recognising the coup as legitimate. Remember, bloodshed must be avoided at all costs with regards to the Council, in order that the rest of the realm acknowledge the coup as new government - everyone else is of no concern. The Elders and entire ream must be made to understand that the people are _dissatisfied_ by years of IGC ruling, as evidenced by previous demonstrations, and the riots. If the Elders refuse, then we are to remind them of the nuclear weaponry, material, and now with the League's help, modified technologies we have at our disposal, the support of our armies in this endeavor, and that we will _**not**_ hesitate to punish the peoples severely, should they fail to comply with our orders. The Elders will most certainly obey; the death of millions is _not_ something they want on their hands. Once they step down, the elders are to be imprisoned, and a trial "staged", accusing them of war crimes. In any event, they will be disposed of, quietly and permanently."

The room was silent. Treason, murder, military coup - all had prepared long in advance for this, and now, their time had finally come. Unlimited power, wealth, and status, and best of all, no more IGC. They were more than ready.

Junio nodded, satisfied.

Thrempre looked around the room, smirking. "Questions?"

Silence.

Then it began.

"The League are a formidable group, especially that "Superman". How can we ensure they enter the Ju'njug'o, instead of wanting to help our units gain control of the riots?" Checkov would not stand for "surprises".

Buri, head of the special forces unit under Thrempre, looked at the group as he spoke, arms crossed.

"For the most part, sir, the violence will be around them _and_ directed towards them - all the hatred, vitriol, anger - people will try to attack them, in huge numbers. They are super-powered, yes, but it will be rapidly clear to them and security units that their presence is distressing, if not fuelling the anger of the people, and along with security's insistence that they need to leave, to guarantee theirs and the people's safety, the League will be pressed to obey all orders, and leave the area via the Ju'unjug'o. The concern emphasised will be all about safety, and the League, who so far do _not_ wish to upset the IGC further, will comply with our requests. As for trying to help our police forces? They will not, rest assured. Their intervention caused much damage the last time they were here, and under the weight of the IGC's penalty, they will be in no rush to intervene again, at the risk of lives and the ire of the Elders."

"And if they refuse to comply?" Mehibosh spoke now, and his tone sounded a little skeptical.

"Then we have our own methods and resources that will "encourage" them to obey.

The room murmured in agreement. The League would comply.

Buri waited for the group to quieten before speaking again.

"I imagine you are concerned about the Superman, since he is the most able of the group. Well, since his arrival, we have been deliberately exposing him to atmospheres that cause him to be _slightly_ more sluggish, and the long hours, along with only minimum breaks, could easily confuse the man to put it all down to tiredness and a lack of proper rest. Our engineers at Feuwity created and put to test a number of elements with qualities such as a gradual onset and offset action, ones that were colourless, odourless, that left no residue on the skin. Combining these materials with red kryptonite, which we managed to locate from one of our Earthly contacts, as part of the research we conducted into each member when the Lanterns first suggested their help to us."

"The Red kyrptonite is a material that apparent gives the man mood changes, and incorporating it with our own gases, we specifically engineered a gas named Eshtret, virtually undetectable to the senses, and to the League's technology. So, if you put it altogether: whenever the Superman leaves for work, he will _enter_ his construction site for the day (sites we have already predetermined him to be working well in advance, remember), and he'll consequently enter an environment which would have already contained Eshtret, released into the air noiselessly via small canisters in and around the site. The gradual onset properties of Eshtret means that as the Superman works, gradually, he'll begin to feel tired, but only a little, and he'll put down the feeling as fatigue from work, a natural conclusion. However, when Superman leaves work at the end of each day, he is obviously leaving behind the poisoned atmosphere. Coupled the Eshtret's gradual offset reaction, as the Superman travels home, psychologically, his moods will start to lift, a normal reaction when one leaves the workplace, and for the rest of the time, the gas will gradually leave his system and he will begin to feel better, just a little bit, but still tired from the workload, since he is constantly working. Also factor in his timetables: he is often away from the rest of is group, and the loneliness is another push towards him feeling as the way he does, _instead_ of him suspecting something more sinister."

"And how about that "Batman", or whatever nonsense they call him? They looked to him as the most knowledgeable and resourceful the last time they were here, especially with his "gadgets". Surely he would have detected something doing on?" Lierna spat.

"No, he wouldn't. Firstly, we have made it so that practically all the League's timetables differ from one another, and Superman is isolated from the rest due to longer working hours, so he will barely his colleague. Secondly, the technology that the Bat uses -child's play mind you- can in no way compare to ours, which is far more advanced. He will therefore be unable to detect anything with whatever toy he has on his person. Thirdly, _even if_ the Superman happens to mention how he feels in passing to the man, as rational as he appears to be, the man will calculate Superman's shift patterns, rest periods, and the job itself, and put it all down to tiredness. Furthermore, the fact that all of the Superman's other faculties - heat vision, etc remain unaffected, as well as the shift patterns on the other super-powered members - leaving them also tired-, will help direct the Batman into concluding that the most logical explanation for the issue, is therefore, _tiredness, secondary to stressful, manual labour._ He has no other basis or proof of anything more sinister at hand. In fact, the Bat will be the easiest to dispose of, being the only non-powered member of the group. Do _not_ focus on him."

The group nodded.

Buri continued. "On Saturday itself, Superman will be exposed to much higher levels of Eshkret gradually during the day, so that by the time the riot takes stage, he will be severely weakened, and when our security teams and the Ju'jug'o collect him, he will practically be unconscious, proving very little resistance to his capture."

Murmurs again, but the room was satisfied.

"And how about the Wonder Woman? Is she not comparably as strong as the Superman?" Junio asked.

"She is, but the Superman is the greater threat as he is far more equipped, and useful for our purposes, and so we have opted to neutralise him gradually. If we were to do the same to Wonder Woman, then the group would be instantly on high alert, suspicious that two of their members report feeling unusual. In any case, it is better that we use the guise of the riots as to why they must be taken to a place of safety - remember once each member is in their Ju'jug'o, they will be neutralised instantly - each vehicle has been specifically designed to capture and render them greatly weakened." Buri replied.

"How about their communicators?" I believe Red mentioned they had modified their communicators as to allow them to translate our languages without the aid of a physical translator-"

Thempro cut in. "Simple enough. So far, we have allowed them to communicate through those devices as they wish, though apparently when at work, they do not speak to each other out of respect of focusing the job at head. On the Saturday late afternoon, all communications will be mildly interrupted via the use of interfering radio waves - the League will ask about the interference, of course, and we will apologise, before "sending" engineers to locate the source of the disturbance and fixing the problem. However, when the mob enters the city, communications will be severely interrupted, and when the riot actually starts, a block will be placed, and all communications ceased from that point. It is a gradual, step by step process - going straight for a complete block will raise suspicions and hinder our efforts. The "mild interruption to our signals" is a good excuse, since we _have_ been having such interruptions, even in other areas."

The group sounded skeptical, but it was the best they could do apart from forcefully removing the communicators and drawing attention.

"Anything else?" Thrempre asked.

"The League - when we've finished extracting their powers, what do we do with them?"

"Dispose of them." Checkov spoke without hesitation. It was a silly question, after all.

"Once we force the IGC to step down-" Junio began.

Checkov gritted his teeth. They'd been working on this for months, years even, and _now_ he had questions? He gritted his teeth. Junio would need to be taken care of. He would prove to be an obstacle, Checkov was sure of it.

"We are to receive our orders only when that point has been reached. Rest assured, comrades, we will _all benefit_ from this. Years in the making - and nothing will stand in our way." Checkov looked fiercely at the room, and was gladdened to see his colleagues looking back with the same intensity, also determined.

"I have two issues I'd like to take care of, if you don't mind." Checkov spoke again, puffing on his romolo. The group looked at him, expectantly.

"Yena an-"

The members groaned slightly. "Checkov, the man is a non-issue, minor compared to what is at stak-"

"Minor or not, he is a nuisance, and nuisances, when left to rot, become weeds, and weeds to thorns, and thorns a detriment and a hindrance to our progress! He _must_ be taken care of, quickly. I cannot and will not allow this fool to _ruin_ what we have worked so hard for!" Checkov roared, and the group fell silent.

After a while, Lierna piped up, bravely. "What do you suggest, sir?"

Checkov looked at her, jaw set. "He has returned to Elek already, and will present to the IGC tomorrow morning. I planned on having him disposed tonight, but things have changed somewhat. With what I've learned, he will most likely meet Red tomorrow, as his calendar is a little free in the late afternoon. _Not_ meeting Red may result in the man making inquiries as to his whereabouts; according to a source - a rather _stubborn_ one who needed reminding of just who pays his bills-, the two met near the Evfanketen bridge sometime last week, and thus a check-in is due. _Yet_ my men denied knowledge of such an occurrence; apparently Yena had stayed at work until late, and on the way to Prepo, the human made a brief stop in town for some food. Absolutely useless, those men. So-" Checkov inhaled the cigar smoke deeply, flaring his nostrils, before continuing.

"Red is either a nonentity, or, if he were properly swayed, a useful asset, particularly with regards to his skillset, which could come in useful during the League's extraction process at Feuwity, and his planetary travels as a mere human - he would make a fine spy on our behalf. I believe he should meet Yena sometime tomorrow, discussing what else he has learned. Later that evening, Yena will be up for removal - doing so any earlier would make Red suspicious. That Saturday evening, as Thrempre already stated, Red is to be rounded up with the rest of the League and taken to Feuwity. There, I shall have a little "chat" with him, to ascertain his future plans and offer him a chance of working in Xan along with a few "incentives", though I will not mention anything to do with _our_ plans, coup especially. I believe our talk will prove mutually beneficial, but if not, and Red refuses, then he will die, on the spot."

Thrempre spoke now. "As long as it makes you happy, Checkov."

The group laughed at that, and even Checkov had to smile. He would be getting rid of that annoying Yena, something he'd wanted for a quite a while now. He'd learned much about this "Red" from the dossier compiled on him, and it would be a pity to have to kill such a useful man.

The room felt a little lighter.

"Good." Checkov drew up to his full height now, putting out his cigar in a cup nearby. "I believe we are all on the same page, correct?"

Nods all round.

"Excellent. We are all aware of the plan, and things are progressing well. I do not expect to hear from any of you only to receive periodic updates from Thrempre and Buri here as to how Saturday is progressing, and until we've all received the three alerts - then we will make our way to Elima. Until then, there is to be **no** communication between any of us, except if urgent and/or unavoidable. Agreed?"

"Agreed!" The room chorused.

Checkov nodded, touching his hat, took his leave. Things _would_ go as planed.

 

 

Friday, two twenty-two pm.

Jason sipped his capeta as he waited for Yena to arrive. They were in a private office somewhere East of the city; the location confirmed by Jason's security tag. Apparently Yena's meeting at the IGC had started a little later than planned, but Jason didn't mind. Tomorrow was the League's last shift here on Xan, and they'd all be having Sunday afternoon off, before travelling to Gol, in preparation of starting work the following Monday. Jason cast his mind back over the last two weeks. He shook his head; only two weeks but it had felt like _ages_. One day is one week out here, he'd reminded himself frequently, and if he counted that Monday as their first day, and tomorrow, then that meant they'd all been here for over three months. Since the League's entire stay was to be no more than three Earth weeks, or just over five months, then they were close to finishing, with a little more than one earth week, or around a month's work left to do. The relief was palatable, and Jason knew that the League were relieved that the end was finally near. He was surprised to have found Diana and Shayera in the same room, late one evening. Both had looked at him, at his arrival, Diana smiling, Shayera nodding a hello, before turning their attention back to the large television screen. Neither seemed to be talking to each other, but both were in the same space, co-existing, and Jason called that progress. Shayera hadn't said much to him, but she'd dipped her head slightly, giving him a knowing _look_ , and Jason had taken his leave then, satisfied that the two women would sort themselves out in due season.

And now the end was almost upon them. They only had around three days of work to be done, apparently, or at least, that was what Urbyre, head coordinator for the reconstruction work in Gol, had mentioned, before it was _all_ over. Jason yawned and checked his apiliwe again.

"Red! It is good to see you again." Yena greeted Jason warmly, and shaking hands, they sat down. Jason pushed another cup of capeta to Yena who took the drink, gratefully.

"Meeting go well?"

"Well enough, just the usual: using big words to say little and taking up far too much time." Yena chuckled. "Now, how are things?"

"Funny you should say that," Jason took a sip before continuing "because it was just Tuesday gone that I had a little one to one with none other than Honorable Semeticai'a', in the flesh."

Yena raised his eyebrows, smiling. "Really? And if I may ask, what did you discuss?"

Jason smirked a little. "Pretty much everything, Yena. She was aware of our meeting last week; how she knew, don't ask me, but she seems to share your suspicions, and actually asked me to work with you in finding out what exactly is going on. She's of the opinion that there is a conspiracy, likely among top ranking officials in the military, and maybe the IGC itself, involved."

He paused here, thinking, before carrying on. "Semeticai'a' talked about power the IGC welds - or at least, what people _perceive_ they have, and if where talking about a conspiracy involving members of the military, then we're looking at possible coup. Similar to you, she feels unable to trust anyone around her, nor does she want to meet either of us for the fear of being caught and the repercussions of "collusion". 

Yena nodded. It made sense. "Does she have any idea as to who might be involved?"

"Actually, she said that _you_ would have a better idea, since you're military, and I agree. There's not much she can do as an Elder on the Council - all eyes will be on her, and any wrong move can raise a whole lot of suspicion, and might tip off those involved. But, she was persistent that I work with you - she spoke of you highly, and feels that together, we can get the job done. Semeticai'a' also promised the means and access to resources should we require it. We agreed for the details to remain between all three of us, since we have nothing that counts as proof."

Yena said nothing for a few minutes, seemingly lost in thought. Eventually he spoke.

"Honorable Semeticai'a' is a good woman. For as long as I've known her, her reputation is that of a fair and kind woman, always striving for peace, and never one to shy away from the truth, despite resistance, threats even. Time is not on our side - your last day here on Xan is this Sunday, before you spend the remainder of your time in our realm on Gol the following week. Therefore, anything that is already in the works will likely take place during this time period. A coup is a very likely outcome as you say-"

"A coup interested in the IGC, possibly overthrowing them?" Jason suggested.

"Yes, that is the only thing that comes to mind for now. The perception of the IGC lends much support to such a theory, and the likelihood of military and government plants is another supportive factor."

"Which means, of course, that some, if not all of your superiors -those at the very top, not the middle men- are likely aware of what is going on. Who do you know that reports directly to the Council, or sits in with them on highly classified meetings....people who have the power to grant you security clearance from level to level?"

The realisation dawned on Yena.

"There are...many, Red, in all different branches. Top officials like Commander General Checkov in the military, those in private security like Commander Thrempre, but in the government? It could be anyone! We all know Taenolot took a real dislike to you; why, I'm not exactly sure. Pertre is another that springs to mind; I've never liked that weasel, but I've not seen him do anything out of the ordinary per se, and, personal opinion aside, the man is hard-working and does his job well, so why he'd want to _risk_ it all for something like this is another mystery. There-There's too many for me to name, and that is only on Xan. Gol is a whole other factor to think about - they initiated the attack, and I am not high enough in the ranks to associate with them, even on a professional basis."

Jason stood, walking around the room. "The group involved would be a small, select group of _very_ highly ranked officials. There might be a few whom you may have never even met before, those who work behind the scenes, rarely seen." He ran a hand through his hair before turning to Yena. "Is there anyway you can compile a list of people who might fit this category?"

Yena shook his head - he too was thinking, scrambling. "You must understand, Red - without security clearance, one has little to no chance of moving in higher circles. At the moment, all I know is Checkov, possibly Thrempre-"

"add Taenolot as another suspect."

"Taenolot then." Yena sighed. He was disappointed in himself. "I'm sorry, Red. I can't provide you with much more than that."

"Luckily, you won't have to. If elder Semeticai'a' is willing to come through for us by getting us the clearance and access we need, then we can narrow the list to the most likely suspects, their movements over this past week, and from that, deduce what they may have in the works."

Jason was already jotting down a few notes, and Yena himself was now up, rapidly scrolling through his apiliwe.

"I'll see if I can arrange a meeting with her through her secretary - I'm sure Semeticai'a' will appreciate the urgency of this matter."

"Great. Get back to me and let me know what she says, and if she does agree, how soon can we have access."

"Will do. Hopefully I'll have something by tonight, or tomorrow at the very latest, though its a real push for time."

"As long as you get something, then we'll just have to make the time work for us." 

The two men gathered their things now, determined. They needed that access - without it, both knew they had nothing.

"Until next time."

 

 

Friday evening, eleven thirty pm.

Yena pulled up in his driveway, parking the Timuelan. His wife, Hele, was probably in bed now, most likely with Kaprech, their five year old son. Yena knew he would need to tug the sheets away from his little one, whom he was sure was in _their_ bed, deliberately taking up all the space. He smiled at the thought, before making his way inside, quietly.

Shutting the door, he dropped his bag in the hallway, eased out of his jacket, and made his way to the cobore.

Entering the kitchen, he came face to face with General Checkov, who sat contentedly at the counter, a pistol pointed in his direction.

"General?" Yena gasped out, his heart already beating into his chest. The gun set alarm bells ringing, and as the clock ticked away, he felt like his ears would burst with the pressure.

"Yena, how good of you to finally make it. Please-" Checkov waved his hand lazily in his direction before continuing "-no funny business."

"I don't unders-"

"I'm sure you very well _do_ Yena. After all, all those little meetings and snooping, asking questions that were of no concern to you - and you thought all was well, hmm?" Checkov let his hand rest slightly on the pistol, and Yena froze where he stood. Hele. Kaprech. He wanted to reach them, desperately, and Checkov knew it.

"No, no, not just yet, my friend." Checkov tutted as two soldiers, Sicai'ari - Xanderian special forces, Yena would know that uniform anywhere- appeared instantly out of the darkness, motionless, rifles pointed straight at him.

"You've been a nuisance, Yena, and I'm afraid I cannot allow you or your little friend to continue. So-" Checkov straightened up now, looking at Yena in the eye. The man was shaking, already going down on his knees, pleading for the lives of his pathetic wife and even more useless child. Pitiful, Checkov thought.

"Begging won't do you any good this time. Your task is simple - you are to go upstairs now to that aged rat you call a wife, and make up any sort of credible excuse as to why you will be absent for a few days - your help as been requested on an urgent mission, General Checkov has asked that you be deployed to Demish, -any number of reasons, you're well versed in lying to people."

"Please, sir, I beg yo-"

_**THWACK.** _

Without warning, one of the men had used the butt of their rifles to strike a damning blow across Yena's head. Yena fell forward, head hitting the floor, dazed. He reached up to touch the back of his head, shakily, breathing heavily, and felt the warm ooze trickle down his neck. Already, his vision was blurry and he felt sick.

"Pay attention, Yena. I will not repeat myself. As I was saying, you will give your wife a credible excuse as to why you will _not_ be around for the next few days, a relatively normal occurrence since you are a military man. You will be allowed to go upstairs alone - myself and my men will wait for you down here. But, before you go, let me give you a little bit of advice."

Checkov lifted Yena by the hair, delighting in the yelp that emitted from the man.

"Choose your words _very_ carefully. If there is so much of a _hint_ of any cry for help, a distress signal, a "code" that you two have come up with, or even a hidden message, rest assured, we _will_ know, and, my dear Yena, you will pay dearly as a result. Now-" Checkov patted Yena's cheek gently before letting him go, watching the man slump to the ground. "-of you go, now. Don't delay, there's much to be done."

Checkov sat back down and the Sicai'ari merged back into the shadows, watching as Yena painfully staggered up the stairs, heading to the first floor, where his family slept.

Yena stumbled a little, holding onto the banisters. Focus, he told himself, but the pain made his head want to burst. At last, he reached his bedroom, and, making sure his face was wiped clear of tears, smoothing his hair, Yena entered his bedroom. There she was, his beautiful Hele, and their precious Kaprech, snuggled in closely together, seemingly lost to the world. Yena stood looking at them, savouring the sight. He didn't know whether he'd be able to enjoy such a moment ever again. He went over to his boy, firstly, marveling at his features, running a hand through his hair, kissing his check. At last, he made his way to his wife's side, kissing her forehead gently.

"Hele."

His wife murmured inaudibly and Yena, despite the circumstances, smiled to himself. Hele tended to speak gibberish in her sleep. He tried again, with a little more force in his voice.

" _ **Hele**_ ** **."****

********

********

After a little groan, Hele's eyes fluttered awake, smiling as she recognised the face of her dear husband.

"Yena, my love, welcome home." Her smile grew, and Yena's heart stuttered to a stop as she reached over with one hand and caressed his check, lightly.

He opened his mouth to speak but found that he couldn't, for a few seconds. His eyes filled with tears and Yena used the pretense of a yawn, discretely wiping his eyes, to wipe them away.

"My dear, Yena'at, you look tired. Come, rest with me." Hele sat up a little now and looked at him, gazing in that lovely, soulful way she always did, before kissing him delicately on the nose. It was a teasing gesture, one that had always led to something _more_ and Yena was close to breaking down. That he might never have any of this again was enough to drive him insane with grief.

"Yena-?"

Yena opened his mouth now, ready to tell her something, anything that would give a hint as to his predicament - he'd taught her certain code words early on in their marriage, and she'd learnt it eagerly, proud to be a military wife. God, how he _wished_ he'd never left his job as a medical doctor, uprooting his family into this mess. He was about to give a codeword when out of the corner of his eye, a little red dot appeared, right on the forehead of his little Kaprech.

And for a few moments, Yena swore time had grounded to a complete standstill.

A sniper rifle was pointed directly onto his little boy, the one they'd wept and struggled for, for _so_ long, and if Yena wasn't careful, they would lose him right now.

"Yena, please, you're scaring me." Hele held his face now, eyes wide, mouth pulled to the side. She was worried, but Yena knew he had to keep all her attention on him. Hele could _not_ be allowed to see the madness beside her.

Yena faked another yawn, and a little smile just for his wife. "I'm sorry, Hele. It's just been along day, and I can't tell you how much I love seeing your faces." He kept his voice low, warm, in the way that he knew soothed Hele, and it worked like a charm. Hele sat back not, relaxed, and Yena could practically feel the anxiety dissipating from the room.

"I can only imagine." Hele smiled at him as she took his hand, giving a little squeeze. He squeezed back in return, gazing at his beautiful one, struggling to memorise her face through the haze and panic of his mind.

"Hele, I've been called away-"

"Again? But Yena, you've only just arrived!" Hele's tone grew a little loud, and Yena took a hand to the side of her face, stroking it gently, willing her to lower her voice just a little. Hele, instead, let her face fully rest in his palm, pouting a little, and Yena chuckled softly at the sight.

"I know, Hele. I've been asked to lend a bit of expertise for an urgent matter over at Demish. It should only take a few days, not too long."

Hele pouted even more. Yena knew he would miss this woman, and the thought made him bitter with despair.

"I promise you, on my return, we'll take a nice long break. Anywhere you want, we'll go. Just you, me, and this little one." They both turned to Kaprech, whose little snores caused them both to smile as he remained lost to the world. The red dot had suspiciously gone, and Yena took the opportunity to smooth his boy's hair, touching the round cheeks. Would he be around to see this young one grow into a man, a father, someday? Yena couldn't bear to finish the thought, and he shut it down.

Hele crossed her arms now, still unconvinced. Yena smiled a little and moved forwards to kiss her fully. They remained like that for a little while before breaking apart.

"I promise, Hele. A break, just the three of us. No apiliwe, no updates, no interruptions - just food, warmth, rest, - our family. I know you don't like it, but please, Hele, try to understand. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your cooperation over the years; I don't deserve it, I know, but-"

"Go, Yena." Hele was looking at him, full of love, and Yena knew she'd understood. Praising her tended to sway her like that. He kissed her hand, once, twice, then a flurry of kisses, much to Hele's delight, and she laughed quietly.

"I have to go now. But, as I said - only for a few days, and then we go on holiday. Deal?" Yena held out a little finger, the same way he would do with Kaprech, when his boy wanted to make a promise.

"Deal." Hele's smile grew at the gesture, and she linked her own little finger with her husband's. A promise.

They laughed again, softly, before Yena stood up. "Back to bed, my love."

Hele complied, eyes already closing as she moved back to lying in the bed, snuggling closer to her son. Yena tucked her in, and used the opportunity once more to kiss his wife and his little boy goodnight, possibly for the last time.

Yena moved to the foot of the bed, taking in the sight before him, counting the slow breaths his wife took, and the little faster ones Kaprech made in an effort to keep up. His eyes glazed over as he noted the contours of their position, Kaprech tucked in warmly besides his mother's chest, Hele's chin brushing the top of his hair. It was a lovely sight, and one that Yena knew he'd treasure forever.

Making his way out of the room, Yena closed the door quietly, stopping to quieten his wet, shaky breaths, before heading towards the death that awaited him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apilio = Xanderian bluetooth device, can make/receive calls and messages  
> apiliwe = interactive tablet  
> berk'a = beer  
> Ireo = director of Xanderian air space, chapter 13


	19. Too good to be true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The League are captured; Jason is made a tempting offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I've taken out Checkov knowing Jason's real name.

Jason opened his eyes wearily.

"Urggh" he groaned to himself; the lights were too damn bright, and his head began to pound.

Wait, what?

The shock suddenly jolted Jason awake and he sat up swiftly, alert now. He felt something tight around his wrists and on looking down, found himself bound at his wrists and ankles. Gritting his teeth, Jason looked at his surroundings: he was in a box of some sort, white all round, sitting on a bed, and for a moment, he thought one of his worst nightmares had come true: that he'd been carted off to an asylum, like Arkham. But this place was far too clean for that filthy shit-hole. Apart from a bed, and a little corner unit presumably for WC facilities, the room was empty, and perhaps most disturbing of all: there didn't appear to be any visible opening pertaining to a door. It was just one solid, continuous white space, and it set Jason on edge.

What the actual fuck had happened?

Jason tried to reach out for the League.

" _Wonder Woman? Manhunter? Come in, do you read me?_ "

Jason called out, repeatedly, but all he was met with was silence. He tried to contact J'onn but his head hurt too much, and after a few attempts, gave up momentarily. Jason closed his eyes and tried to recall his past events. His mind was fuzzy, all over the place, but Jason managed to grab a few snippets - heading off to meetings here and there, feeling at last, relieved that today was their _last_ day before heading off to Gol for the final chapter of work, shriomupkel for lunch; he'd miss that, more meetings, then-hand on a second - fear. Jason was stumped for a moment - why was he afraid, what made him-

Oh.

Jason swore aloud, wincing almost instantly at the throbbing his headache lobbied in return. He fought past the pain, and held his breath a number of times, breathing techniques that helped use pain to focus on the task at hand. Jason cast his mind back to th-ah.

The riots.

 _That_ had taken him by surprise. Jason had been so focused on figuring out what these conspirators had in mind, how they would take power, that he'd overlooked an important element - the demonstrations. One thing a coup relied on, whether acknowledged or otherwise, was the people. Even with all the military support in the world, it was the people that could make or break a successful coup, and Jason berated himself for overlooking such a crucial fact. Yena hadn't made contact - he'd asked someone, and it turned out that Fridays were apparently busy days in the military. Having no way to contact Yena, Jason hoped that the Xanderian would reach out soon. It didn't help that he had been in meetings all day either, in rooms where it was difficult to tell what was going on outside - soundproof and all, where it made it tricky to determine whether outside would still be bright upon leaving. Jason had been so caught up in trying to focus in these meetings, to make sure nothing had been missed out, that the reconstruction work for Xan was now fully complete subject to their contracts, with no little hidden extras, being shuffled here, and ushered there, and given contracts, paperwork, timetables to review, construction plans to look over and assess - trying so damn hard to do his _job_. that what came next blindsided him. Jason was angry, but in particular, disappointed with himself. As the Red Hood, as a Ghost, it was easy to focus solely on the mission, forgetting that there's a whole world around you . Practically rule 101, and Jason had missed the mark.

Jason remembered the scene now. Shouting. Alerts, "safety concerns" - it was all so _genuine_ , the way he and other dignitaries had made they way to the ground floor, bidding each other farewells, ready to go home, when a whole host of security came at them, telling them to stay back. Jason and the other officials could only observe from inside as a _mass_ of hundreds, if not more, stood screaming, hurling objects, motherfucking fireballs all at them. Jason had rapidly started to take stock of the situation, complementary of all his training - trying to find the exits, calculating the risk of those demonstrating breaking through and attacking them - the gates were already beginning to give way from the pressure of the crowds, who were stationed around the entire building - ground floor exits were thus a no-go. Jason had tried his communicator constantly, fervently, trying to get across to someone, but none answered. Even as he looked towards the security units, who had formed a semi-circle around them, trying to protect them - as he watched them struggle to make contact through their communicators - it dawned on Jason - communications were down, and if help didn't come fast, then they were toast. He switched to shouting Superman's name as loudly as he could, but the thunderous noise of the atmosphere engulfing him proved so intense, he could barely hear his _own_ voice. After receiving no response, Jason tried reaching Manhunter telepathically - he pushed, and concentrated, and closed his eyes, hard, but no matter how much he tried, he just couldn't connect with J'onn. Jason was about to reach into his ear in hopes of getting across to Batman when he paused, remembering that he was no longer a Bat, and had given up everything, equipment included, when he'd left Gotham for good.

Shit.

"Sirs! This way, please!" One of the security units spoke to all of them, trying to maintaining a facade of calm, but his voice betrayed his fear.

"Keep moving, quickly!"

"Follow the front, do not look back, and do not stop!"

A whole host of orders were being given, and Jason found himself and the others shepherded to the upper floors, running now, following a few of the men in front who raised flares of light in one arm to guide the officials in the darkness. To their left and right, security units ran alongside, guarding against incoming attacks. As they ran, Jason could hear the glass shattering on the ground floor, and the shouts of thousands flooded through the building - the people were inside now, and the intensity of the anger was palpable. Jason had no option but to continue moving - even if he wanted out, he was surrounded by armed guards, who were trying to do their jobs in the midst of chaos. Furthermore, even as they moved, the voices of the people never dimmed - they were being followed throughout, and so going back down again would be similar to a lamb being led to slaughter. Finally, the large group reached the roof, and Jason was relieved to find more armed security, in slightly different uniform - specialised reinforces, Jason deduced, along with thirty or so waiting Timuelan, doors already open. Jason looked above him to find Xanderian police force units, bright red, rushing across the city, presumably called in to restore order and take hold of the riots. It was dark, but the men held lights on their person, helping to guide the officials quickly into Timuelan in various directions, one or twos to each; Jason was unable to count much before he himself was ushered into a vehicle. Unaware to him, the men on the roof had received their orders to usher the human, most noticeable out of all, into a separate Timuelan, the one right in the middle, in order that the large specialised Timuelan, the Ju'njug'o, would blend in the darkness and also between the two Timuelan on either side.

Jason found himself entering a vehicle, and as he fully entered, about to sit- he recoiled. This wasn't an ordinary Timeulan, not even the fancy ones reserved for IGC dignitaries. The windows were completely black, and inside was lacked the warmth and comfortable interior Jason had gotten used to - something was _very_ wrong, his gut instinct practically screamed at him to get out, heart beating fast, and Jason turned, but the door was already locked. Time seemed to slow down to a painful crawl; he found his movements slowing down instantly, becoming horribly sluggish, and even as he lurched forward, desperate to reach the handles, his vision swam and his head felt heavy as it lolled to the side. Jason slumped unconscious, much to the satisfaction of the armed security personnel who'd been watching him from outside the locked vehicle. Upon seeing Jason's prone form, and counting the slow rise of his chest - unconscious - the Xanderian spoke into his communicator, nodding at the rest of the men who were with him, before sending an alert on his apiliwe to his superiors. The other men ushered the remainder of the dignitaries into the Timuelan before sending them off to safety in different directions, and, making they way to the roof entry access, lit a small fuse and threw it down the stairwell, locking the door behind them. The men made their way off the roof, into their cloaked Timeulan, backs turned, as the anguished screams of those in the stairwells filled the air.

Due to his unconsciousness, Jason had no idea how long it had taken to get here, and now, as he sat, he had a nagging feeling _this_ place was the laboratory Yena was talking about. Speaking of Yena - where the hell was he? Jason tried to keep focus - he noted that he'd been left untouched, shirt and trousers still on, but everything else - watch, communicator, apiliwe - everything on his person had been removed. He looked round his cell now, desperate to note the facts - a little camera in the corner; he hadn't seen that before, but found himself drifting asleep again. In an effort to shake the sleep off, Jason, after a number of attempts that chafed at his skin, finally managed to stand up, though his movements were severely restricted due to the heavy locks at his ankles. He took tiny steps forward, but the solid whiteness of the room, encompassing the entire cell, along with the lack of breaks and openings, made it hands hands down impossible to tell where one wall started and the other began. Even the floor was merged with the wall, and Jason found himself clinging to the sides in disorientation, much like that movie he'd seen with Tim, Inception or something like that.

 

 

"Wake up, kryptonian filth!"

A voice hissed, and for a moment, Clark was seared awake in agony as ten thousands volts of electricity prodded him in his stomach. He let loose a guttural scream, curling in on himself. Beads of sweat appeared at his temples as Clark squeezed his eyes shut against the bright lights, mind struggling to comprehend what had happened. He gasped, taking in a deep breath, but that did nothing to quench the fire that had now spread to his back, seizing his muscles, stripping the fibres one by one. He tried desperately to recall what had happened, but everything was too fragmented -a slow, heavy sort of feeling, screams, being ushered into a Timuelan and then....nothing, but now this awful, never ending pain that made moving akin to torture.

Was this what death felt like? Clark wondered through the haziness of his mind, and the thought frightened him to his bones. He'd never, _ever_ felt like this.

He opened his eyes, blinking as tears streamed down his face, to meet the cold, soulless eyes of what looked like a scientist, glaring right back at him.

"Twelve thirty eight am. Specimen SA-01 is awake, and nerve responses to "light" touch are intact. Reading for preparation."

Clark continued staring at her, and missed the heavy boot of a man to his side, the blow resounding across the space. His ears rang nosily, and Clark could taste something metallic in his mouth, warm and thick - blood. He went from alarm, to fear, and now terrified - whatever these people had done to him, was enough that he was now "reduced" to human. He struggled, blindly lurching out, but the effort was in vain - Clark, in his confused state, had failed to notice the heavy golden chains binding his wrists and feet together. He looked down now, and tried with all his meet to break them apart, calling on all his senses, his super-strength, but nothing came, and he flopped back, exhausted by the effort. He was still in his suit, and the thought alarmed him. Whatever they were going to do, they wanted it known that they were doing it to him, _the_ Superman, unstoppable, invincible - his identity, and the realisation caught his breath in his throat.

A voice suddenly appeared in by his right ear and Clark shrank back, the sound gripping him with fright.

"I wouldn't do that again if I were you."

Cold, _cold_ voice, mocking, yet light, as if this was all just another ordinary day. Clark looked from his curled position to the owner of the face - the long coat made it difficult to tell if it was a woman or man, but the individual suddenly did it all for him - pulling her mask down, Clark could see the red tinge of her lips. He swallowed. Clark tried to focus, to feel whether his communicator was still in place - it was, or whether he could reach J'onn - he couldn't.

"Those chains," the woman spoke, snake tongue glistening over her lips "cannot be broken. They are bands of energy that have been specifically designed _just_ for you. Not by mere strength, not any of your extraordinary talents - in fact, it feeds on your distress, your fear, and most importantly of all, your resistance. The more you try to resist, struggle, escape, the more drained it will leave you, until you eventually collapse, unconscious. So, if I were you, I'd want to stay awake and see what _exactly_ we have for you, and what I, especially, will do to you." The woman smiled now, crouching so that she was at eye level with him.

"A kryptonian, right here in our midst, so full of promise." she breathed, voice filled with awe. "We had to do a little research on your League, but you, and your "kind" are quite....wonderful to behold, especially in the flesh." The woman raked her eyes appreciatively over Clark, and her thin, scorpion like hands drifted lightly over his torso. Clark backed away from her, not wanting her anywhere near him, and his response made the woman laugh.

"Don't worry, my dear." she moved closer still, so close that her breath lifted the fine hairs at his temples, enough that he could count the fine green scales of her skin."By the time we're through with you..." the woman placed herself so that her lips lightly brushed over Clark's own, and he wanted to vomit, "you'll be begging to lay with me instead." The whites of her eyes turned black, as did all her scales, and Clark couldn't help but feel a primal fear shiver through his bones."And another thing, dearest - we've left you little toy piece in you're ear, but its not what you think." She yanked Clark upwards to meet her by his hair, and Clark felt a fresh wave of tears cascade over his cheeks. "You won't be able to communicate with _any_ of your little friends, oh no - you won't be able to hear them, but they'll hear you, and more importantly, they'll hear you _scream_. You will weep, out of pure agony, complete anguish - you will see things that are too dark to describe, sights that are so wonderful they are cruel - non stop, till we have everything we want, all that is useful - and your team mates, the ones that look to you as "leader" will have no choice but to listen. And watch too, if I want a little entertainment. They will shout in fury, driven mad by your suffering, but-listen, listen to this: you will not hear them. In fact, we shall make you stay here with us so...eventful, that by the end, you will have forgotten all about them, and believe that you are all alone, and that you are nothing, that all you have and will _ever_ have is nothing, and when we're finished with you-" she looked at him with a mixture of disgust and contempt -"then, and only then, will you be ready for disposal. Don't worry, none of this will take long, but to you? It will feel like _eternity_."

Clark couldn't breathe. He was panicking, heart racing - he desperately tried to recall the training and breathing techniques Bruce had taught him, but he was too far beyond that.

"Now-" the woman suddenly straightened, smoothing her jacket, before beckoning something, someone over with a wave. Out of nowhere, another four Xanderians, also in white coats, emerged from the walls and advanced towards him. Just like their leader, they wore white masks and googles, and paid no notice to his distress. Despite his entrapment, and the woman's advice, Clark struggled, heaved, fought, even clawed, but it was no use, the chains were unmovable, and the more he resisted, the more sluggish he became. The hands grabbed at him, lifting him off the ground. Clark tried to scream, he really did, but his voice sounded hollow to his ears, and everything seemed to be fading away. Even as his vision drifted into unconsciousness, Clark felt himself being laid on a gurney, and bound at the waist with a searing band of energy, the groin, twisting painfully at his hands and ankles, separating each digit so that they were individually bound, and a large, steel disc, a gag, was shoved into his mouth, without regard.

"Magdaia.." was the last thing Clark heard before succumbing to the darkness.

 

 

"Magdaia, we are ready for the specimen."

Magdaia turned from where she stood, watching the Superman be wheeled away down the corridor, and faced the voice.

"Very good, Ooplfa. And you're still standing here-Go already!"

Ooplfa hurried away, unwilling to upset Mein Magdaia. She was _not_ someone to be trifled with.

Magdaia turned to the rest of the guards beside her. "Dismissed." she waved a hand in their direction, tired of their presence. Magdaia waited till they had gone before tapping a few buttons into her apiliwie. Satisfied the alert had been sent, Magdaia made her way to testing room Alpha, eager to see what the Superman was really made of.

 

 

Eighty miles away, all around the city, Checkov and his conspirators received their alerts.

"Number two sir - the League are now at Feuwity and the Superman in the Ikisi."

"Very good." Checkov puffed away on his romolo, whilst looking through his apiliwe. In a few moments, the IGC would want answers as to what was going on in Xan - the cowards couldn't even bothered to come over and check for themselves. Probably still hiding in the Patheto, Checkov surmised. The extraction would not take too long - anywhere from a few hours to one, maybe two days at the most, and Checkov knew he and his colleagues had to move quickly in order to establish the coup sucessfully. He checked the time - twelve forty one am, Sunday morning. By the late evening, all should have gone well: the IGC should be under house arrest after agreeing to step down, before imprisonment later tomorrow, and the leaders if the coup were to address the realm in the early hours of Monday morning. It was all on schedule, everything they had been working for, and Checkov, though satisfied, reminded himself not to relax too much. It was easy to be overconfident, and lose sight of the big picture, and it was essential that he and the group keep focus at _all_ times. In the event that their coup d'etat failed, then the charges would be death for treason, no question.

They would _not_ fail.

 

 

Bruce woke up with a sudden jolt. He blinked once, then again, before easing himself up, muscles sore. He allowed the dizzy sensation to pass before taking stock of his surroundings. Plan white, squared shape, no more than twenty feet storage, no breaks or openings in the wall - a cell, it was obvious. He felt something heavy around his hands, and looked down, noted a heavy, steel bar around his wrists. Bruce lifted the contraption slightly, only to see that the same had been done around his ankles. He gritted his teeth. Looking over at the bar, he noted that apart from the openings for his wrists, there were no other attachments, or holes, or even locks - in other words, it was unbreakable. The lack of the comforting weight of his mask meant that his identity had now been exposed to all, assuming whoever placed him here new who he was back on Earth.

Bruce made a quick appraisal of himself. Mind slightly fuzzy at the edges but for the most part, clear, no utility belt, suit, or cape for that matter - he was dressed in a plan white jumpsuit, no pockets. Nothing to get him out then, and he sighed, angrily. He stopped for a moment to listen to his surroundings - was he alone? was it safe to call out? He tried.

" _Flash_."

No response.

All that made up the "Batman" had been removed, so it was more likely that he and the rest of the League had been taken - stripping away a prisoner's identity and sense of being was an effective way of breaking hem down, Bruce knew. He had decided on calling out to Flash first; his metabolism was fastest, and should the man have been affected, he'd be the first to recover. But there was no response the first time, so Bruce tried again, a little more force in his voice.

" _ **Flash**_."

Still nothing.

That meant one of two things: number one: whatever had taken out Barry was strong enough to effect his metabolism - ie it would have been specifically engineered for him - so they'd all been studied, researched upon or number two: Flash was being held elsewhere. Fine. If not Barry, the J'onn was next. Bruce closed his eyes, trying to filter out the eeriness of the situation, and focused his mind on reaching out to J'onn.

" _J'onn_."

Bruce waited for a breach in his semi- consciousness, a voice, a wave of energy - _anything_ , but nothing came.

He tried again.

" _ **J'onn**_."

Nothing.

Bruce swore quietly; panicking would be of no use here. He tried his friend.

" _Superman_? Superman, can you-"

The wall opposite him melted away suddenly, and Bruce came face to face with a middle-aged Xanderian in a white coat, googles above his head. He clenched his jaw but remained as he was. He would not show weakness.

"Of all of you, we did _not_ expect you to come around so quickly." The Xanderian chuckled to himself. Bruce began to assess him - five foot eight, balding at the temples, flanked by two younger assistants also in white coa-

Without warning, a searing jolt of heat rushed through his muscles, and Bruce, for a moment, saw spots in his vision. The heat gave way to a pain so intense Bruce collapsed on the floor, heaving. The Xanderian came closer, still chuckling.

"Please, call me Jempte. I will be your...host, for today anyway. I assure you, that should you cooperate and offer no resistance, things will not be as _unpleasant_ , hmm?" The man looked down on him now, smiling, and all Bruce wanted to do was to rip his head off his shoulders.

"Whatever you want, take me. Leave the othe-"

"Oh, no, no _no_ , Mr Bat - why would we do that? I'm afraid by yourself, you are quite worthless to us. The only reason you are still alive is to provide, shall we say, "encouragement" for your colleagues to obey our orders - any resistance they put up and you will suffer the brunt of the consequences."

Bruce felt his blood run cold. Jempte continued, seemingly unaware of the effects of his words.

"No. The higher ups wanted you taken care of, disposed quickly, but we convinced them otherwise, and seeing your concern for your colleagues, and theirs for you also, it is a good decision we have taken. Now, you were calling out for them, yes? Well, why don't you see for yourself? Maybe that will ease your troubles?"

The Xanderian grinned as he stepped out of the cell. Bruce was about to shout at him, to keep him talking while he came up with a plan, when the wall that the man stepped out from gave way _again_ , and front of him, were the rest of the League, all in their own cells. Their front walls disappeared also, and Bruce could see that each member were still in various states of unconsciousness, chained and suspended off the wall, or from the floor. He was the only one not chained to either, only bound. Bruce rapidly counted; Wonder Woman, Flash, Lantern, Shayera, J'onn, Supe- where was Superman?

"Let them go -just - let them go! Anything you want, I can give - not them, they don't deserve this!" he growled, struggling against his chains, and Jempte laughed.

"I'm afraid you cannot do that, as much as you want. They cannot hear you at the moment, but they will soon, don't worry. You will all be able to see and hear each other - you could even encourage one another should you wish, if it will make the pain any easier. I doubt it, though."

Jempte looked at him now, grin wide. "Oh! As for Superman - my apologies, I nearly forgot about him - he is not here. However-" Jempte angled his head towards the front corner of the room, where there was a little speaker situated in the corner, along with a tiny camera. "-Every now and then, you will be able to _hear_ your friend, and on a few occasions, we'll let you all _see_ him too. But, - and pay attention to this - he can't hear you. No matter how loud you scream, or how much you tell him to keep fighting, he will _not_ be able to hear you."

Bruce spat then, struggling, cursing as if his life depended on it. These evil, twisted, sick bastards - his fury had mounted unbearable and now he sat lurching forward, struggling against his bonds, but it was no use. He wasn't going _anywhere_.

Jempte laughed, _again_. Bruce couldn't wait to get his hands on him once free.

"Look, little pet, those bonds are not coming off anytime soon. In fact, should you make a ruckus, we'll be left with no choice but to-" Jempte waved a hand high above his head, presumably at the camera, and Bruce had to endure another flaming volt of pure agony coursing through his muscles. The first had left him heaving, now, he was flat out gasping, head on the floor, heat pounding. Bruce knew that if he were to risk another "shock" like this again, his heart might go into cardiac arrest. He had to play ball, at least for now.

Jempte crouched on his toes, nodding at him. "I take it you understand."

" _ **Yes**_." Bruce bit out. God, his chest hurt so much.

"Excellent. Now, in terms of your extraction, well - from our preliminary checks, there is nothing extraordinary about you." Jempte looked almost wistful, as if it were a shame Bruce had nothing distinguishing himself.

"No special abilities, just your toys and gadgets. Well," the Xanderian sighed as he got up now, dusting his coat. "if nothing, then as I said earlier, your colleagues will quickly learn that any refusal to cooperate, to obey, will result in you bearing the consequences, and I'm sure they will be willing to avoid such a situation."

Jempte suddenly held out a hand, as if Bruce had been speaking the whole time, and his two lackeys stood to attention, ready to receive their orders. He shooed them away, and they dutifully retreated, still ready to jump for their master.

"That's right, packages received. The Bat is awake," Jempte looked at him now, disappointed, before speaking again "the others are close to recovering. We'll start with the red one first, now that his metabolism has been sufficiently interrupted, extraction should be quite uneventful." Hmm. Yes, yes, of course, sir, very well. All should be complete as scheduled. Very well, until then."

Jempte touched his ear, before speaking again. "It shouldn't take too long now. At least, be thankful this-" the Xanderian gestured to the rest of the League, "-isn't happening to you." He walked out, followed closely by his lapdogs.

Bruce wanted to say anything, to deliver a rebuttal, but even as he opened his mouth, nothing came out. His throat felt dry, Sahara dry, his head was already pounding, and his heart had now subsided to a slow, painful ache as it thumped away. If only he coul-

Hood.

Jesus, Hood!

How had he forgotten about him?

Jason - Bruce had no idea how the man had slipped his mind like so, and he tried to call out his League name, Red, but all that came out was a raspy whisper. Bruce rested his head against the floor of his cell, the cold surface a welcoming sensation. Letting his mind settle, Bruce tried to establish a timeline of events. The rage at his situation was not useful; rational thinking and logic was essential if he was ever going to figure a way of of this. He cast his mind back. Today, or rather, yesterday, had been their last day of work. The reconstruction was for all intents and purposes, complete; all had worked tirelessly, supporting each other even when a few had shifts than finished a little earlier than the rest. Work, more work, and then noise. Protests - demonstrations, thousands of people. In the midst of security concerns, Batman and the rest of his crew had been ushered into waiting Timeulan, and that's where it all went fuzzy.

Ah.

It came back to Bruce now, little by little. Upon entering that Timuelan, he knew then that something wasn't right. He supposed the chaos, the fast paced ushering of security, the concerns for their "safety" - all added to the deception. He tried to recall what the protesters were saying - something about the IGC - it was fuzzy, but the people were angry, scared even, and the long shifts had left him utterly drained, and his faculties affected as a result. It was weak, pathetic, and as he lay there, Bruce berated himself. The League were attractive to Xan, they all knew that, but as to why they wanted the League's powers, when their technologies were highly advanced, was something else. For now, Bruce would just had to wait.

 

 

Jason had been sitting in his cell for a while now. They'd taken his watch, and the lack of windows, sound and movement, made it difficult for him to tell what the time was. It was probably sometime on a Sunday, Jason surmised. His headache had subsided and Jason used the opportunity to fully assess his situation. It was clear to him now that the riots had been used as some sort of ploy, a distraction. They had been used to do the reconstruction work, and now, on finishing their very last day, when they were supposed to be resting in preparation for their travel to Gol this Sunday afternoon, here he was, sitting in his cell. By the looks of things, it was likely that the League had been captured too, since his communicator was no longer in place, and he couldn't reach J'onn. The League needed him, and if all else failed, Jason knew he'd be the bargaining chip, the one to draw out the League in the event that they were actually free. Jason thought back to what he'd known so far. He and Yena were of the same belief that a military coup against the IGC was underway, and those involved were almost definitely military and other high ranking government officials - they would have to be in order for the coup to work. They had the skills, the resources -and, as it dawned on Jason now, he closed his eyes, shaking his head slights - the conspirators could now use the excuse of the riots as evidence of the people's dissatisfaction against the IGC, making a new government more palatable to them. It was the perfect cover. Taking the League though was something Jason couldn't quite work out - why them? The conspirators had the technologies and support, what was the League doing here-

Oh.

Their powers.

Shit, Jason cursed. The League and their _motherfucking_ powers; they just _had_ to be all superpowered and shit.Jason was again reminded of what Yena had said, about the League sealing the deal by using all their abilities - no _wonder_ both Xan and Gol had been so insistent on the League coming to help. They wanted their _powers_ , and since their technologies were already well developed, but them people themselves relatively ordinary in comparison, then that left only one thing - whoever this group was had their eyes on the League's powers for _themselves_. It all clicked into place now, even as Jason sat here in this cell. Having coup lead by superpowered men, the support of the people, armies - it was like this realm's own version of the Justice League. The realisation was hitting Jason hard and fast - the coup leaders wanted to be the _Justice League_ , the ones who people reported to, who looked up to. And if they were able to overthrow the IGC, then essentially, they'd be forming a _superpowered government_ , one with the power, both in law and in extraordinary abilities, the wealth, the status - they would have _everything_ , and with all that was at their disposal - they'd be absolutely unstoppable.

Jason sat there, stunned.

For a few moments, time ticked by, and Jason had nothing to say.

But then another thought came to him - what did they want with him and why? Everything had happened _so_ fast, Jason hadn't the time to properly assess Yena's complete lack of response until much, much later, and by then, it had all been too late. And now he was stuck here, in this stupid, never ending box. Jason swore loudly this time, bringing up every curse word he could think of in frustration. After one incredibly expletive stream of phrases, Jason took a breath, about to unleash another, when the front wall of his cell suddenly gave way, and in walked a tall Xanderian, bushy moustache, dressed in typical military regalia. Looking at the few medals pinned on his jacket and his stripes on the side, Jason surmised this was a General, and not just any old General either - General Checkov - Yena had mentioned him repeatedly. The Xanderian looked at him for a moment, before taking out a romolo from his front pocket and lighting it up, he rested against the wall, eyes closed.

"Red."

" _General_." Jason spat. For his part, the General didn't even react - he simply looked at Jason, raising an eyebrow before continuing to puff away on that smelly cigar. A young officer came in then, speaking rapidly; Jason couldn't place the dialect, probably because he wasn't supposed to. The General saw him trying to pierce the dialect and smiled, before dismissing the officer with a bark.

"Are you aware of your current situation?"

"Well, lets see, shall we. Here I am, stuck in a cell, feeling like complete shit, with no way to contact anyone, alone with some dipshit who thinks smoking a cigar and a pitiful excuse will intimidate me. Try again, prick." Jason snarled, but the General simply smiled in response. Pinching the alight end of his cigar, he waved it in Jason's direction as he spoke.

"Now, now. I know you can do better than that. Let's try again, _shall well_ " the General brushed off a few burnt ends and re-lit the cigar.

"Using all that you know so far, from...various sources, and taking note of how you came to be here, and your current location - tell me - what do you know?"

Jason paused, considering his response. Giving too much away was a risky move, especially as he had little idea as to why "they" would want him around, especially when they had the League, but the fact that it was a _General_ here, and not finding himself strapped to a table about to be tortured, or people in white coats wanting to experiment on him, was in fact a good sign - he was, in some regard,useful for something, and _that_ was why Jason was being kept alive. However, _refusing_ to cooperate and playing stubborn could very well backfire in his face; he had no leverage, and no-one would miss him should they decide to dispose of him. But if he spoke up now, not revealing too much but just enough to satisfy the General, Jason might still be able to deduce and stop whatever the conspirators had in the works - the coup and IGC takeover, find and free the League, if they were in this place or elsewhere, find Yena - God, Jason hoped his new friend was still alive; the man didn't entirely seem cut out for all this - all of this was still possible if Jason played ball. It was humiliating, having to lower himself like this, but dignity sure as hell didn't buy freedom, and Jason needed out of here. If it meant going along with whatever this dickhead had in mind, so be it.

So Jason told him.

"I'm here because you want something from me. Either the League is free, which, in this case, I'm your bargaining chip - my life in exchange for theirs, _or_ we've all been captured, bearing in mind I can't reach out to any of them, and you want to use us, or rather, their powers for some reason."

The General nodded, but Jason could see he still wasn't satisfied, so he continued.

"You're here, high up in the military by the looks of it, instead of someone more lowly, like a scientist, so you need me coherent. I'm chained but I'm not hurt, and you've removed all that was on me - I'm useful, but the cell says expendable. A potential asset, but disposable should it be required."

The General was looking right at him now, and Jason knew he had him hooked.

"The riots, the demonstrations - that was merely a distraction from your real intents. Using the pretense of "safety", you had us ushered into vehicles that were clearly drugged with something, enough to incapacitate us unconscious. I imagine the stuff you used was probably engineered for each of the League, being as their so different and all."

"Good." The General replied. "And why did we wait for so long to take the League?"

Jason thought hard - why? The reconstruction work had been real, so that was one point. What else? The demonstrations could have happened at any point, so that wasn't a factor, but the people were upset, the IGC had placed sanc-

That was it! The sanctions.

The General watched it all dawn on the human.

 _That_ was why Xan and Gol had tried oh so hard to provoke the IGC - it was why they had gone to war, _despite_ the IGC letting them off with only a warning. The representatives, whether they were the conspirators themselves (unlikely that they would put themselves out in the open like that) or directed by the conspirators (more likely; it would be easier to shift matters in the direction wanted from the background), seemed rather disappointed by their first visit to the IGC with the League, even with their initial protestations that the IGC shouldn't be involved at all. It had all been an act - they hadn't wanted the IGC involved in the beginning which was _why_ the League were requested by popular demand. The ruse worked well - they _had_ to act like the IGC were to be the very last resort, the no-go option, in order that the League remain, and for them to be studied in greater detail.

But then Gol had initiated the war, and in the end, sanctions had been put in place? Why?

Jason thought about the sanctions. A cessation on all trade, severe economic penalties - and who had suffered the most? The same people who _always_ do whenever conflict arises: the people. The great dissent had led to two protests, and as of a few hours earlier, one of the biggest riots Jason had ever seen. So the sanctions, in effect, highlighted how out of touch the IGC were, careless, heartless, and unconcerned about those whom they serve, and at the same time, guaranteed that the people, in their frustration, would turn to support those who would dare to go up against the IGC to make a difference: the coup. A plot to damage the reputation of the IGC and drive people into supporting any opposition - the coup, to be exact.

And the League - Superma-

That's why -Superman. All had been aware of how much the man had been viewed with great interest. Using Superman as a pawn forced the rest of the League to intervene, and the resulting conflict _guaranteed_ that the League would remain locked on Xan, instead of just leaving. The IGC contracts had worked out well for the conspirators - in that way, the damage could be repaired - something that was really of no concern, since the lives of thousands had been lost for an excuse to go to war in the first place - and, that the League would have to _come back_. All of this, everything had been to _draw the League in_ , much like a spider drawing its web, and trapping his prey bit by bit. It had all been gradual, slow, but the intentions had always been far beyond them. The coup and IGC was the main priority. The League and their powers were an advantage, and merging both aspects together, assuming the plan worked, the conspirators would become their realms Justice League _ruling_ government.

What a plan, Jason thought, as he closed his eyes. Everything - fucking _everything_ had been accounted for, save him of course, and they'd been played. Xan and Gol weren't advanced military strategists for nothing.

General Checkov remained waiting, and finally, Jason spoke, voice low. "You wanted to draw the League in, bit by bit. First, it was requesting their help, after hearing about their abilities from the Lanterns. Next, you had to get them involved somehow, and find a way such that they could remain as long as possible whilst you studied them, and in particular, their powers. The reconstruction work was real, but that was simply another ploy, a distraction. It kept the League here in close proximity. You chose to attack us today, at the end of the very last day of our work here, right before we were due to leave for Gol. It was no coincidence - you delayed it for so long in order that the IGC contracts were fufilled, avoiding suspicion, and timed _with_ the riots so that our disappearance could be put down to "safety" concerns."

The General stood now, stubbing out his cigarette against the wall, and smiled. He _was_ impressed. The human, whilst angry at his predicament, showed great restraint, reasoning, deduction, - intelligent, and with his skills, would indeed make a fine asset.

"Lets cut to the chase - you are fluent in Xalanese and Ghusalish, and have proved capable and adaptable at the work thrown at you during your stay. Your reputation here has been established as an intelligent, rational man, prone to listening more than speaking, and, judging by your performance today, you would make a fine asset on behalf of the Xanderian people."

Jason stared at the General. The man had lost his mind.

"You can of course, choose to decline this offer. But if I may, let me ask you this: if you choose to side with the League, how will you benefit?"

The General walked around the cell, arms clasped behind his head. Jason froze. He didn't want to hear this, not now. He reminded himself of something Talia had once said when he was finding it hard to control his emotions - _control the narrative, Jason._ He mentally shrugged off the thoughts; the League hunting him down, their hypocrisy, all the lives he'd saved as the Hood -doing the things they were too cowardly to do, but the more the General spoke, the more the lines blurred together.

"I have not seen you myself, but I have been kept well informed of your movements here on Xan. You have worked tirelessly, with little breaks, doing your best to listen, learn, assess, and work with our people. And from the little I have...learnt about you, tell me - has anyone, most especially that "League" ever turned around to say: thank you?"

Jason's face set like stone, but still, he couldn't stop the words seeping into his bones. The worst part was, the General _was_ right.

"You spent time doing what others _should_ have done, but out of cowardice, fear, or plain moral hypocrisy - they have stood back, and allowed the laws of your system, as faulty as they are, to enable those who do wrong to walk away without a penance for their crimes. At yet, with all the lives, mothers, children you have changed, that they may live another day, saved from the hands of a rapist, sex trafficker, molester, drug runner - all those hideous creatures that live and operate in the dark - your actions have helped given them another chance - and what do you get in return? To be hunted down like a mere dog, that you dare to have the audacity to step _up_ to the plate and _do what is necessary_."

The General paused now, letting his words permeate the air, before continuing.

"And so you help this "League", the same people who wouldn't think twice about throwing you to the dogs, to jail without a second thought. Tell me, Jason - since you have been working for them, back on Earth and here on Xan - how many of them have said thank you? How many have shown even a little appreciation for the efforts and compromises you have had to make - are they aware of the deal you made with a few of my people to work without any off breaks, for instance? When it suits them, then they listen to you, and only barely. But the moment, the second things are not as they seem, or a little unclear or difficult - they turn around immediately, ready to point the blame at you."

"And now look at you. Alone, in this cell - with all their superpowers, and abilities - why hasn't anyone tried to contact you, Jason? Why were you calling out for them? It is a real pity."

The General shook his head, sighing a little, but watching Jason out of the corner of his eye. Jason was still seated but now had his head angled towards the corner, jaw clenched. The tension was visible throughout his frame.

"Red - none of what I have said is a lie. In fact, its not even an embellishment - all is true, and factual. So, bearing that in mind - what if you had the opportunity to live as a _free_ man, with complete freedom, and control? Never having to watch you're back, or forgo travel to areas of interest in case you're being followed? A clean slate - no records of anything past? You could be free to use your skills as you wished, in the midst of people who are welcoming, valuing those who not only speak what is true, but _do_ what is right."

Jason closed his eyes now. He tried to focus on his breathing but the promises were...alluring.

" _ **What do you want**_ " Jason bit out. Focus, _focus_ , he told himself.

"All I am interested in is your skillset. Your language skills would be highly useful in a diplomatic setting. I believe my people, the Xanderians, would welcome and highly regard you in a position similar to the one you are in now.

"An asset, you mean." Jason felt his tongue caught in his mouth.

"Call it whatever you want. In fact, now that I look at it - ambassador is a waste of your talents. Who knows - with your background and a little more training, I can see you as a member of the Sicai'ari, or part of our secret intelligence counter-service, the Nekre'j. If something a little less...public is more preferable, then there are a number of positions in the private sector that would _not_ not hesitate to compensate you handsomely for your services.

Jason laughed, the sound bitter in his throat. "So you want me as a special forces frat boy, or a private mercenary for hire? What makes you think I can't be all that on earth?"

The General shrugged his shoulders, a strangely odd gesture on him. "There is nothing stopping you. But - you will be surrounded by men, men who will be similar in terms of ability, skill, experience even. Out here, however - you are and will be _one of a kind_. Unique. A completely different experience altogether - you can provide viewpoints our men might have never even considered. And with that, as I said before - comes your freedom, and not just here on Xan - the ISSA bridge stipulates free access to all. One day Xan, the next Elek, a few nights in Demish - all your choice. Apart from a mere handful, no-one out here knows who you are. They don't know your past, your history - out here is your fresh slate, a second chance."

Jason paused.

Part of him was screaming - how could he even _consider_ such a proposal? Didn't he know they would probably kill him? But that was only if he outlived his usefulness, and so long as Jason remained a human being, capable of speaking their languages, customs, and retained his training, then that wouldn't be a problem. The bonus was of course - no-one knew him here; there was no chance of being chased across the globe by a crazed alien in giant spandex and tights, no Batman to condemn him to a life of doom and gloom, either in Blackgate or that hellhole of an asylum. Jason knew - he just _knew_ he really shouldn't be considering all this, but a growing part _was_ , and most alarmingly of all, the more he did, the more attractive the offer seemed.

"All you'd have to do is simple: just take a step back. I'm not asking you to _do_ anything - just to move to the side and allow us to complete the next phase in our plans. Of course, I cannot tell you what those plans are, but, so long as you show yourself unobtrusive, then I can personally guarantee your safety, your well-being, and all that we have agreed on today."

Jason remained silent for a long while, before he finally spoke. "And the League?"

The General smiled now, dipping his head slightly.

"None of your concern. Think of it as this - payment for all the troubles they have put you through."

"Dead?"

"Once we have what we need, and have achieved our goals, then yes."

Jason didn't allow his sudden alarm to show, but instead remained as he were, eyes closed.

The silence was all the consideration the General needed.

"You have until the rest of today to consider the offer. I shall visit again to hear your answer in the early hours of tomorroq."

Jason let the silence reign a little. Giving in to the offer meant a chance to gain ground with the coup, stall them somehow whilst he freed the League. However, the General here would need to buy into the idea that Jason was agreeing to the deal, effectively betraying the League. If he was too eager, the General would suspect his deception, and deliberately being stubborn might cause the offer to be withdrawn, and Jason would end up with a bullet to the head for all _his_ troubles. No. This all had to come across as him genuinely considering the offer.

"And if I refuse?"

The General looked at him for a long time, before replying.

"It would be disappointing, but I cannot force you to what you will not agree on. You cannot be sent back to Earth - the last thing we need is for you to bring in reinforcements. There are only two options, really: one is Ghbretjy, a planet that breaks even the more sanest of men, and, of course, the quickest and most effective option: death."

Jason nodded. It made sense - at least the General hadn't lied about the repercussions.

He looked up at the General before looking away again, allowing the silence to fill the air for a while.

"I'll need time."

The General gazed at him, studying, before he straightened up.

"Monday."

Taking one last glance around the cell, the General departed, and Jason was left alone again.

To betray or not to betray the League, that was the question.

And Jason already knew the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sounds like an impossible situation, doesn't it? Well, good. If Jason is really _that_ good, then he'll find a way out of this, and already, there's a few "helpers" in mind...


	20. Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark is subject to an unpleasant experience. Jason makes a deal with Checkov, and must prove his loyalty to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING! WARNING!**
> 
> **Some really sensitive stuff in the first section, so if you don't wanna read it, skip ahead!**
> 
> Also, I changed the distance between Fewuity and Ikisi labs, they're quite a distance away!

"We're still working on Phase two, Ma'am."

Magdaia snarled. Such resistance had already been accounted for, and though progress had been made - the Superman was nearing full weakness now - it had proven difficult, and slower than expected. The man had gasped, screamed, gritted his teeth so hard the _clench_ could be heard from across the room, and yet, despite the "treatments" they had given, the team were still not where they ought to be. Phase one was to sufficiently weaken the subject such that access to genetic material and powers could be achieved - that had been completed, much to Magdaia's delight. Phase two was the full extraction, and Phase three was to occur later: the implementation of the material into the genetic programs of her superiors, who had tasked the team accordingly, never failing to remind each member the consequences should they fail in this endeavor. Magdaia had taken out her frustrations on a few of the pitiful who'd dared to approach in hopes of consolidating her, and the ferocity of her actions left many of her junior colleagues terrified. 

Clark, on his part, was having trouble staying alert. It was as if every fibre - every little bit of him was being pulled apart in all manner of directions, and he'd screamed so much his voice was now hoarse, jarringly painful with every breath. They had "tested" his cognitive functions, and that alone had Clark breaking down in tears, screaming and begging them to stop. It felt like hands of steel were ripping out shreds of waves of energy, bit by bit, and the sensitivity of the nerve endings were so painful that Clark had wanted to tear his own scalp off. His body was no good either - it was being put through an incredible amount of stress: searing hot temperatures, dropping in an instant to the bone chilling cold - it had taken Clark every measure of his being, and _more_ to endure, and even then he'd passed out no less than six times; he'd stopped counting after then. Every time he regained consciousness, the room sent him spinning, stomach turning, and Clark would re-close his eyes, despairing that things were not yet over. That they gave him no indication as when they would _stop_ was probably the most agonising of all - it made everything _so_ much worse, and therefore, harder to bear. His hair was now soaking wet, skin deathly pale, and Clark didn't know how much more he could take. Being best in physical fights was one thing, but this? This was torture, of the most gruesome, inhumane kind - Clark knew that had he been fully been human, he'd been dead from the get go. No way could any man, not even the Bat, withstand this. Mercifully, his "team" decided to give themselves a bit of a breather, and had turned off their equipment, goggles already above their heads as they shuffled out of the room as they went to lunch. Clark had closed his eyes in utter relief, breathing through the fire that raged across his chest, when a slight movement had him snap his eyes open again. A hissing voice, low and full of venom, a _click_ across the room - it was Magdaia, here to once more make his life an absolute misery, and Clark turned his face away, exhausted by the thought.

"Don't you turn away from me now, handsome." 

Magdaia purred, gripping his chin forcefully in her direction, but Clark shut his eyes, tightly. He'd never hated _anyone_ as he did her, not even Darkseid, and that foul creature was nothing short of repulsive, in every aspect. Magdaia tightened her grip, and dug her nails into his flesh. Clark choked back a sob as he felt the warm liquid ooze down his chin.

"Does that hurt, oh Superman? Here, let me make it _better_ for you."

Magdaia moved in close and kissed Clark on the lips, running a tongue across his lips, lapping the blood, and smearing his lower face. Clark felt sick throughout all of it. He wanted to tell her _no_ , to back off, to _stop_ but she was much stronger than his current state. He felt her lips across his skin, the enclave of his neck, across his collar bones, down the ridge of his back, before the front started, his nipples - little snake bites that bit into his skin, unwanted and unwelcome. Clark had never felt so powerless in his life, and the shame of the situation hung in his hair, staining his cheeks, as Magdaia began putting her hands in places she had _no fucking right_. Clark gasped aloud, tears leaking, as Magdaia began unbuckling him down below. 

"No..please, no, don't do this, I don't want this, please..stop, just, please, _please_." Clark heard himself saying. 

It felt surreal, as if he weren't in his body, but rather standing outside it, watching. The hands were so violating, so intrusive on his person, that Clark squirmed fervently, desperate for someone, anything, anywhere to save him. He didn't have the voice nor energy to scream, to shout for help - his plea sounded feeble to his ears, like little mews, and Clark felt like he would faint.

Magdaia ignored him. 

She continued her exploration, speaking softly now, that Clark had _wanted_ this, all of it. That by him being here, she had the _right_ to do this, that if he didn't really want it, then why wasn't he _shouting_? And who would believe him? A man, a grown man - _the_ Superman, for crying out loud, overpowered by a little lady? Laughable. No-one was here and none would believe him. It was her word against his, and as a prisoner, their _specimen_ , he was nothing more than a toy to play with.

Clark let out wet, shaky sobs as he felt the coolness of Magdaia's hands travel down his bare thighs, up again, to an area- God, this can't be happening, it just _can't_ , Clark thought - he was screaming aloud in his head, pounding on the prison of his skull, to move, to run, - but Clark froze, eyes streaming, as if standing still would make it all less real. It didn't, it wasn't, and it was happening, right here, right now. He felt the peeling of his undergarments detach from his skin, and the air in the lab felt cool against his skin. Clark let his head fall back, rolling to one side, utterly dejected. The rage had turned into shame, and now, it was nothing. Nothing could be done, and the inevitability of his predicament was suffocating. Below lurched upwards, hard, a physiological response to a horrible situation, and Clark had no energy to feel anything. He couldn't go back after this, it was all too much.

Magdaia hummed in appreciation, taking in the sights. No wonder he was called the _Super_ man. It was a pity he would be disposed of after Phase three; one might like to keep him around as entertainment, Magdaia thought. She began to make her way down, slowly, starting from the pelvic bone, admiring the firm, taut skin and the jutting of the hip. She nestled her head inwards, now down to the very tuberous edge of the hip bone, sighing with pleasure as the coarse hair of the man brushed her face. Magdaia sucked at the skin, hungry - she would save the _best_ bit for last. Already, she in herself was preparing for their union, but she stilled herself to remain calm. She was teaching the Superman what no human woman could do - it was all for his own benefit, really. Magdaia heard the man groan, and she smiled - she knew he would like it, all that protest earlier had been for show, surely. Satisfied with one side, Magdaia moved to the opposite side, slow moving across the man's private parts, giving them a little nudge and suck with her lips, before starting once again at the top of the hip, gnawing away at the contours of the bone. She felt wetter inside in anticipation of the moment that was coming soon.

"Magdaia, can we-oh! Oh-oh, I- I do apologise, Ma'am, sincerely, I'm sorr-"

A young attendant, Eteho, had walked into the lab, eyes glued onto the sheets of paper in her hands, only to look up and gasp at the picture in front of her. Words stumbled out of her mouth as she took in the scene, eyes wide, already backing away. A flicker to the man was too revealing for words - shame, humiliation, angled away from what was happening to him. The man was distressed. On hearing the sound of the young voice, Clark's eyes flew open - someone to his rescue? It was a strange feeling; usually it was Superman who did all the rescuing. Eheto saw a pair of panicked eyes meet hers, pleading. She stared, eyes reading the distress, before switching her gaze below - she couldn't look at him, the shame overwhelming. Eheto gulped, nervous - what would Magdaia do now? 

Magdaia slowed down her mouthy adventures, making direct eye contact with Eteho at the same time, who'd by now turned red, face turned away from the scene. She smiled. Little Eteho had much to learn, and though she preferred... _other_ parts, she wouldn't mind teaching Eteho a thing or two. Sighing dramatically, she turned her face once more back to the view at her front. Red, swollen at the sides where she'd lusted away, and still, the best bit hadn't been reached yet. She leaned forward, biting hard at the base of the manhood, delighting at the way the man stiffened. Placing a small kiss on each side, she straightened up, drawing a long, thin hand upwards, through his chest, and up to his face. The Superman was still turned away from her, eyes closed, barely breathing. Magdaia moved now, plastering herself firmly on the man, skin to skin, front to front, running a hand to where the forbidden pleasure was held, the one she'd been looking forward to the most, and now Eteho had denied her. She gripped and released it repeatedly, eyes fixed on the man, as she felt the warm, thick liquid begin to trickle down her fingers. Behind her, Eteho shifted, embarrassed for the man.

"Until next time, my pet."

Placing a small kiss just below the man's ear, Magdaia took her leave then, licking her lips slowly as walked past Eteho, still gazing at her. Eteho had the nerve to look away, suitably lowered in her place, and Magdaia smirked. She wasn't worried about her, not when she was head scientist of this project, the one in charge - the girl was simply a minion of the lowest kind, easily replaced should she prove irritating. No-one would believe anything she had to say, and best of all - as long as the required material was extracted, then none would care about such "violation." In fact, should it be discovered that such actions "helped" speed along the process, then Magdaia knew she'd be encouraged in such endeavors, in order to achieve the task as quickly as possible. She left the room, not a single glance back, already missing the warmth of the human's skin. She would get her chance again, and none would deny her.

 

 

There was silence for a while.

Eheto wasn't even sure if the man was still breathing. He was still there, undressed, his shame for all to see, and Eheto, driven by fear, pity and heartfelt sadness at the sight, took a _tiny_ step forward. The action seemed to jolt the man, who flinched. Eheto swallowed, uneasy. This was _not_ what she'd signed up for. The top one percent of her biochemistry advanced study had been selected for a once in a lifetime opportunity, sold to them as "a unique experience, working under the greatest and most knowledgeable experts in their fields". References would be second to none, and things had gone well, at the beginning. They'd had to sign a few affidavits, "confidentiality" of course - their research was among the best in the entire _realm_ , and all had been to happy to sign on. The terms were simple - all discussions, equipment, ideas - everything was to remain in the labs. But the more the Eheto and her colleagues were involved in the "opportunity", the more it became apparent something sinister was going on. Rumors of biological experimentation, nuclear weaponry - a few of her colleagues had expressed some discomfort, and such attitude was instantly picked up on - those students were dismissed from the course, never to be seen or heard from again.

Leaving was highly discouraged, warnings implied that their chances at high flying future careers would be severely hindered, if not impossible, that they, in their selfishness, would be letting down their family, fellow citizens - quitting therefore became unthinkable, and now this? Eheto put her hands on her head. She could tell no-one; not a single soul would believe her, nor help, let alone investigate. She _knew_ this was wrong. The man didn't have to be a Xanderian to be treated as a fellow citizen, with respect and dignity - morals the IGC were keen all should adhere to. Alarm bells had Eheto almost run for the hills when she'd been awakened a few hours ago and ordered to the Ikisi lab, only to find the Superman there, the one involved in the destruction and now, the repair efforts. They were instructed to address him as the "specimen" - removing identity and dignity was one of the first ways to subdue a subject. A few of her more sadistic colleagues had expressed enthusiasm at the sight of him, eager to start out the testing of the man's faculties, leaving Eheto sick at their behaviour, absolute psychopaths, but she kept quiet, masking her feelings - her life depended on it. 

Eheto raised her hands, stopping completely. She allowed silence to reign for a few moments before speaking, as gently as possible.

"I am not here to hurt you."

No reply.

"...I-I have to get you covered."

The man shut his eyes. Eheto lowered her voice even more.

"I will be as quick as possible." 

Eheto advanced but stopped again on seeing the man's breathing began to pick up a little. Pity swelled within her, and she lowered her voice even more.

"I cannot imagine...." she sighed, struggling to find the right words to say before starting again. "I imagine that the last thing you want right now is to be touched." Eheto paused, watching as the man stopped moving. "I give you my word that I will not come near you unless you give me permission. I will not touch you unless you give me permission." 

The man opened his eyes, but still faced away from her.

"Before I make any move, I will tell you. If you would like me to stop, do-do not hesitate to say so."

Eheto remained as she was, palms by her side. 

"Do you agree?"

No reply.

No reply.

Then, a tiny, little nod from the man. Eheto felt somewhat relieved. 

"I am coming towards you now."

Taking in a deep breath, she moved slowly, wincing on watching the man flinch with every step, but he remained silent. She moved closer to him, eyes fixed on her face, not wanting to embarrass the man further on all that was on display. She stopped on seeing how the man's breathing had picked up pace rapidly now, fearful. Eheto waited until he had gotten used to her presence before moving further, step by step. She was about to reach and touch his clothing when she noticed just how _glazed_ his eyes were, and Eheto stopped, tears in her eyes. She had seen that look before; a friend of hers way back in the first year had been subject to a horrible ordeal at the hands of an ex-boyfriend, and any attempt to approach her on the subject, on getting help, led to either fury, rage, or worst of all, a far away expression, dazed in the eyes, as if she were not present in the moment. Eheto was seeing this now, on the man's face, and looked away, trying to compose herself. She stopped to think - if she touched him, skin to bare skin, the action would probably force the man to re-live the trauma. An idea came to Eheto them - gloves. Gloves! Eheto turned to face him.

"I..I will not put you through any skin to skin contact...I am going now, to my left, to put on a pair of gloves."

The man angled his head towards her but remained silent.

Eheto walked quickly, putting on a pair, and taking another with her. She moved back slow, once again re-announcing her intention to approach him, and was sad at the way he stiffened on her coming nearer. Eheto stopped in front on him.

"I would like you to feel these gloves first across your skin. Is that acceptable?"

A tiny nod.

Eheto reached out to his chest and lightly held a gloved finger to the surface of his chest. The man closed his eyes, tight, breathing hard, but eventually, began to relax, though still tense. He nodded. The contact was acceptable.

"I will begin now. I am now going to pull up your undergarments. At any point, should you wish me to stop, please, hold you hand out, or even make a sound - I will stop, completely. Is that agreeable to you?"

Nothing for a few seconds, and then a nod.

"Okay." 

Eheto breathed as she made her way to the man's ankles. She moved slowly, careful not hold the underwear only by the very edges, avoiding as much skin contact as possible. The man was tense and very, very still, but so far, he remained silent. It was only when Eheto moved past the knees, up to the thigh, did the man let out a small noise of distress. Eheto paused where she was immediately, allowing the man time, and waited for confirmation to proceed. After a while, a small, shaky hand appeared in her periphery. A confirmation to continue, but still, Eheto announced her intention first, watching the man nod slightly before carrying on. Reaching the groin area was of course, the most difficult start. The area was red, bleeding a little at the inner edges, and the man still had traces of his manhood smeared in the coarse hair, and a little on his lower stomach. Eheto debated on asking whether the man would like to be cleaned, but from the way he was handling her contact around his private parts, Eheto highly doubted he could withstand more than that. Finally, after numerous pauses, strained breathing, the underwear was on, and Eheto noted how the man's shoulders sagged in relief. She herself took a breath, glad that _that_ was over. The rest was a little more straightforward, pulling up the jumpsuit and buttoning him completely. The task had taken almost fifteen minutes to complete, but it felt much longer than that.

Eheto stepped away from the man now. She couldn't decide whether to hold her hands, or put them in her pockets; she kept opening and closing them, lost on how to leave, on how any comfort would be received. He probably hated them all, and rightly too. At last, she sighed, taking of her glasses. Her eyes were misty again. She tried to speak, her voice breaking a little.

"I-I cannot imagine. I-there is nothing that any could say, at this moment, to erase what has happened." Eheto paused, clearing her throat. Her eyes were still leaking, and she brought up a hand to wipe them away.

"Just...hang in there." Eheto whispered. "Please..don-don't give up, or give in, just...hang in there."

Eheto snapped her mouth shut, afraid now. She'd shown sympathy at the subject, had failed to treat him as the experiment had demanded. She would probably be killed at best. There were probably cameras, watching. She swallowed, unsure of what to do, but eventually, spared a glance at the man, who had his eyes closed. Eheto took her leave then. There was really nothing she could say.

Clark let the sound of her footsteps filter away before opening his eyes. It was as if the whole thing had been an out of body experience, and _yet_ , he'd felt _everything_. He felt like collapsing, mind jumbled. At that very moment, he hated himself. Hated that he was Superman, hated being here, hated that he was even alive - anything was better than this. He was disgusting. Filthy. A soiled creature - beacon of hope? Unthinkable.

Clark closed his eyes again, waiting for the next round of treatments to begin. He had forgotten all about the little speaker in the room.

 

 

The League sat in silence. 

Already, they had all been taken for several rounds of treatment and tests; it was Flash's and Diana's turn now- their non-cooperation and general difficulty in achieving Phase two standards had resulted in Batman being punished severely, despite their begging to spare him. Batman had shouted at all of them then, telling them to keep resisting, that he could take it - he'd resorted to mouthing words when he wasn't unconscious from the pain, had even written in his own blood on one occasion after a series of lashes. They could see each other, yes, but the cells were soundproof apart from the little speaker in the corner of each cell, turned on only to hear the torment of a fellow Leaguer. It was one thing hearing the screams, but seeing the League dragged back to their cells, bleeding, unconscious, thrown inside like a rag doll, was an assault to the mind.

And then a screen appeared in each cell, and for the next hour or so, they had been forced to watch Superman, friend, brother, ally and leader, go through all manner of hell for the "Phase two". All had breathed a sigh of relief when the team of scientists had called time for lunch, turning the screen off, though they were raging with righteous anger inside. Bruce had slumped back against the wall, flinching at the soreness of his open flesh wounds on his back. He'd been subject to a number of "punishments", and though expertly trained in withstanding various methods of torture, the Xanderians were particularly creative, and each session, along with the exhaustion and hunger, wore him down bit by bit. 

And then the sounds started. 

A woman's voice, Magdaia, lead most likely, hard and taunting and completely uncaring. Clark's pleas, quiet, hoarse pleas. The sounds of something being unbuttoned, the shifting of material, the slight _whoosh_ of clothing falling down. The wet, smacking sounds of flesh, Clark's wet shaky inhales. The little groan. 

It was easy to put two and two together. 

None could look each other in the eye during the entire segment.

And then the _other_ voice, young female, shocked, embarrassed. Sad. The one who'd spoken quietly, softly, who'd announced each and every intention of her movements, the one who'd struggled at the end to offer a tidbit of comfort. 

No-one said anything, but they all knew that the "Magdaia" woman, whoever she was, was more than dead the second they were out of there.

 

 

Sunday. eleven ten pm.

Jason had spent all day in his cell. 

Apart from a meagre portion of bread and cardboard tasting stew, Jason had done nothing but sit all day, thinking of how to get out of all this. The main issue was stopping the coup from taking over - once the military was in power, it would be nigh high impossible to slow things down. First thing first though - he had to get the League out of Xan, out of this realm, in fact. Even if they were to get their powers restored, or from whatever mind or power altering business was going on - them staying here was a massive security risk, to themselves and the people. They would be hunted down mercilessly for their powers, Jason was sure of it - and that was _if_ their powers could be fully restored, with minimal to none side effects. The IGC contracts were pretty much over - _none_ of them had stated anything about being taken for hostage and experimented on - and that was _if_ the current IGC managed to stay in place after this coup. He was in possession of his portal necklace - it lay beneath the surface of his skin, only appearing when he held his thumbprint at the base of his neck, touch activated, but he couldn't risk doing so now in the cell. It was very likely he was being watched, and such an item would make him something of interest to these mad people. No. 

Jason closed his eyes, remembering the names and addresses of all his contacts - the League would need them when they entered through the portal. It would be the first time Jason would send that many people at once, and he would need a big enough power source to enable to the process. Jason racked his brain - no mater what he used, the energy created would created a wave disturbance, and would probably give away their location, so it had to be done fast. Jason decided on where he would send the League. Earth was too obvious - Taenolot's dossier on him simply proved that "they" had contacts on Earth, and that would mean a risk to the people. Also, it was always easier for Jason to travel from one multiverse to another - their energies were easily accessible that way, rather than go from one _to_ Earth. Going to Earth required a lot of visualisation, focus on home, on people, the environment - bucket loads of energy for one, never mind seven people, and superpowered ones no less! For now, till this all blew over, he'd send the League to Gerebeta, in the multiverse Casp'qwe, a welcoming, friendly place, allowing them to recover in the midst of good people. Jason had set up a moderate sized home there, close to a few friends of his - the League would be taken care of.

That was only one aspect. The other, more pressing matter was how to stop the coup. Jason had spent a little time with Tim before leaving for this mission, and he'd left his brother a set list of coded names - colours, all under one number. The Ghosts. Special forces, in a variety of fields - taking down a military coup was pretty much target practice. They'd done so in South America several times, twice in Botswana, and once in Mexico. Alone, however, the task was too daunting to manage. Jason needed help, and fast. If things went bad, as in shits-heading-south kinda bad, then Jason had a hangar a few miles East of Danver - a small, private base, one that Talia had bought just for him under one of many aliases, back when he'd undertaken his one-man-rid-the-world of corruption mission. It came with a large ship, a gift from a certain redheaded friend a while back, which Jason had stocked with equipment ready for this very outcome. Jason had thought about sending the League back via this ship but he knew there was no guarantee the Ghosts would respond on time - it was up to their discretion to opt in for the mission, after all, and the League needed outta here fast, like yesterday. Had Jason relied solely on the ship, only to find his message failed to send, or the Ghosts taking too long to arrive, then the League were in trouble. Getting them out was the first priority, and if that meant via Jason's portal chain, and tons of energy, then so be it. The ship rescue wasn't even plan B - plan B was to help the League go into hiding here on Xan, leaving the city under the cover of nightfall to head to the rural towns and far outskirts, if the portal escape failed to work. The ship was the last resort,

The number he'd provided Tim was a sacred emergency number, used only for the events of all events. Missions for which you couldn't ask any questions, request any names, or the whys, it was a mission that never happened, not on record or off the books and was never mentioned afterwards. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, Jason had thought, when he'd first been given the number. If any of their group ever needed a favour, specialised help of some sorts, then all they had to do was to text that number with a date ("today", when the phone switched on or "in two days" etc), a time (urgent, within two hours, four, six etc), and a set of coordinates - the meeting point. Jason had given Tim a phone with the message already pre-loaded with the correct details to send automatically the moment the phone was switched on. All Jason had to do, therefore, was make a call to Tim, who'd switch on the phone. Those who responded would be directed to the hangar, where they'd find a large ship, along with a list of instructions, inviting them on board, where their manuals and other inventory were packaged. Jason had already set up the ship's controls directing them to this multiverse, to arrive about an hour _outside_ the city to avoid Xanderian air traffic control. All the team would have to do would be get on the damn ship, suit up, and get ready for a fight.

All a great plan. Except for two things.

Number one. To get the League out of here and to another multiverse required energy. Not as much as going to Earth, but still, for seven people, a _lot_ of energy was needed. That meant that Jason needed a power source. The city's internal structure, Na'vi was a possibility, but Jason could not estimate how much energy he would need - the disruption could very well take out the city's infrastructure. Plus, it would give away their position almost immediately, so for now, the Na'vi was a no go. How about industrial sites? They were a great source of unused power. Jason thought about the one he'd been directed to on his secret meeting with Semeticai'a' - the area had looked old, run down. He'd need to access a map of the city and a five mile radius too. Jason had briefly entertained the thought on using the Flash as a power source - the man's speed could generate a massive amount of energy, definitely, but if he was correct, and the League had been taken for their powers, then Barry was a no-go. Any attempt would probably kill him, and Jason wasn't going to touch any of that with a ten foot barge pole. So map, energy source. Jason made a mental note before moving on.

Number two. Mobile reception was a real dud out here. Impossible, in other words. To get across to Earth, Jason would need access the control centre at military command - they had been the ones to liaise calls between Xan and Earth during their teleconference calls. Jason didn't know the base well enough for any sort of infiltration mission...but _Yena_ did, and if they could get the correct wavelength and other various setup, then they could reach Earth. The question, of course, was whether Yena could still remain undercover as a Sicai'ari' - hopefully Checkov had not blown his cover too much, nor would he be wanted for arrest. In the event that Yena was unable to enter, then Jason would need a power source, some sort of radio tower, but without any real transmitting device, then it was all for nothing. Jason sighed, rubbing his temples.

A noise outside had him sitting up outside his cell. Heavy footsteps, hard, cold voic-

Ah.

General Checkov.

Jason readied himself. Checkov _had_ to buy into the fact that he accepted the deal. Not too eager, not too stubborn.

General Checkov walked into the cell, expectant. He wasted no time beating the bush.

"Well?"

Red looked at him, eyes hard, before looking away.

"Identity badges?"

"ID, right to work and live anywhere in the realm."

"Payment?"

"Very generous. You'll be able to live comfortably. A private Timuelan, fully paid for, and registered to you."

"Missions?"

"Mostly flexible and to your choosing. A couple will be mandatory, to our discretion, but all equipment, travel, expenses - all covered."

"And the League are taken care of, yes?"

"Yes." Checkov liked this man.

Jason waited a little, debating his options. Not too bad, honestly.

"And what happens now?"

General Checkov smiled. He knew what he'd offered the human: freedom, an identity, - all without the ridiculous morals his people and the League held - would be a great incentive.

"You come with me. We have an incoming visitor, due to arrive soon enough. It is important for me to assess your skill in action, you see."

Jason still remained looking away, but, seemingly satisfied with the arrangement, turned to look at the General, nodding once.

"Very good." 

Checkov beckoned his armed security guards forwards, directing one to release the chain. The four of them had sneered in Jason's direction, disgusted at the benefits this mere human was to receive, but Checkov ignored them. The men were brainless idiots, and would forever be nothing more than disposable resources - the man they were despising was an asset, an investment Checkov was sure to reap plentifully in the future.

"For my safety. Just in case you happened to...chase your mind" Checkov waved a lazy hand to his guards, who nudged Jason forwards, hard, and pointed their guns behind him.

Jason merely nodded. "Wise decision." That had sent them both chuckling.

The two made their way out together, walking across several floors, taking time to talk leisurely, as if they were nothing but old friends. Finally they made their way to a large room, with a few scientists milling around, bowing hurriedly at their presence before standing at the edge of the room, some retreating to stand behind a glass control panel at the corner. Jason walked in to find the League minus Superman, all in holding cells, in various states of pain, chained to the wall or the floor. He kept his outwardly expression perfectly neutral, but inside he was seething. Shit, he hated the League, but even he himself, Jason Todd, the _fucking_ Red Hood, knew that this shit was sick. The League, for all their faults, their hypocrisy - they believed they were doing the right thing, obeying the laws of the land, and though Jason vehemently disagreed, this was _not_ the way to do things. A part of him felt...something on seeing Bruce so badly beaten; Jason surmised that it was either due to the man's resistance, or, judging by the way Bruce was the worst off, the only human member of the League was being used against the rest. Not too long ago, Jason would have paid good money for this, and if he were truly honest, a part of him still wanted to see the guy reduced to nothing, but that was then, and this was now. He was indifferent to the man, but to the extent of this? He wasn't sure, and his unease made his stomach turn. Seeing Diana had set alight a small but growing flame of venomous fury - that these filthy creatures had been bold enough to lay their hands on _her_? Jason didn't look at her, mind made up. He was going to kill every last one of them, right to the motherfucking bone - Bruce and his morals be damned. 

But he still needed to convince Checkov that this was what he wanted - getting a little payback on the League, so Jason took his time to walk round, sneering at each of them. J'onn had merely looked at him before rolling away, the pain evident across his features. Hawkgirl had held her chin out, eyes full of hate, staring at him as he walked past. Lantern was out, unconscious. Flash backed away from him, and Jason had felt...sad, that a man like Barry, warm and kind and friendly, could react in such a manner. It didn't suit him. The _look_ Diana had sent him - heartbroken - had almost caused Jason to lose his composure, but he held it instead, looking at her disgustedly, before moving on, much to Checkov's approval. Bruce had stared back defiantly, and Jason had simply smiled, watching the Bat clench his jaw tightly. The man probably thought he had betrayed them all, that this had been part of the plan from the get go. It would play in very well, convincing Checkov of the very real animosity between them all.

At the end of his little excursion, Jason had turned to Checkov, looking him right in the eye, and said one word.

"Good."

Checkov had smiled then, patting him on the back, and all Jason wanted to do was to rip his arm off.

"Excellent. However, there is just one more thing. Our guest should be here any moment from now. I trust that you'll do what is necessary."

With a nod, Jason followed Checkov, and the men stood as they waited in the darkness, ready for their visitor.

 

 

Sunday evening, eleven forty seven pm.

Yena stopped to catch his breath.

He leaned over, coughing up blood. Wiping the residue away, Yena took a few moments to slow the erratic pounding of his chest before slumping against the wall. He needed to rest, but there was no time. He closed his eyes for a moment, mind drifting a little.

It was only two days ago, that Friday, late in the evening, when things had taken a real turn for the worst. Yena had been unable to reach Honorable Semeticai'a' earlier on in the day, and he himself had been called away to the military base for a series of long, complex meetings. Yena had come home only to find himself ambushed, taken by gunpoint into a Timuelan and ordered to drive, gun behind his head. Checkov had opted not to follow; he'd received an urgent phone call, a summoning of some sort, and had dismissed them with a wave. The General had believed Yena would comply to the letter, now that the lives of those he treasured most were depending on him. No funny business, Yena'at, one of the Sicai'ari had smirked nastily at him, and it was only the thought of Hele and Kaprech that kept Yena from losing his temper. 

They had driven for a few miles outside the city, up North somewhere, judging by the neglect of the land. Yena took in his surroundings. the Sicai'ari had led him to an abandoned industrial site, derelict and empty, with "trespass at your own risk" signs dotted here and there. Quiet, unused - it was a good location of shooting someone dead and disposing of the evidence. Here, the two Sicai'ari had forced him on his knees, and aimed a gun at his forehead. Yena had done nothing but close his eyes, lips moving slightly as he prayed that Hele would remember him as a kind man, a loving husband, doting father, and that his little Kaprech would not resent his absence too much. 

After a few agonising minutes, Yena had dared to open his eyes to see one man still with a gun pointed at him, but the other talking, voice harsh. The plan has changed, one had spoken after a while. They were to stay in their location, out of sight, until a few hours later - the _why_ was unknown to any of them. Neither the Sicai'ari nor Yena knew that the riots would be later that Saturday, and Yena's death was to be staged as occurring during the riots, eliminating suspicion about his whereabouts. Unknown to the Sicai'ari, Yena had apparently requested a meeting with Honorable Semeticai'a', contacting her secretary, and on not receiving a timely response, had contacted a few other colleagues, about the urgency of meeting the Elder. Killing Yena now meant that a lack of his response would be viewed as suspicious, especially as the man had pertained to a matter of high security clearance, and was so well known. The riots gave them a perfect excuse in removing Yena, and therefore removing suspicions as to why the man had failed to follow up on his urgent request. So all three men had spent Friday evening through to Saturday evening at the site. Checkov had been close to killing all the men in the room on hearing the orders that he should stand down, and that Yena was to live a little longer. 

Saturday evening had come, and Yena had once again been forced to drive towards the city, dun at his head. They had only just arrived right outside the city, and the noise of the riots was deafening, setting Yena on edge. He had to escape. A sharp bend, and a little slack of the hand that held the gun behind Yena's head, and Yena took the chance. He'd used the opportunity to steer the Timuelan suddenly to the right, sharply enough that it catapulted in the air, before rushing towards the ground at speed. The Sicai'ari had cursed, loudly, shooting but Yena had already ducked, bracing for impact, and the gunshot had gone straight through the windscreen. The vehicle came to a damn halt on its right side, skidding on the ground, sparks flying. The impact had crushed the right side of the Timuelan, killing one of the Sicai'ari instantly. Yena had awoken from unconsciousness at almost the same time as the other Sicai'ari, and both had made eye contact for a split second before making a frenzied dash for the gun. In the struggle, the gun had gone off, catching Yena in the shoulder.

A flesh wound, nothing too serious, but it had hurt, and Yena had used the adrenaline to overpower the other man, and wringing him by the throat. The pain, the anger at his family's peril, at his mistakes - all that had gone into the choke-hold and led to the man's neck being snapped. Yena had slumped over then, nearly keeling over due to the fatigue, but it was only just the beginning. There were thousands of lives at stake, and Yena could not allow anything, not even worry over his family's well-being, to divert his attention. A large part of him wanted to reach out to his family, but Yena could not guarantee their safety, especially if communication was being monitored, and their movements tracked. Any hit of suspicion and they'd be dead in a second. No, for now, they had to stay in the dark. Yena knew Checkov would be expecting an update, and he had dug out the handsets of the Sicai'ari to send out a message. 

The actions had made him smile a little; Yena remembered his four year stint as a Sicai'ari, something he'd always wanted to be as a child, back when paying bills and having a roof over one's head was something only "adults" did. The work had proved too much, too tiring, not as attractive as perceived, and required him to be too far apart from his family, so Yena had opted to leave field work for medicine, and the army had kindly paid for his medical training. Yena had eventually combined the two by applying for leadership programs; first a junior medical officer, and further promotions to now commander - less labour intensive with better pay, more family benefits and fewer hours. However, the intense, gruelling training and the coded format of communication as a Sicai'ari were still well ingrained into him, and Yena couldn't be more thankful for all the shit he'd had to endure. Whenever a task had been set, the success of the task was confirmed by the team's off-site coordinator receiving an alert from each member of the ground team. Thus, from one handset, Yena sent out the alert "Asset YE1A successfully eliminated at 0015 hours, check." and from the other "Co-confirmation of task disposal at 0015 hours, second check." Away from the pile, Yena set the second apiliwe on a timer before putting it at a distance, positioning himself adequately, smearing blood from the deceased men around him on his chest and forehead - kill shots, lying as still as possible, eyes half open. The photo taken would have the correct time stamp and looked convincing enough, and Yena sent the alert. He had awaited for alert that would confirm final approval from the off-site team coordinator - "Asset YE1A confirmed date and time, check." On receiving that final alert, Yena had flopped back in relief, eyes closed. He'd taken a few moments to himself, just to _breathe_ , before he started thinking.

Yena had opened his eyes, taking in the darkness. All he knew for certain was that he had to get to Red and the League first, in order to stop the coup that would be taking place soon. He couldn't trust anyone in the military - presumably, the coup would take power with their support behind them, ready to crush any opposition. So military help was out of the question, for now. Who else? Elek, Demish - all the other planets had smaller armies, and had steadfastly refused to get involved right from the beginning, and Yena doubted they would step in now. The only choice left was to get to the League, and get to Red. But the question was now: _where_ were they? Yena was in the midst of this thinking when suddenly a noise caught his attention. A low, odd sort of whirring, a unique sound...one that he'd used many, _many_ times before as a Sicai'ari...a Ju'jug'o. Yena had been trained _extensively_ in that vehicle, among others, and he knew it like the back of his hand. Hours upon hours spent working in it, on it, cleaning, fixing, maintaining, changing - he would recognise that sound anywhere, any time. Sure enough, Yena looked up, and in the faintness of the sky, among fast moving red Timuelan - their police units, he saw a large, glimmering shape, followed by several others. Watching them, he made out their numbers, and Yena began to count: one...two, three...all the way till ten. Yena felt his stomach sink. 

There were only eight of the Earth group: Red plus the League, and Yena had known through training that any escort provided by the Ju'jug'o was a high priority mission, used for infiltration and extraction high ops purposes, and that one vehicle was to _always_ be in the front, and one at the very back. Those things were highly specialisied holding units, emitting all sorts of gases, temperatures - designed to subdue or even render the passenger unconscious very easily if necessary. Yena watched the vehicles depart in the direction of the military bases, and they kept going. Kept going - Yena cursed. He knew where they were going - that secret laboratory that was heavily guarded was in the same direction, quite a distance away from the military base.

Yena was certain the League were being kept in that lab, but gaining access would be quite a hurdle to overcome. He couldn't pose as a scientist - he was sure the teams would have already been scrutinised thoroughly and accounted for but...of course. Sicai'ari. Yena thought about his cover. He could say he was one of Checkov's men, sent to check on the progress of the work. If he and Jason were correct, then a coup would be due shortly, using the riots as a cover for the takeover, and Checkov, along with the rest of the conspirators, would probably be making their way over to the IGC, or at least close to leaving. The General's focus would be preparing for the takeover; Yena knew he was a minor blip - Checkov wouldn't see much in him being alive, in fact, should the man discover his survival. Yena and the General knew that the moment the IGC stood down, allowing the coup to take over and recognisng its legitimacy, then it was game over for all of them. Not one uprising would stand a chance against the new regime, especially with the armies at their disposal. Access was another issue - his best chance was with Honorable Semeticai'a', but none of her colleagues had responded on Friday, and Yena could't risk trying to contact her now. Yena had moved quickly then, taking everything that was necessary. Uniform, hat, shoes, equipment - concealable knives, a gun in the sole of his show, headsets, apiliwe, slicing off surface fingerprints, using a blunt instrument to scoop out eyeballs and place them in enter soda cans, removing security tags, identity badges - Yuio Juod and Kewor Wecoet. Infiltration was not an easy skill to master, but Yena had loved the process during his training as a Sicai'ari - everything down to the walk, posture, the way one moved from position - all had to be studied, and Yena had had more than enough experience to pass the whole test seamlessly. He had stood up, gathering his bundle, and headed for a space in the site where water could be scrounged, to wash and clean the uniform. Timing was everything.

And now Yena was here, Sunday, almost midnight, less than a mile out from the military base. Though he'd made use of several Timuelae, Yena knew he'd need to steal a military vehicle to get to the lab. His stature and mannerisms had helped him to pass as a Sicai'ari - many were out tonight, along the base. Their uniforms were fitting of their elite status. Yena had stuck on the fingerprints that he'd removed from the dead men and entered the secure areas, heading out to the hangar. Orders were being shouted all around, and the flurry of activity made Yena's movements harder to spot. Quietly registering out aircraft with the security tags, he made his way out of the base. Yena had worried about how _exactly_ to get to the lab, but as it turned out, he needn't have worried. Checkpoints were situated all throughout. Yena had sweated the first few: he'd pretended to be under the orders of the General, requesting progress of the "work" at hand, _the_ General, and everyone of the guards had known _exactly_ whom Yena was referring to. They had argued of course, still insistent at ID, but one look at Yen's uniform, the security badges, and the direct communications with the General on one the of the Sicai'ari's apiliwe Yena had take, along with a calm tone asking if _they_ wanted to speak to the man themselves, had turned many pale, swallowing uneasily, and as a result, Yena had found it easier and easier to be let through at each checkpoint. Presumably, the alerts were being passed forwards, and none wanted to deal with the irate General.

Yena was directed to the entrance by two young attendants, along with a scientist, middle aged, crumpled shirt, an academic type, reminding Yena of the mad ones who would test and discover and push their subjects as cruelly as possible, all in the name of science. A steel monstrosity, gated, and the whole place left Yena feeling cold. Red was the priority. The scientist spoke hurriedly, words jumbling over each other, clearly nervous. No-one wanted to disappoint the General. Yena played his part appropriately, coolly disinterested, eyes boring into the man, who wrung his hands, sweating, trying to please him. He was led through various rooms, and Yena ignored the chatter of the man, focused on memorising his way out. Heavily guarded by the control panel at various stations, but a couple of blasts should do the trick.

"Ah, here we are, sir. If you could step right this way. Look at what we have _achieved_!"

The stumbling scientist held out a hand, beaming, at Yena resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Stepping into the room, Yena saw several pairs of eyes meeting his, defiant, angry. The League, he recognised instantly. Whirling round, he turned to question the scientist but instead, Yena came face to face with none other than General Checkov.

Beside him, stood Red.

Yena immediately made to attack but it was too late. Out of nowhere a sharp below was dealt to his head and to his knee, forcing Yena down. He was hauled onto his knees, guns behind him. He stared up angry at Red. "Traitor." he hissed, betrayed, but the man simply looked at him, bored.

General Checkov simply smiled.

"Yen'at, you almost had me. Did you _really_ think those guards down at the border patrols fell for such nonsense? That I would rely on any of you worthless Sicai'ari to do anything right, yet alone task you with finding out how things are going here? " The General chuckled, and Red smirked, eyebrow raised.

Yena felt the anger rise within him and he cursed them both, screaming in one of his mother tongues. A guard at his side kicked him in the face, and the action sent him sprawling to the side. 

"Up you get, up! Dirty ppigyau!

The men jeered, as another guard forced Yena to his knees.

"As you can see, Yena, things have not worked well in your favour, have they? Well." Checkov paused, still smiling, before he turned abruptly to Jason.

"Deal with him please, there is much to do."

Jason held out a hand for a gun but Checkov shook his head.

"No guns. Kill him as he is, I want to see him die. Keep his focus on me."

Jason looked at Checkov, shrugging his shoulders, before walking over to Yena. The four armed guards moved to stand by the General's side, guns a little lower, watching closely. As Jason walked, Yena looked down to his side, breathing fast, cursing louder and louder till he was shouting, struggling. Jason for his part showed no hesitation, grabbing Yena by the neck. But the message had been received. Yena had looked right down at his left side - Jason knew from experience that men who were about to die often looked _up_ at their killers, palms out, pleading, trying to get away, but Yena had looked at a specific area. There was something there.

Yena screamed, face turning red, praying that Red had received the message.

Checkov smiled at the scene. At last. This maggot, an insult to his very being, was finally being done away with. Checkov had learnt a long time ago that if he wanted things _done_ , he'd have to do it himself. He'd unfortunately forgotten this little fact when he'd been called away that Friday evening outside Yena's house, and he'd trusted his top two Sicai'ari, for goodness sake, to get the job done properly, despite the change in plans regarding the man's staged death. However, on receiving those two alerts, and the one from the off-site team coordinator, and a report that a Timeulan had been seen crashing to the ground not far from where Yena had been held, Checkov knew that his men had once again, fucked up. Since Yena would have been in the midst of the riots, and knowing the background military history of the man, Checkov had waited, knowing that Yena would most likely try and infiltrate the lab undercover. The alerts he'd received from the checkpoints right from entrance to the secret laboratory, stating that a Sicai'ari personnel under the name of Kewor Wecoet was requesting entry, under the orders of General Checkov, that he be updated on the work here, had sent Checkov into a fit of hearty laughter. Yena had always been sly like that, blending in well with those around him. It made him impossible to beat during infiltration training sessions that Checkov had personally overseen during his SiSicai'ari. Checkov had granted the order; he wanted Yena to see the futility of his efforts, that in the end, it had all been for nothing. He would dispose of the rat, and then the bastard's family - Checkov was not in a forgiving mood.

But Checkov made a mistake.

His mistake was to light a romolo. 

Checkov loved a romolo - smoky bars of earthy goodness, searing his nostrils and firing him up alive. But, to Yena who'd in his screaming, kept an eye on the General, seeing him dip his head slightly to lit that poison - that was his chance. 

And he took it.

Yena, with all his might, dug his chin into Red's arm as hard as he possibly could. The signal. 

As quick as anything ever seen, Red had slipped his hand into the sides of Yena's trouser and sent a concealed knife right at General Checkov, straight to his forehead.

The General was dead before he even hit the ground.

To the Flash, who'd been watching, the whole motion had been nothing short of poetry. He'd seen the small flicker of the knife from Yena's side, and watched, heart beating rapidly, as the knife sailed smoothly through the air, entering the forehead of the General before he'd even had a chance to look up from his romolo. The force sent the man flying backwards, and the shock of the guards whose heads had followed the action allowed Yena to nudge the safety click on his shoe, exposing the concealed gun at the sole of his shoe. Jason had ducked then, allowing Yena to roll himself forward, bringing his feet up into the air. 

Jason didn't have to be told twice. 

By the time the guards had looked back to face Yena and Jason, they were met with a hail of bullets, chest, head, all over.

They too, were dead before they hit the ground.

The League were silent, shocked at the display. It had all happened _so_ fast.

Yena had now flipped himself right over, bringing out a few of his other concealed knives, letting off some steam. He and Jason took out the armed guards, who were by now were rushing into the room, only to meet their timely deaths. The League stared at the scene - Jason was a downright _machine_. He didn't stop, and he _never_ missed. Every shot landed somewhere - forehead, or slightly off centre in the chest, left side. Heart. It was quite frightening for many of them. Jason rolled, tucked, sailed through the air, flipped - all of it with the guards who kept coming in, and in, _and_ in - and the man kept going. The whole ordeal probably lasted no more than ten minutes, yet it had seemed much longer than that. After one particularly smattering shot - the sound of wet grey matter hitting the wall - the men had stopped coming in. Jason remained in position - knee bent, guns pointed, jaw tight. Focused and resolute. Yena had spared a glance at him - the man was truly something else, and from what he'd heard about the man, what Yena had seen now was likely akin to child's play. Checkov probably thought of the man as an asset worth recruiting, especially one who was human and yet spoke their languages fluently, Yena surmised. Bruce had stared at Jason throughout, watching how the man had never even broken a sweat. Cool, calm and collected. _This_ was the Jason Tim had talked about, and Bruce felt his skin crawl. They had _seriously_ underestimated him.

Jason could practically hear the judgement in Bruce's stare. Ungrateful bastard. He steadfastly ignored Bruce and kept his focus on the doorway.

For a few moments, there was nothing but dead bodies littered across the floor, alarm bells in the air, and lights flashing wildly. 

And then a noise could be heard.

A wet, shaky gasp. Probably lungs filling with blood, Bruce deduced.

Red turned and pointed a gun straight at the sound.

It was the scientist, the balding one. Yena had looked at Red then - they needed him to revert the process of Phase two, the extraction of powers.

The scientist held a hand against his chest, and his coat by now was rapidly staining with blood. He looked down, surprised, before laughing a little, revealing blood stained teeth. Yena looked away, just a little, but Jason kept his focus on the man, staring hard. There was a bullet wanting a fleshy place to call home, and its place was in that tubby bastard. Yena moved then, as if he just _knew_ what Red was thinking. The man deserved to die, no question, but they needed answers, and fast.

Yena moved forward, striding over to the scientist and lifting him cleanly by the collar, threw him down onto a chair.

The scientist was laughing now.

"So you want something from me." The man wheezed audibly to the whole room.

"Either you tell us or show us."

The man laughed now, a horrible sound. He trailed off, gurgling, choking, before leaning back in his chair.

"I'm afraid that isn't possible. Either I do it all or I-"

_**BANG.** _

The man slumped back in his chair, a round hole in his forehead. Yena didn't need to look back at Red; he simply swore aloud, kicking a chair nearby. The League said nothing, their eyes glued onto the scene.

Jason still had his gun outstretched, smoking a little. They didn't have time to play twelve questions with a mad scientist. If he wouldn't talk, then he was useless, and useless in this case meant disposable. One thing Jason had learnt over the years was the value of time - specifically, his time. Time was a precious commodity, and right now, their time was running out.

Yena now turned to Jason, glaring, about to speak when Jason beat him to it.

"The guy wasn't gonna talk. He's one of those obsessive types - 'if I can't have it, then you can't' kinda guy. We don't have time for that shit." 

Jason paused - footsteps could be heard in the distance. Stumbling, uncertain- scared most likely. Yena stopped to listen also. As the sound came closer, he could just about hear a young voice stuttering, praying. Yena held his hand at Red now, who stayed as he was, though gun remained in position. The footsteps slowed, and little by little, a young Xanderian came into view. Eyes wide, glasses on, one of those ultra geeky brain box types - the man reminded Jason of Tim.

"Please don't hurt me! Please! I swear, I didn't want to be in this, please!"

The young man was shouting, palms up. Yena came forward to him, his arm also forward, trying to placate the man. 

"If you answer our questions then we have no reason to hurt you."

Yena kept his voice low, firm, and moved slowly - any sudden movement could send the man running and a bullet into his back from Red. 

The young man nodded, chest heaving.

"Name?" Yena used a softer version of his commander voice. Barking orders would do no good.

"Dichwu Pl'esrei, of the Pl'esrei clan, second elsest, born to Mateh an-"

"What is your role here?"

Dichwu stuttered before answering, eyes fixed on Jason and on the gun.

"I-I look at the biochemistry levels, I-I make sure that their hears are not beating too fast or-or that-that their oxygen saturations are in the app-pproiate ran-range."

"And do you know how to reverse the process?"

Dichwu gulped, scared, and stepped back a little. Red took a whole step forward. 

"Please, Please! If I tell you, I-I'll die! They'll kill me, my family, my mo-mother, please, please you ca-"

"I give you my word that you will not die, nor your family either."

"But you don't understand! They'll be expecting re-reports from the team, updates, if we do-"

"So send the updates."

Jason spoke now, voice chilly, and even Yena felt a little on edge.

Jason moved closer now, and Dichwu backed up against the wall, terrified. He waved his gun lazily at the Xanderian, who stared wide eyed, fixed on the instrument.

"Look here, Dick - you see all this shit?" Dichwu nodded. He could see all this shit. Jason continued.

"I- _we_ don't have time. At all. So I'm gonna say it once and for the last time - reverse the process, cause there's a whole lot more at stake, for these guys here _and_ for your people. Can you do that?"

Jason looked at Dichwu straight in the eye. The Xanderian still seemed hesitant. He sighed, already wishing this day was over.

"You help us, _I'll_ make sure that your family is safe. You've got this guy's word-" Jason angled his head at Yena before continuing "-and now you've got mine. Help us with this, help us get out to safety through whatever secret entrance this place has - all you have to do is show us a map and point out where to avoid, that's it. You do that, I'mma get you to safety, to your folks. You tell us where the _Superman_ is too? I'll not only get you to safety - I'll make it so that you're family is set for _life_."

Dichwu's head snapped up to look at Jason. Jason kept his face as firm as possible - he wasn't laughing. Behind him the League had shifted, wondering. Yena hadn't moved from facing the boy but his head had dipped a little, curious. Jason ignored them all.

"But yo-you're human." Dichwu started, uncertain. The offer was tempting.

"I am. Aren't you curious as to how a human can speak Xalanese so well? And Juos, We'eir, Kiud, Qoej?" Jason demonstrated a few words in the rare dialects, much to the surprise of the room, Yena included. "I have the skills, the connections and the resources, no doubt. Not to mention all the other places I know."

Jason waited. He couldn't rush this.

Dichwu looked at him a little longer, before looking to Yena, a fellow Xanderian. Yena's nod told him what he needed to know -the man was truthful; military commanders took honor and responsibility _very_ seriously. Respect was not something easily earned, and their people held military personnel in high regards.

Dichwu nodded.

"Okay. O-Okay. I will help you. B-But there is more coming. We have to hurry!"

Jason nodded, lowering his gun ever so lightly. 

Turning his head a little, he called out to the League.

"Just so you know: betrayal really isn't my style. A coward's way out, to be honest."

The room shifted, but none spoke. 

Jason turned to face Dichwu once again.

 

 

"Start talking."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ppigyau = insult of the lowest form to a Xanderian. Means that they are worthless, less than shit etc.


	21. One hell of a plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason, Yena and the League make haste. Behind the scenes, the master planner is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _loved_ writing this chapter!
> 
> EDIT: Guys! It's like you're all just waiting for each chapter by the computer lol! I had to edit a few things, spelling and grammar, but it's all done now!
> 
> EDIT: Sorry, had to add this little bit in: " Jason had a generator on his ship, his very own power source, portable, but until the Ghosts arrived, he would have to find another to get them out quickly - they couldn't wait for the ship". I also forgot about Dichwu, lol, I've got him out for now, and Jason will keep his promise to him.

Dichwu complied instantly, immediately moving to the control panel. A flurry of movement, a few taps there, and the League's chains were released. 

Jason watched as the League slumped down from their positions, clearly drained by the ordeal. A moment later, the holding cells were open. For a couple of minutes, all that could be heard were the alarms still bleating in the air. Jason turned to Dichwu, annoyed.

"Dichy, could you turn those damn things off?" He was starting to get a headache.

Dichwu looked apologetic as he spoke. "I'm sorry, I-I can't. The controls are in a mainframe on the other side of the building, and there's no time to try and disable them now. We must make out way to the extraction rooms." He sighed before continuing. "More will be coming. The alarms are connected to the military base down the road, so reinforcements are on their way."

"They'll be here in less than thirty minutes." Yena checked his watch. He knew the response time of these units, he'd trained with them.

Jason gritted his teeth but nodded. Thirity minutes? Then they needed out in under twenty minutes. The main entrance was a no-go, nor did they have access to a vehicle or aircraft big enough to hold them all. They'd need to escape by foot, and had much ground to cover in the darkness. Moving in the day would be far too risky for all of them.

Yena had already made his way to the League; Flash had real trouble walking, and leaned heavily on Lantern, whom looked pretty worn out himself. Bruce looked too beaten for words and limped pointedly, though he gave Yena a _look_ , daring him to comment. Yena respectfully dipped his head in acknowledgement of the refusal for help and moved to the rest, and for a moment, Jason hated Bruce with all his heart. Yena had risked his life and God knows what else, to make his way here, trying to save the League, and now trying to help them - and _that's_ how he was treated? Fair enough, Bruce had been tortured for sure, and if not for the way he looked, then Jason would have walked over to the asshole himself and socked him straight across the face. He held his tongue however and moved to help J'onn, who accepted the arm around his shoulders with a small nod. Diana made her way over Shayera who was struggling to stand; from where he stood, Jason could see that a large part of her left wing was torn, bloody, especially at the joint with her back- it was obvious that attempts at forcibly removing her wings had been made, and Jason winced; the ordeal must have been hellish for her. The woman looked pale but had her jaw clenched - determined to get out of here. The League watched as the two women came face to face with each other. A simple look passed between the two; Diana offered a hand, and Shayera took the help, emitting a gasp and a hiss, closing her eyes as she tried to breathe through the pain. Diana herself wasn't much better. She being an Amazonian had taken even more brute force, and her skin was marred with large, ugly bruises, with a red rings around her neck, likely suffocated, probably from when the scientists were trying to test her faculties. Jason felt his anger rise at the sight, at _Diana_ , of all people, and was ready to put a bullet in Dichwu right there and then. Noticing Jason's reaction, the man took a few steps back, already beginning to beg, but Manhunter held a weak trembling hand against Jason's chest, looking at him wearily. Jason didn't need telepathy to understand the message. _It's not his fault_ , but that didn't make it any better. Forced or otherwise, this prick had still been part of the crazed team who'd committed these atrocities, and Jason's finger was just _itching_ on the trigger of his gun. He felt the League's stares and instead closed his eyes to take a few deep breaths.

Breathe in.

One,

Two,

Hold.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Jason opened his eyes again to find Yena by his side, waiting. Yena caught his eye but kept quiet for a moment, allowing Jason to pull himself together, before speaking. Yena hadn't missed his friend's reaction to the Wonder Woman, but now was not the time to start with questioning, and Jason appreciated it.Turning to Dichwu, Yena noted the anxiety written across the younger man's face. 

"Nothing will happen to you, I give you my word."

Yena held Dichwu's eye, truthful, and the man relaxed minutely, nodding a little. Good.

Jason remained quiet a little longer before he turned to the League. "Any idea where Superman is?"

Bruce immediately answered. "He's not here-"

"Ikisi laboratory." Dichwu cut in, cowering under Bruce's glare. Jason waved his gun at him, urging him to continue. "It's about an hour's drive away from here, sm-smaller, but more heavily guarded because of the speci-Superman, Superman, my apologies. Getting there will be extremely difficult."

"We're _**not**_ leaving without him." Bruce spoke fiercely, standing up to his full height. 

Jason said nothing. He looked at Bruce now, head to toe, cataloging the likely injures: bleeding head wound, broken eye socket, black eye, busted lip, swollen jaw, questionable shoulder dislocation, obvious ankle limp - and those were the injuries Jason _could_ see. He cast his gaze on the rest. Flash seemed dazed, legs useless, Lantern was hunched over, finding it difficult to breathe - broken ribs probably, missing ring. Hawkgirl was obviously in a lot of pain, and leaned heavily to on side, left wing hanging far too low. Diana too limped, and Jason could just about make out dried, matted blood in her hair. J'onn walked slowly, muttering unintelligibly at times - he was drifting in and out of consciousness, probably trying to reserve the last bits of his energy. No the League were in no shape to go _anywhere_ , no matter how much they protested. 

Jason turned to Dichwu. "How long till their powers are fully restored to stable levels?"

Dichwu wrung his hands. "It took us several hours to achieve Phase One because of the resistance their bodies provided. We did not progress very far with Phase two, and though there is not much to reverse, we cannot risk rushing the process. Doing so could kill the subject outright, or leave them highly unstable, and the damage likely irreversible."

Jason rubbed his temples. "How much time do you need?" His voice wounded weary to them all.

Dichwu paused. "Since they are already in a weakened state, then ideally, restoration should not take long. However, caution is necessary, and if we were to go as slow as possible, then I estimate anywhere from twenty minutes to two hours for completion of the process."

Jason almost swore aloud. _Two_ fucking hours?! 

_**Shit!**_ _Shit, shit shiiit!_

How they hell were they gonna pull _this_ off?

Jason waked around the room, trying to compose himself. It wouldn't do them any good if he panicked now, and there was still Superman to think about. If Dichwu was correct, then there was little to no way Jason would be able to bust into Ikisi by himself, barely any arsenal, no backup in place. The lack of an escape vehicle and the military forces already on their way meant that getting out of here, by foot, would be a miracle, but to rescue Superman also? Insanity. No. Jason knew he and Yena would need to plan this out, carefully. Getting the League out of here was the first step, especially in their current state. They would be utterly useless for a rescue mission. Once the League were out of the picture, _then_ Superman could be rescued. Now, supposing that he got the League to safety, it was very likely that they would refuse to leave without Superman, the self-righteous gits. Their friend, ally, all true, yes - but staying here a moment longer than necessary could get them all killed. Now, the Ghosts were another matter entirely. Assuming that Yena could get the message sent out sometime today, Monday, in the next couple of hours preferably, should the Ghosts assemble by the _end_ of today, then they would arrive on Xan by Tuesday morning. Jason started planning. If Superman could somehow hang on for the next twelve hours, maybe with a little message from Manhunter should his telepathy be restored in time, then he and the Ghosts, provided they arrived on schedule, could break into Ikisi and rescue him, but that was a _big_ if. 

None of them knew how far the extraction process had gone with Superman. The Ghosts would _still_ have to go by foot to get him; the ship would have to remain on the outskirts of the city to avoid detection. And even if the guy was rescued, Superman would need to leave Xan immediately, just like the rest of the League, but there was the coup to stop _at the same time_. The ship the Ghosts would arrive in would be needed to break past the ISSA barriers and fight off attack from the Ttrewure, Xanderian military craft, in order to get to Elima, and to the IGC. They wouldn't be able to steal a Ttrewure or a Timeulan - the vehicles here were easily overridden by remotely access governed by air space control, and the Timuelan could only get as far as the ISSA border patrols - one would need to change to an INCREMA aircraft from there to get to the IGC. Jason's ship could negate both aspects, but Jason couldn't fly Suprman out of here _and_ stop the coup simultaneously. Assuming Jason was able to send the League away first, then he'd need to rescue Superman and get him out too, _as well as_ work with the Ghosts to overthrow the coup. Both needed to happen at the same time, and they didn't have many resources at their disposal. Prioritising would be key. It therefore meant that Jason would need two make _two_ portal openings: the first for the League to Gerebeta, and then open _another_ portal for Superman to go through and join his team mates. Jason had a generator on his ship, his very own power source, portable, but until the Ghosts arrived, he would have to find another to get them out quickly - they couldn't wait for the ship. Jason clasped his hands around his head, thinking. The two trips meant two large instances of energy, a risk he would have to take. Jason needed updates on the situation at Ikisi, on any news about disturbances at the IGC, any disruptions to air travel on the ISSA bridge, but now was not the time to be firing off such questions. They needed to get to the extraction facilities.

"Let's go." Jason turned to leave before a gravelly voice cut through the air.

"What about Superman?" Bruce stood firm, thin lipped, grim. Jason felt like throwing his hands in the air out of frustration.

"As you've heard, he isn't here right now. What _is_ however, is the stuff we need to get you guys back to normal. As for Superman - we'll worry about that _after_ the reversal is complete."

Bruce seemed unconvinced, but he and Jason both knew Jason was right.

Dichwu glanced at them once more before moving towards the exit. The man was about to open his mouth when Yena held out a hand, looking at Jason. Jason stopped, and they both listened. Faint voices, footsteps - more armed guards coming their way, and they were nothing on the military reinforcements coming their way, in less than half an hour. _Fuck!_. Jason made a decision.

"I'll hold them off. Yena, go with Dichwu and make sure the League get sorted. Any funny business, you know what to do. We don't leave til the League get their shit back together."

Jason barked out the orders as he went over the the numerous dead bodies, strapping to himself a number of guns and other arsenal, including two apiliwe and a grenade, how lovely, before giving the rest to Yena. After a little deliberation, Jason stuffed a gun in Bruce's hands - the man was hurt badly, but he was still the Batman, and could inflict a lot of damage still in this state. Bruce accepted the weapon with a grunt, thinly disapproving, and Jason rolled his eyes before moving away. He took out the numerous apilio from the guards and gave one to each person. Jason looked at the rest of the League, particularly at Diana, who seemed about ready to argue with his decision. He cut her short.

"No arguments. Go with Yena. We need to get out of here, to get Superman, and get you guys to safety."

Lantern spoke. "What about-"

Out of nowhere, Jason flipped a gun round from his back and pointed it straight at Lantern's head. The room immediately hushed, rooted in shock.

"This is the last time I'll repeat myself. We need out, now, and _that_ can't happen till you've been restored. We also need to find a way out of here, but again, _that_ can't happen till _**we've got your shit together**_. You wanna rescue Superman, I get it, but one step at a time. So: Go with Yena, he'll cover you out front. Get your powers back. I'll be behind you, just covering your tracks. I need to buy us as much time as possible, and to do that, I need to give us enough space to make our escape. If I'm with you lot and we're attacked, then we'll be boxed in, and then we'll have no chance. Yena will direct me through the apilio. Don't even think about coming back here for me, or retreating, none of that crap - You should be far ahead of me. If I see any of you, I'll shoot on sight. **Are. we. clear**?"

Nods all round, a stony faced Bat. In essence, Jason was sacrificing his life for theirs, and it was the best chance they had at getting out of there.

Jason took the silence as confirmation. 

"Good. Yena?" 

Yena stood to attention, facing his comrade.

"Whilst the reversal process is going on, Dichwu would have made himself _extra_ useful for a number of things-" Dichwu nodded hurriedly, of course he would. "-a. the floorplan for _this_ facility. Locate best escape routes, ones that will help us get out by foot. b. location, distance, and the floorplan for the Isiki lab. Dichwu, I need you to try and get in touch with the guys over there to see how much progress has been made with Superman's extraction process. c. I also need you and Yena to bring up live news feeds of the current situation here in Xan, if they're any disruptions to air travel, any blockages, any military presence at the ISSA border patrols and at Elima. I'll join you as soon as I can."

Yena hummed in agreement. "The coup."

"Yep. We've got to get there in time; hopefully the Council might stand their ground a little while, but we don't have much time. Remember, the coup have the support of the military and their arsenal, and the riots will likely be used as proof as the people's advocacy of the IGC being overthrown in favour of new government."

Yena nodded at Jason. Understood. He ignored the looks the League members were sending each other- a military coup? Since when?

He turned to them. "That is not your concern. Even if you wanted to help, as you are now, you cannot. Our first priority is to restore your powers and get you out." 

Yena looked at Jason. "I've known the Council to be strong and resilient. They will not give in easily."

"Good." Jason replied. "It'll buy us some time to figure something out and get as much stuff as we need." He ignored Bruce's stare and fixed his gaze on Dichwu, voice firm.

"Lead the way."

 

 

Apart from shooting a few guards here and there, Yena and the group had made it to the extraction rooms without incident. Each room held up to twelve units, and Dichwu set about organising the group appropriately. The young scientist had warned them that the process would be slightly painful, and he was not wrong. Many a jaw had been clenched at the onslaught, and Bruce could only slump against the wall, angered by the sight before him. He had declined all medical attention at first, but on Yena's reminder about the consequences of blood loss, he'd given in, moodily and sat tense as the Xanderian administered first aid. They were silent at first, each being mindful of the other, til Bruce spoke in a low voice.

"You trust him. Why?"

Yena didn't answer at first, nor did he ask for clarification. They both knew whom the _him_ referred to. As a former Sicai'ari, part of his training had been learning to read people, situations, to always be alert. And he was, but Red was an enigma. Right from the word go, Yena could tell that there was more to the man than just "ambassador". Red was very tall, well built, strong looking - most dignitaries in his position where shorter, more academic, willing to bend over for special favours and recommendations. Not Red. The man was often quiet, but when he spoke, it was straight to the point. Honest, the man kept his word, and did his job well. Yena felt camaraderie with the man, and his gut instinct was usually right. If Yena was honest, seeing Red with Checkov had sent him reeling. He had made a point of looking down at his side, believing that if Red were the man he thought him to be, then he would get the message. Yena almost sagged to the floor in pure relief as he watched Checkov go down; it was the armed guards that forced him to focus, alerting Red to the presence of his concealed gun. It was strange; Yena had only just met the man over two weeks ago and yet he felt that they'd known each other a lot longer. They understood the other without words, something only true brothers in arms could do, and _that_ was why Yena had trusted Jason in the first place. Yena remembered that he'd not answered the man, who was staring at him, reading him probably. Yena sighed before threading his needle, intending to stitch the gash on the man's head.

"A brother is easy to recognise."

Bruce said nothing for a while. That statement was very telling. He'd known that those in the military often adopted a whole new family, regarding the men in their units as "brothers". But Jason? The Hood? Bruce had not missed the way the two men communicated with each other, through small nods, a _look_ now and again - it reminded him a little of the way Tim and Jason had interacted that day back at the watch-tower.

"You seem unconvinced."

Yena smiled a little at the way the Bat looked at him, questioning. He too, had noticed the... _coldness_ between the man and Red. It was one of ego, pride - something between them. Yena had a feeling the two had been close once - the way they regarded each other was close to hate, and for one to hate, then there must have been a degree of love, at some point. The man was clearer older than Red - Yena didn't think them to be partners in _that_ sense. Maybe mentor and mentee? That would seem to fit better, but the man pointedly used gadgets that were designed to incapacitate, not kill, yet Red had no such qualms, openly too. The man was built for the field, Yena was sure of it, a fellow Sicai'ari. Yena wondered how two people with such opposing moral stances could have ever been close, assuming he was right, of course.

Bruce turned away before answering. "He is...unpredictable, and that makes him unreliable."

Yena continued his stitching, reading between the lines. Red was not to be trusted, apparently. Whatever had gone on between the two likely had influenced this statement. So far, Red had come through for Yena. Yena had taken a risk with Red by telling the man of his suspicions, and Red had taken him seriously. During their conversations, the man had listened intently, asking questions, - they were on the same page. Red had saved his life,when he should have killed him. Yena knew the way Checkov worked - Jason had said at the IGC hearing that the IGC had nothing to offer him, and Checkov most likely would have made Red an offer so _good_ the man would have been foolish to refuse. Even if it was all on pretense, just to locate the League, Yena knew the incentives Checkov must have offered would have been most alluring - he knew because that's how Checkov had drafted _him_ into the military as a young man, playing on his love of the outdoors, an absent father, and offering the camaraderie and order a military life would bring; everything Yena had been looking for in terms of fulfillment. Yena had fallen for it all. Red was only a little older than he had been at the time of his drafting, and yet the man displayed maturity of a man years older. Yena recognised it well - the ones who had been forced to grow up early, to leave their childhoods behind for a life of provision and hardship. Red was such a man, Yena knew it, and Red's understanding of people hinted at the fact. But Yena couldn't dismiss the Bat's statement entirely - the man had known Yena for much longer than he, and even if the man was lying, every lie had an element of truth. Maybe there _was_ something there. Jason had played his part _too_ well when Yena had met him and Checkov, and it had unsettled him, believing at first that Red had truly turned on them all. Red had taken control of the situation earlier with great ease, as if this was something he did every day. Nor had he hesitated on killing that fat scientist without knowing if there were others around who could help, though his reasoning was correct. Yena cleaned the area with fresh gauze before applying a bandage. He spoke the truth.

"As far as I am aware, the man has proved himself well. He could have killed me - he had nothing to lose by my death, but instead chose otherwise. I will admit - I do not know much about him, not as much as you certainly, and I will take what you've said on board. But until I see otherwise, then I will continue working with him to rescue Superman bring down the military coup."

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that? Little resources, no other backup. You don't know how armed the place is. And how about your escape routes? And if you find him, will it be on time? How will you get him out without safely - supposing you mange to restore his powers, it will take time for him to stabilise, and in the meantime, he'll be left vulnerable, human - easily hurt. And are you truly willing to place all this- stopping the coup, the future of your planets, your _entire_ realm - into the hands of someone you've only just met?"

The Bat looked incredulous, voice harsh.

Yena looked at him, pausing, before turning to clean his trolley. 

"The wound is clean now, and I can see no obvious signs of infection. In the event that you begin to experience severe headache, visual disturbance, nausea-"

"I know how to identify signs of cerebral haemorrage, thank you." The man's tone was acidic.

Yena continued cleaning, putting everything away. Finally, he looked up at the ceiling. He was _so_ tired - when last had he slept? Yena truly couldn't remember. He sighed before closing his eyes, letting the tension of the events earlier drain from him.

"All you have said is correct. But let me tell you this - there is _no-one_ else I can trust. And even if there was, I would _still_ favour Red over them. He has asked Dicwhu and I to carry out three specific tasks - the man has a plan in mind, but he needs specifics. Time is not on our side. The request for the live feed is Red's estimate as to how much time we have before the coup take over. And, assuming you know him well enough, then his ability to speak our languages, plus his time spent here, and even what he said to Dichwu tonight, should tell you that here is more to the man that meets the eye. Red has resources available - it is just a matter of accessing them in time."

Yena gathered the dirty materials, folding it all up into a bag. "Do you hear that?" Yena asked, and both men could just about make out the faint sounds of bullets being fired in the background outside. Yena continued. "As soon as Red finishes risking _his life_ out there in order to save _yours_ , and the rest of your League, then you can voice your objections to him yourself. Until then, I have work to do."

Yena bowed his head respectfully and walked away, feeling the Bat's angry glare bore into his back. He would not let Red down.

 

 

The reversal finally finished after an hour. And in that same hour, Red had held his ground, never letting up. Round after round he had shot, keeping complete focus. The League had to be saved. Superman had to be saved. The coup had to be stopped. It was these three things that kept him going, gritting his teeth in determination, even as he'd had to move towards the group slowly under the pressure of heavy fire.

A voice crackled in his ear. 

"Reversal complete." Yena sounded tired.

"Good." Jason gritted his teeth as he fired a few rounds before dashing round he corner, bullets flying above his head.

"Have you had a look at the maps of this place and Ikisi?"

"I have. I have looked over our escape routes with the Batman and there is a way out. I've loaded all the information onto our apiliwe, you should be able to access it now. We have to move quickly though - Dichwu managed to get security access feeds pertaining to Fewuity and we are surrounded by nearly all sides."

"Fine. Start moving."

"Are you-"

"Make you way out _**now**_. Feed me the directions through the apilio. I'll keep holding off these guys. Make sure you get clear of this place as far out as possible - you cannot allow yourselves to be caught."

"Understood. On the go now."

Yena signaled to the League, and they began making their out, following Yena who had one eye on his apiliwe, another in front of him, gun at the ready.

"How are the League?"

"Better, but absolutely no good in a fight. Still worse for wear; improvement will be gradual, over several hours at least."

Jason sucked in his breath, ducking an angry stream of lasers fired his way. He retaliated, smirking at the sight of the fools dropping like flies, empty holes in their chests. Served them right.

"How far out are we?"

"On foot, just over an hour from the military base, North of the city."

"How do we get to Isiki from here? And does Dichwu know _exactly_ where Superman is?; We can't afford to break in and then start searching all over the place, we don't have time for that."

Its another one hour again by foot, further up. According to Dichwu, Superman is being held in the East wing of the first floor. He has been unable to find out how far along the extraction has progressed."

"Terrain?"

"Old training grounds, one old mine field to avoid I think, but its cornered off."

"Time?"

"One thirty am, Monday morning."

Jason paused, trying to think.

"Bring up the map on your apiliwe now. Read out to me the nearest industrial sites within a one mile radius."

"Active or abandoned?"

"All of them."

Yena complied.

" The most suitable is Tiekr, abandoned power plant, still active, just over two hours by foot, give or take, if we take into account the League's status, assuming we avoid long rest breaks along the way. Minimal guarding, easy to take out... After that there's Iksop, a little closer - an hour and a half, but the journey involves steep, hilly terrain for most of it - I doubt the League will withstand it. There's a few others - Poetre, Lo'tse, Swevro, Xe'lsp - but I cannot access any information regarding their power status."

Jason didn't answer for a few seconds; Yena waited for the sound of gunfire to subside before speaking.

"Red, what do you have in mind?"

Silence.

Silence.

"Red, do y-"

 _ **BOOM**_.

"Red!" Yena shouted, and the League behind him slowed to a stop, worried.

Jason came back on the line. He spoke fast, as if he were on the move.

"Sorry Yena, was getting tired of firing. Decided to take out a floor instead."

Yena breathed a sigh of relief, audible to Jason, who let out chuckle.

"A bit of warning next time wouldn't be amiss." Yena tried to make his voice stern, but he failed, smiling at the chuckling that had now turned into laughter. He asked his question again.

"Red, what do you have in mind?"

The laughter subsided. "I've got an idea, but for this to work, I'll need to meet you guys outside. Yena, can you head back to the military base, or any that can place a line to Earth, to the Justice League watch-tower?"

Yena raced through the possibilities. The soldiers would be out in full force tonight, and he _just_ might be able to sneak back in as Kewor Wecoet, so long as Checkov had failed to alert the crews back at the base of his identity and his new alias. It was unlikely; the General had been all ego, and probably would have saved the prospect of Yena's return to himself, to enjoy watching him die. Yena cursed him.

"Very possibly, Red. What do you need?"

Jason paused to catch his breath. The soldiers weren't letting up.

"As soon as I'm outta here, and I've met up with you and the League, I'll need you to make your way to the military base. You need to get a line in to the watch-tower - you must have a communication centre or some sort. When you're through, tell whomever's on duty that you're with the League, with me, Red, and that you need to be put across to "Red Robin" immediately, that its a matter of life and death. They'll comply, trust me. Once you get across to Red Robin, tell him this: "Las Vegas." Once you've said that: _stay on the line_. Don't disconnect it, because you need to wait and listen for these words: _"stays in Vegas, baby."_ Once you hear that phrase, _then_ you disconnect the line and get out of there. That's all you need to do. As soon as you've done it, make your way to Tiekr. Go right round if you have to. If we have to move elsewhere, I'll give you my coordinates through the apiliwe."

"Las Vegas. Stays in Vegas, baby."

"Yep. Get to the communications centre, get a line patched to the Justice League watch-tower, ask for Red Robin, and tell him 'Las Vegas.' Wait for the confirmation: 'stays in Vegas, baby.' and then straight to Tiekr.'"

"Understood. And the League?"

"I'll meet you outside, and I'll head straight to Tiekr. If they start voicing plans to rescue Superman before I arrive - they can't, not in their state. If they try anything, _force_ them to stand down. Tell them _I'm_ getting him out-"

"We both are."

"That's right - _we're_ getting him out, but first, our priority is to get them to safety. They need to leave Xan, Yena, but don't tell them that yet, or they'll refuse to go. I've got a way to get them out, and I'll need access to a power source. Once I get to you guys and sorted us out, you leave right after. Take Dichwu with you and drop him off on the way, to safety. The sooner you get that message sent across, the better. "

"How are we getting the Superman out?"

Jason tucked himself under the stairwell, the ground shaking with gunfire.

"I've got an idea, but it will involve us waiting for help from friends of mine. By that time, the League would be out of here, and we'll have the back up we need, to not only to get Superman out, but to stop the coup too. Time is short, and all this needs to happen _fast._ "

"Understood. We're out now, just behind the facility, under the wooden coverings. How far out are you? I'm sending you a map of our location."

"Errr..." Jason let his voice trail off as he juggled fiddling with his apiliwe, holding a gun and firing, and keeping one eye on the direction of attack. A walk in the park, truly.

"Ah, not far behind. About eight minutes or so."

"Fine. Once you're out, head for the far east side at the back, 50 yards to your left."

"Copy that."

The line went dead.

The group were huddled in the dark now, staring up at the Feuwity facility in the distance.

One minute.

Two minutes in.

Four minutes in. 

Six minutes in.

Seven minutes in.

Seven minutes thirty seconds.

Eight minutes.

Nine minutes.

Ten minutes, and still no sign of Red.

The group looked at each other. Yena pressed his apilio.

"Red, where are you?"

No response.

Yena tried again. "Red, where are you? Do you read me?"

No response.

Yena looked ahead, a little worried. Maybe he shou-

"Hey, Yena, sorry about that. Give me a _couple_ more minutes."

"What are you doing?"

But Jason did not reply. Yena pinched his nose, ignoring the _look_ the Batman was sending him. Bruce knew Jason was up to something. Yena had made a mistake trusting Hood - the facts were all there: Jason was unpredictable, and could not be trusted. Yena kept his focus on Red, watching for any figures exiting the building.

But whilst the group were outside waiting expectantly, worried, minus one member, Jason was busying himself inside. He'd broken into one of the labs and carted a few chemicals with him. He hadn't bothered to read the names as he split the liquids gallantly across the first floor and ground floors, over control panels, wiring, anywhere he could find. Using the apiliwe he'd removed from several dead guards along the way, Jason broke them apart to reveal their wiring, and he scattered the pieces across the floor. Jason took two apiliwe apart, set a timer, and used a thin wire to position one of his stolen rifles on each floor, a tripping mechanism. The guards wouldn't know what had hit them. 

Satisfied at his work, Jason exited the building, heading for the wooden coverings. The man took his time, walking leisurely, arms clasped behind his head, as if it was just another relaxing day at the beach. He came face to face with one unhappy Yena, who had his palms out to the side, evidently pissed.

"Well?" The man's voice was acidic, barely containing his anger at Jason's late arrival.

Jason smirked folding his arms, and he stared at the building ahead, waiting.

Yena stared at Jason. He was beginning to think the Bat may have been right, after all.

A few seconds passed. 

"Red, what is-"

 _ **BOOM.**_

 

 

The entire facility went up like a ball of light in the sky, and the heat radiated across the campus in waves.

Yena stared at Jason, speechless. 

The League stared, speechless. 

Bruce's face was set like thunder- he'd known what Jason was up to the second Yena had failed to receive a response from him. He gritted his teeth, hard, and Jason turned to look at him, full on grinning.

"Just like old times, eh?"

Dichwu sank to his knees, arms on his head. "My work, my research." he breathed, eyes wide with shock.

Jason seemed nonplussed, slapping the scientist upside the head as he walked passed him. "Is that what we call 'torture' these days? My oh my, what a _world_ we live in." Jason sang in a mocking voice. He smiled as he patted Yena's back, not sparing a single glance over the hill to the few men who were running away from the burning building, their clothes alight.

 

 

Whilst Jason had been busy setting the place to explode, a group of soldiers had made it to the upper floors, in the room the League had been previously held in cells. A Lieutenant Kakatia surveyed the bodies of his fellow men, including one ruddy looking General Checkov. He stared a little longer at the ugly corpse before spitting on it, much to the amusement of his men around him. Good riddance to bad rubbish, he thought, and the sentiment was shared by all.

Waving the butt of his rifle in the direction of his men- _collect the evidence_ , the Lieutenant pressed his apilio to make a phone call.

A elderly voice filtered through his ear.

"I'm sorry to disturb you Ma'am, I know-"

"What is it?" the voice barked.

Kakatia swallowed uneasily before answering. "The League, they're gone. Checkov and his men are dead."

For a few moments, there was absolute silence. Kakatia pulled at the collar of his shirt. Why was it so hot all of a sudden?

Finally, a quiet voice spoke. Low and deadly.

"The extraction?"

"Re-reversed ma'am."

Another bout of silence, and then the line cut off.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?"

Kakatia waited for a response but none came. Sighing, he turned to his men.

"Get what we need and get out! I don't have time for you're nonsense!" he spat at the men, humiliated.

His men hurriedly compiled, bundling the case files, notes, and other important pieces away. They made there way down the floors, dark, only to halt slightly at an unusual smell in the air.

"Sir.." began one of the men. "Do you smell that, sir?"

But Kakatia was in no mood for games. "Do I smell- _SHUT UP_!" He screamed at the man as he struck him hard across the face. The other soldiers looked away, embarrassed. Kakatia strode forwards, oblivious to his leg snapping a thin piece of wire. He continued talking to himself, only to receive a bullet through the mouth as an unmanned rife began to fire at the men.

The soldiers shouted, climbing over each other in a frenzy, but it was too late. The second that rifle had blown, the air had ignited, enveloping the entire facilities in a fiery explosion in half a second. They never saw it coming.

 

 

Semeticai'a' closed her eyes, calming herself. Kakatia had actually pleased her with the news. Yes, the League were gone, but the main objective was still right on schedule. It had been Checkov and his military dogs who'd insisted on capturing the League and extracting their powers for their own purposes. She had found the whole idea childish, but had allowed it, so long as it did not overshadow the main priority, the coup. In fact, Semeticai'a' was rather _glad_ Checkov had been taken care of. He had been nothing but a fat child, throwing his tantrums, and Semeticai'a' had been sick of giving in to his requests in order to guarantee unwavering military support to ensure the coup's success. Checkov dead was nothing but a relief - with him out of the picture, she could easily control the other Generals, who had never dared to talk back to her during their meetings. They would comply, and once Semeticai'a' became the new head of the Council, she would dispose of the entire lot of them.

Semeticai'a' smiled, sipping her tea. She had waited _centuries_ for this, and now that her time to reign had come, _nothing_ would stop her. Years of bribery and corruption would finally pay off, and Semeticai'a' would have the support of the whole realm imminently. She had received word an hour ago that all access to the ISSA bridge had been denied, complementary of the military, and that the IGC was full lockdown as informed by Pertre, the little weasel, with the other Council Elders taken hostage. She expected some resistance to the coup, but Semeticai'a' was not worried. Soon enough, the Council would agree to step down, and the moment they recognised the coup as legitimate, then the power was hers for the taking. Finally, she would be getting rid of that disgustingly moral Kaomato, and could now start everything she _deserved_. Taenolot would need to be disposed off too - she'd tasked Checkov and the others in blackmailing the old man, providing them with the means and access to Earth in order to get rid of that "Red", an unforeseen intrusion, but the man had failed. Never mind. Semeticai'a' had ensured she keep track of Yena and Red's movements, kept abreast of what they knew. Later, when it became obvious they were close to discovering the truth, she'd ordered Yena to be put down, but that annoying prat had caused quite a stir with his numerous requests to "meet" with her, the matter "urgent, and requiring high security clearance". Many had gossiped, curious as to _why_ , and Semeticai'a' had had to order Checkov to halt the man's execution, requesting that they stage his death to take place during the riots, eliminating suspicions about his whereabouts. At least she had received confirmation from Checkov that Yena had been disposed of; the alert had come through over two hours ago and Semeticai'a' had smiled, praising Checkov for a job well done. Anything to massage that fat boy's ego. Semeticai'a' had wanted Red taken care of also, as soon as he'd been captured along with the League, but for some reason, Checkov had shown slight reluctance to the idea, believing it to be a "waste". Semeticai'a' didn't care - she made the order final, and Checkov had sworn his obedience that the job would be done. Now the General was dead, but Semeticai'a' hadn't received any confirmation on Red's elimination, and now that the news of the League's escape had arrived, it was likely that the man was amongst them.

Semeticai'a' knew of the extraction program - her daughter, Magdaia, had impressed her greatly with the idea of biological experimentation, and Semeticai'a' had had two laboratories built for her daughter to explore her wildest ideas, all to her heart's content. She really ought to find out how the Superman extraction was progressing, the only interesting thing about the League, but now that Checkov and his requests had died together, it was _much_ less of a priority. 

For now, Semeticai'a' had a coup to prepare for. Unlimited power, wealth and status - and she couldn't wait for it all.

 

 

" _ **No**_." Bruce was firm. Not a chance in hell. Over his cold, dead body. No way.

"Are you crazy?" Flash was shouting, face red. He couldn't believe he was hearing this.

"I told you, didn't I? That he couldn't be _trusted_ and now look what he wan't us to do - leave _Superman_ behind?" Lantern was incredulous.

"There must be another way, Red." J'onn's sombre voice sounded hollow, lacking its sonorous quality.

Jason closed his eyes, listening to the League's refusal to leave without Superman. He'd been expecting the resistance, of course, but the longer they were out here, the more danger they were in. Yena had said nothing standing at his side, but Jason knew he was pissed about the explosion. Worried for his safety, pissed at him for putting himself in danger by blowing up the entire place, but Jason knew it had to be done. Peeking in the labs, it was clear what they had been used for - these sickos had been experimenting on people, and Jason couldn't allow that to continue. Too much time had been lost already, and they coun't afford to stay here any longer.

Jason held out a hand, and the group fell silent. The fatigue was catching up with him fast, even as he stood there, but they had to keep going.

"Trust me, if I wanted to betray you, I'd have done it already."

Yena swore he could hear a pin drop.

"If I wanted you dead, you'd have been dead, _already_ , and I know you've seen that tonight."

No-one argued. It was true.

"I'm not saying this lightly, believe me. I'm saying this because a) not a single one of you here are in any condition to fight. You guys can barely walk, and we're talking about infiltrating a heavily armed facility, under heavy ass military surveillance. I don't care how "good" you are - with the state that you're in, you've got no chance, sorry. b) You guys are a massive target right now. Getting you outta here, to _fucking_ safety, is my first priority right now. You stay here any longer than necessary, then you're dead, simples. c) I dunno whether you guys are aware of this, but there's a _military coup_ taking place right now, and thousands of lives, including yours, are at stake. I need all the help I can get, and you guys aren't it. d) Listen closely to this one - Yena and I _only_ are gonna break Superman out-"

Immediate outcries, and Jason held up a hand, _again_. Standing still caused the sleep to catch up faster on him and he decided to move, forcing himself awake.

"You can barely keep your eyes open." Bruce's voice was cold.

"Better than the shitty state you're in." Jason shot back, staring right at Bruce. This fucking _motherfucker_. 

Bruce moved right up to Jason now, fists clenched, and Jason met him, nose to nose, staring him down. He wanted to fight? Bring it on. Bruce had _no_ idea what he was really capable of now; back there had been nothing but a bit of fun.

Yena stepped in between the two, J'onn steering Batman back, Yena putting an arm around Jason and moving him away. The man still bore his eyes at the Bat.

Yena moved them back a little further before he let Jason go. He moved in close, back to the League, speaking directly in front of Jason.

"Listen, Red. I know you want to help. You've got a plan in mind, but look - _they_ don't know that. They're exhausted, hurt, and worried for their friend, Superman or not. Try to see it from their point of view - you're asking them to leave a team mate behind whilst they hurry to safety. Tell me, if a Commander or General ordered _you_ to do that, would you accept? Willingly?"

Jason said nothing. The two stared at each other, but eventually Jason nodded, conceding. Yena was right. Yena squeezed his shoulder before moving to his side once again. Jason let silence reign for a while before trying again.

"Alright.-" Jason ran a hand through his hair, wondering how to explain it all. He sighed before continuing. "-I took this job knowing what was expected of me. Your safety has always been one of my highest priorities, believe it or not. Making sure that you guys were being treated fairly, all that jazz. The same principle extends here, right now. I take my work seriously, and that means laying shit out on the table. I meant what I said earlier - you guys are in bad shape. You can't fight, you're out here, hurt, weakened, and that makes you vulnerable. It's not you're fault, but right now, if you insist on staying, then anything that happens next - to you, and to Superman, is on you."

Hushed silence.

"Part of being a team is knowing when to have each other's backs, right? Well, its _also_ knowing when to accept help, and right now, we're stuck - _that_ is the truth. You guys need help - physical help, the type that requires you to eat, sleep, rest, and be looked after - actual medical attention. You've got your powers back, great, but forcing them out will leave you unstable, and prolong your recovery. Shit _I_ need help - Yena's here, but still, we're not enough. I don't have enough manpower, equipment, I-" Jason closed his eyes, willing the throbbing of his headache to pass before speaking again.

"If, by some miracle, we manage to reach Superman in time without any of you dying or getting seriously hurt, then there's _still_ a matter of getting you guys to safety. It would mean that I would have to divert my attention from stopping the coup to protecting you guys. I'm trading your lives for the lives of _thousands_ in effect, and I'll be honest here -I _don't_ think I'm ready to bear that responsibility on my neck."

Jason raised his head to the sky, feeling the breeze. "I have a plan. It's a reach, but it's the only one that offers me getting Superman out, and toppling the coup too. _But_ the plan won't work with you guys here alongside, because as persons of interest, you'll attract attention. And if you attract attention, then you'll likely blow our covers. If I'm right, and help is coming, then by this time tomorrow, Superman would have been out, on his way to joining you guys, whilst Yena and I, along with the help that's coming, will be on our way to taking down the coup."

A little silence, and then a voice cut through the air.

"Where would we go?"

Jason looked to the voice - Shayera, still cradling her damaged left wing, looked back at him. He nodded at her, appreciative, before answering.

"This is the first hurdle. You guys wanted to know how I've managed to travel to Xan and Gol, right?"

Nods all round, Yena included.

"Well, as it turns out, I can travel to and through multiverses. Didn't know I could do it until two years ago, maybe more. All I need is an energy source, no ship required."

The group stared, lost at what to say. Even Bruce was surprised.

"I need an energy source to help me open a portal through this." Jason unbuttoned the few first buttons of his shirt and held a thumb against the hollow base of his neck. A few moments later, a thin, copper chain appeared from under the skin, with a little diamond pendant. The group stared, awed, and a few moved closer.

"It's a sort of energy channel, a focal point that takes energy from the power source. All I have to do is think about where I wanna go, and the power source opens up a portal that I can step through."

"Wow." Flash seemed awed. Definitely impressed, Jason thought.

Jason threw a grin in his direction before continuing. "It's pretty cool when you see it live, I'll have to admit. But there are two things I'm concerned about. One: I need a power source - the nearest is an abandoned but still currently active power plant in Tiekr, two hours north from here, minimal guarding to due to the site, easy to take out. All I'll need is a generator and I'm set. Second, is figuring out just how much energy I'll need to get all of you through at once. Doing it in twos or threes would take too long, and be far too draining for me - I need you all to go through, all in one go. The energy will cause a right disturbance and probably draw attention, but its a risk I'm gonna have to take."

"Where will you send us?" Diana spoke now, the first time since the entire escapade, and for a moment, Jason looked at her, saying nothing. He had betrayed her, though only for pretense, but he would _never_ forget her reaction to it all. He swallowed, suddenly finding the ground interesting, before gazing somewhere to his side.

All noted his reaction.

"You'll be going to a planet called Gerebeta, in the multiverse Casp'qwe. A really lovely, peaceful place, its one of my favourites. I have a place of my own there, and some really good friends - kind hearted folks. They'll take care of you, absolutely. I can't send you back to Earth just yet - it would take huge amounts of energy, and I don't have enough strength to take even one person right now, let alone seven."

"And what about Superman?" Bruce asked, and Jason could hear the curiosity underlying the guarded tone.

"Once he's out, I'll send him straight to you guys, through another portal."

"Another bout of energy?" Lantern crossed his arms, doubtful.

"Yep. Another risk I'll have to take. Stealing a Timuelan is out of the question - we need computerised access to start the damn thing, and it can only travel here on Xan. We can't even still a Ttrewure - the military will be watching for anything suspicious, and air travel right now is prohibited and heavily montiored, especially at the ISSA borders."

"And your "help" - how would they get here? How do you _know_ they'll get here?" Bruce was never one to just let things _go_ already, Jason thought.

"They'll get here." Jason looked at him, voice firm. He wasn't about to start revealing any more than necessary.

"And how will you defeat the coup?"

" Leave that to us to worry about."

The group was silent for a while.

And then a voice spoke.

"I think Gerebeta is the safest option." Jason looked at the voice, surprised. 

Lantern was agreeing with him? Well, shit, Jason thought. Clearly the others felt the same way.

"And how would we get back to Earth?" Shayera asked, face thoughtful.

"Once this coup is stopped, the Council restored, and your names cleared - in other words, nothing tying you here anymore - then I'll get you guys home."

"How?" Bruce again.

"You'll see when the time comes." Jason's tone was a little biting, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yena angle his head towards him, telling him to 'cool' it. He dipped his head in acknowledgement.

The group was silent again.

"I agree with Red." Shayera spoke up, and Jason looked at her, a little proud that she'd voiced her opinion without hesitation, and without being prompted. Shayera flushed a little but met his eyes, hard. Good on you, Jason thought.

One by one, the group voiced their objections. Predictably, Bruce had remained against the idea, and part of Jason couldn't blame him - he and Clark were best friends, after all. But the one who'd taken him back the most had been Diana. She'd actually said _no_ , that cowards never ran from hardship, and Jason had stilled himself in order to prevent the sting showing. She was still angry at him, at his betrayal, and Jason knew he ought to call her out on it, that personal opinions aside, his idea was the best at the moment, but in the end, he had no energy to do it. It didn't matter anyone - they had voted in his favour, four against two.

A thought came to him then.

"Manhunter."

The group turned to look at the Martian, who'd only spoken up to cast his vote.

"How is your telepathy?"

J'onn looked at him before closing his eyes. Everything hurt, and his telepathy was at the very edge of his mind; he could _feel_ its tendrils, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get a hold on it. 

"Weak" he gasped out, already swaying on the spot. Diana moved to steady him.

"Alright. Thank you for trying, but if between now and Tiekr you gain a little more energy, enough for a small nudge, see if you can reach out to Superman's semi consciousness - I'm not sure he'll pick up on your interference consciously. Just a little nudge - it'll let him know that we're coming for him."

It was obvious what Jason meant. Clark would be too far out of it from the torture to recognise J'onn on a fully alert basis.

J'onn nodded. It was a good idea to be tried later, when his body began to stablise with his powers. "I'll do my best."

Satisfied, Jason looked at them all before turning to Yena. He reached out a hand.

"Yena, you know what you need to do."

Yena grasped the outstretched hand firmly and they shook hands.

"Vegas."

"Vegas."

"Remember, if anything changes, I'll reach out to you through the apilio or apiliwe."

"No problem. See you in a few hours. Dichwu, come. I'm taking you to safety for now; Red will keep his word."

Yena bowed a little at the League before he took off, armed and ready for his mission, Dichwu hurrying to keep up with him. The League watched them go, and Jason answered their query for them.

"He's going to get the "help" we need to break Superman out and stop the coup. Whilst he's gone, we need to make our way to Tiekr."

Jason looked at the clock. Almost two am.

"We need to get to Tiekr before daybreak; darkness is our best cover. We'll probably need to rest a little bit on the way, not too much though - I still need to generate enough energy and open the portal, and only God know's how long that'll take. Once you reach Gerebeta, you can rest as much as you want."

"Let's go."

 

 

Hosting up his guns and other armory, Jason and the League departed under the night. None were fully on board with Jason's plan, but it was their best chance at surviving, and saving the lives of thousands out here. It would just _have_ to work.

All or nothing, Jason thought, as he led the group through the darkness.


	22. On the clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim receives a call. The IGC are on lockdown. Jason and the League make their way to Tiekr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did a little editing this morning, sorry!

Three forty five am, Monday morning.

Tim jolted awake as a phone bleated noisily in the apartment. He swore aloud, cursing whomever had the audacity to - he checked his personal phone under his pillow for the time - call at past three _in the fucking morning_. He groaned into his pillow, eyes weary. Today had been extremely trying. Two of WE's board members had tested his patience to the limit, and Lucius had had to take him out of the meetings, worried that Tim was close to lashing out. He'd sent the boy down to R &D, a place he knew Tim loved, hoping that the boy would channel his frustrations into the magic of the sciences and technology. Lucius couldn't blame the poor boy; Bruce's departure had created an opportunity for a select few to voice their dissent with Tim as VP, and the longer Bruce stayed away, the more weight their complaints would carry. They were making life difficult for Tim, requesting extra meetings, pilling him with contracts, paperwork, requests, and Lucius could only do so much as President. They needed their CEO, Bruce Wayne, owner of Wayne Enterprises, now more than ever, or Bruce would return to find a mutiny on his hands.

Tim got up, stumbling, swearing, as he searched for the source of the devilish noise. His business phone remained as quiet as a button on his desk, so that left one other: his League phone. He stood for a moment, a little worried, before keying his thumbprint into the secret drawer he kept at the bottom of his desk. Bringing out the phone, Tim stared at the caller, _JL Watch_. He answered, groggy. There had better be a good reason for this.

"Ti-Red Robin speaking."

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but you have a direct line from an unknown location requesting to speak to you."

Tim looked at the phone, puzzled, before answering. "Whose calling?"

"A man named Yena. He claims to be with someone called Red, and the Lea-"

"Put him through, _**now**_." Tim's heart began to race. Shit, why wasn't it Jason calling? Who the fuck was Yena? The voice on the other end stuttered a "right away, sir" before connecting the call. Tim waited, anxious.

****

"Am I speaking to Red Robin?" An older voice. It sounded weary.

"Red Robin, confirmed." Tim answered, sleep now distant. He stood rigid, bated breath.

A pause, and then-

"Las Vegas."

_**SHIT.** _

Jason was in trouble. Fuck, Tim thought, as he dashed to his closet. Before he left, Jason had given him a box containing a small phone, explaining that should he hear these words, _Las Vegas_ , Tim was to switch the phone on. The phone was to be used in the mother of all emergencies, and now hearing the phrase, in the night, had Tim struggling to keep calm, fearful for his brother. He switched the phone on and waited. After a few moments, a little alert appeared on the screen:

" _Message sent_."

Jason had mentioned that such an alert would appear, but he had refused to tell Tim what it was about, claiming "the less he knew, the better". Tim had called bullshit, but Jason had refused to budge. He remembered now the confirmation phrase Jason had drilled into him:

" _Stays in Vegas, baby._ "

"Thank you."

The line went dead, and Tim was left standing, lost at what to do next. There was no way of getting across to the League unlike the last time, and trying to trace the call could spell more trouble for the Yena person, since the phone was only to be used as a last resort. Plus, Tim had WE shit in a few hours time, and any absences would fire up his critics on the board. Tim sat down on the edge of his bed, eyes closed. Wherever Jason and the League were, whatever was going on - Tim prayed with his all might that they were okay. He ran a hand through his hair, thinking of ways to try and get across to them, to pinpoint their location, but Tim knew it was fruitless. He knew the Watch-tower's technology like the back of his hand - he ought to, since he and Bruce spent a weekend running a full maintenance check every three months. Tim put his head in his hands, trying to think like Red Robin. Logical. Rational, much like Bruce. Tim was worried for his brother, his father, the League, but Red Robin knew the communication had been deliberately one sided for a reason - getting back to them would endanger their lives. If they had wanted to talk to him, they'd have done so directly, without a middle man, and the line would have been traceable to an extent. Whatever was happening, both Red Robin and Tim had to trust that the League could handle it.

Tim stared at the phone in his hand.

The phone.

_The phone!_

The phone had been pre-programmed to send whatever message Jason had set up. Tim knew he could probably hack into it, if he truly wanted. Probably discover a backlog of messages, codes, coordinates maybe. Jason was good with technology because he had to be, but Tim was a _prodigy_ in the field. He _loved_ it all, and both brothers knew Jason had nothing on Tim, training or otherwise.

But Jason had entrusted this phone, a Ghost phone, to him for a reason.

The why was easy: trust.

Jason _trusted_ Tim, and after the time and effort both had invested into their relationship, Tim did not think he could bear the consequences of breaking his brother's trust. He'd always wanted to know more about the Ghosts, what _exactly_ they did, where they went, but Jason had purposely left him the dark. Tim knew them to be private mercenaries of some sort, probably with a military background, but that was all Jason would reveal. Occasionally, Jason would send him photographs, souvenirs from his travels, and Tim had played Detective like they both knew he would, figuring out the likely locations, before searching news feeds for unusual activity. Jason had let him the entire time, had even joked about it on many occasions, _trusting_ Tim not to do any more than that. And Tim never had. Even _if_ he wanted to, both knew Jason wouldn't be caught like that. The Ghosts didn't exist. There was absolutely _nothing_ about them, anywhere, not a single wisp of a hint or trace, lead, as to their existence or activities.

Tim still held the phone now. It was tempting, and Tim was just _itching_ with curiosity. Just a little look, a voice told him. Harmless, just a glance. His brother would never know.

But this was Jason. 

Private, outcasted big brother, the one who'd taken _ages_ to open up to him, the one who'd let him into his life, his home, - the one who let him see him when he was most vulnerable, the one who'd ignored his own insanity to rescue Tim from his. The same one who knew _every_ one of his favourite dishes , cooking them to perfection, who went out of his way to make sure he slept well enough, ate properly, who would spend _hours_ sat next to him, watching marathons of Star-trek re-runs, Harry Potter, despite not having a single damn clue about what the fuck was going on. The one who had a bedroom specially allocated _just_ for him in _his_ house, his personal space, safe from the Bats. The one who, after his Ghost missions, made sure to _always_ spend time with him, time that was better used resting, recuperating. The one who'd taken him on holidays around the world; mini breaks in Greece, Thailand, Jason who had given him, tiny Tim, access to his own _fucking_ private island, anytime, anywhere. The one who kept him on speedial one.

Nothing was worth losing Jason for, absolutely fuck all.

Tim switched the phone off and put it back in the box. Covering it gently, he placed it back into his closet.

Until Jason gave explicit permission, the phone would remain hidden, untampered. Tim was resolute: he would _not_ betray Jason, not like Dick, Bruce and the Arkham attempt. Bruce had remained resolute that they were completely in the right; Tim had expected nothing less from the Bat. But Dick, Jesus, that stupid prick: Dick, the more humane of the two, still failed to understand how badly he'd screwed up with Jason on that - every possible chance at "reconciliation" had gone out the window after _that_ endeavor.

Enough reminiscing, Tim scolded himself, as he crawled back into bed. Jason would be okay. They had to be.

 

 

Jason looked at his watch: just after ten past four, Monday morning. He sighed where he stood, lifting his head to the sky. 

He and the League had been walking for more than an hour, and by _God_ , they were absolutely knackered. The League were too badly hurt for Jason to demand that they move quicker - this was an excruciatingly slow pace for him as a Ghost, even with the arsenal he carried around his waist, and across his back and chest. Jason had checked his map a few minutes ago - they had barely covered a quarter of the distance required, and daylight would be in a few hours. The fact that they had even made such progress, with the state they were in, was a miracle in itself. Jason had kept his focus forward, gritting his teeth an effort to stay awake. He didn't want to imagine how the others were faring; Jason was impressed that so far, none had complained. It seemed that the League were battling a few emotions: dealing with their physical hurt, fatigue, and now, the thought that they were leaving their friend behind, Superman, the one who'd always taken the most lethal shots on their behalf, who frequently bore the most exertion in an effort to relieve his colleagues. And always did it with a smile, so kind and polite. These last few months hand taken a toll on the man, on them all, and without saying anything, all had agreed that once they were back on Earth, they would be taking a break for a while. There were minor Leagues who could handle the smaller matters in the interim.

Jason had called time a few minutes ago, when they reached an appropriate clearing, and the League had slumped over, barely concealing their relief. Jason turned his back to them, walking a few feet ahead, not wanting to be privy to the way they supported one another, helping the other sit, huddling in close in the chill. It was a reminder that they were League, a team, and he, Jason, was an outsider. It was jarring, but the distinction had to be made. He wasn't part of them, he never was, and not even with all this. He didn't adhere to their morals, their ideals - that was Nightwing's place. Jason knew that the League loved Dick as a younger brother, a son; Tim too. Dick had always been the golden child, the one who knew everybody, and whom everybody liked. Good-looking, popular, happy to be around - and Jason had been the complete opposite as the new Robin. He hadn't been happy, or smiley - living on the streets had taken away such opportunity. It was hard to laugh and be chirpy when most nights involved looking for shelter, a choice between stealing or going hungry, fighting off molesters, or those who simply wanted the chance at a "quickie" the young boy. Jason hadn't been "cute" like Dick, with his baby round cheeks, oh so pinchable; Jason had been rail thin, gaunt, and his malnourishment made him haggard looking, far older than his years. 

Jason thought about the first time he'd _truly_ known what the League had thought about him, two weeks after meeting them for the first time. He'd been in the Manor for six months now, and had improved a lot, - Bruce and Alfred had _both_ said so. The day he'd met the League had been his happiest day at school. He had come from school that day, happy that for once, he had kept out of trouble, despite his little argument with that snotty nosed prat, Heggle Snotshit or summin'. A girl he'd crushed on for a while, one of the real pretty ones, had passed him a little note, inviting him to her birthday party, and he'd scored an "A" on a piece of work, an essay or something similar; Jason couldn't remember now, but his English teacher, Miss Lee, had praised him in front of the entire class, asking him to read it out loud. He had done so, terribly of course, due to the large gaps missed in his schooling as a result of his home circumstances, but Jason had ignored the sniggers and continued under the encouragement of Miss Lee, proud of his achievement. Two weeks later, after being sent home from school for giving Heggle-shit and his pansy ass friends bloody noses, Jason had sulked angrily upstairs. He'd walked round the first floor, opening and slamming doors loudly to echo his annoyance, when he'd entered one room and stopped, surprised at hearing two sets of voices below. Jason had taken a seat in the corner of the room and listened with interest, as silent as can be. It was Bruce's voice, for sure, and another familiar one, though he couldn't place the voice at first.

"How's he doing?"

The voice was calm, gentle, and Jason had felt himself relax at the man's tone -oh! He'd remembered now; it was that big guy, Superman, leader of the League, everyone knew that - he'd been nice to him when they first met. Jason settled back now, remembering the friendly face. 

"Much better." Jason had smiled at Bruce's praise. "He's eating a lot more, but there's still a lot of ground to cover." 

Jason's face had fallen on hearing this. He was sure he could hear the disappointment in Bruce's tone, and it hushed him to silence. Jason had been trying _so_ hard to avoid upsetting Bruce and being thrown out of the Manor.

"Well, he's clearly not Dick, is he?" 

Superman's voice was warm, but the comparison stilled Jason. Dick. Older brother, Bruce's first, the one who'd left the Manor, who'd looked at him like he was nothing more than dirt on his shoe, who'd stared at him on meeting him for the first time, eyes angry, shutting him down with a snarl when he'd tried to introduce himself. He swallowed, not wanting to hear any more, but found himself glued to the spot.

"No he isn't. Definitely not as easy to talk to; he's either angry or silent, barely has any friends-" Bruce had listed.

"-yeah Dick was always so bright and happy, such a great kid." The man's tone seemed to light up at the name and Bruce agreed, with a _"yes, still is"_ and a chuckle.

A pause. And then-

"Did you really have to choose one of _those_ , Bruce? A street rat, I mean, we all know that, but at least..."

Jason didn't hear the rest of that statement; his mind was sent reeling at the term. The warm gentle voice, the one that had been so nice to him, had now referred to him a _street rat_? We-as in the League? No way would Bruce let that slide. Jason waited for Bruce's rebuke, sharp retort, anything to shut the man down.

And waited.

None came.

"I'm not sure how to reach him, Clark, there's..." 

Jason felt dazed as Bruce's voice became background noise.

Bruce hadn't defended him. He'd agreed that he _was_ a street rat, the ones that a few perverted Gotham Elite hired men to kidnap to use in their sick sex games. Bruce didn't even acknowledge the term, he'd just continued as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

Jason felt crushed.

And from that day on, he'd made sure to always keep Bruce at a distance. The man had tried to get close a couple of times, and each time he did, Jason berated himself, swearing not to fall so blindly for the lies next time. As for "Superman" - that alien could go straight to hell for all Jason cared. The guy was head of the League, surely that meant that the League probably felt the same way - did that mean that Wonder Woman did too? Jason had closed his eyes to calm down. Diana would _never_. No, her kindness was too pure, too genuine to be mistaken for pity like that. She was the only good one out of the lot, and that made her Jason's absolute _favourite_ of the heroes. Dick apparently idolised Superman. Apparently the guy could be stopped by a piece of fucking green rock - pansy ass shit, just like Dick. Jason had left that room that day, heart hardened. All except Diana, J'onn maybe, could go fuck themselves, Jason had decided, and the feeling remained, even now. 

Mind back to the present, Jason walked further away from them, quelling the rage that had bubbled up his throat. Why he was doing all this - helping the League, getting them to safety? He swore, clenching his fists. Had there been no coup, no Tim, Alfred and Talia, Jason would have taken Checkov up on his offer, no hesitation. He decided to stay out here for a few minutes, at least til he'd calmed down enough to focus on getting them all to Tiekr without snapping. Already, Jason couldn't wait for this all to be over. Nothing lasted forever, and once the coup was taken out, and this job complete, Jason would cut all ties, immediately.

A sudden crackle in his ear, an incoming call. Jason pressed his apilio.

"It's done." Yena had come through for him, _again_. Good man.

"Stays in Vegas, baby?"

"Stays in Vegas baby, confirmed."

Jason breathed a sigh of relief. "Alright good. Now that we've got _that_ sorted, how far away are you?"

"Currently in hiding. I can't go back the way I came, Red. Complete lockdown everywhere, military swarming the whole place - they're on the hunt for the League." Yena huddled further in the darkness, watching units of soldiers rush by, before dashing towards the south entrance of the base, where he knew there to be an underground passage he and his unit had used to sneak out to the city, years back, past curfews.

"Have you got another route in mind?" Jason's voice was rough. Of course they were being hunted, just _great_.

Yena studied his apiliwe. The only other feasible route would be several hundred kilometres South, then steep terrain from outside the city, through the forests, in order to head back up North to Tiekr. It would take two days, if he were lucky.

"It'll take me at least an hour to get out of here, and two days to reach you at Tiekr."

"We've barely covered a quarter of the distance out here, and as things are, I don't see us getting to Tiekr till about seven, eight maybe."

Yena swore quietly. Jason agreed, it wasn't looking good for either of them.

"Right, change of plans. You've got the confirmation from Red Robin, good. I need to you to head to, Lo'et'; North West instead. I'm sending you the coordinates now from your location - under a day's journey from here. Assuming the help I've requested, a group of men called the _Ghosts_ , set off for Xan by tonight, they should arrive by the early hours of tomorrow morning, Tuesday, in a large ship, at that location, about two hours from Ikisi. Get to Lo'et, and tell them this phrase "Red shawshank" - that'll confirm you're with me, that you're a friendly. Help the men take as much of the arsenal bagged in the ship, we'll need it to break Superman out. Look at your apiliwe: see where the river Quet splits into the branches Kleo and Neir?"

Yena searched the map, and drew an "x" at the point of divergence on the apiliwe. "I see it, Red. An hour by foot, do-able."

"Good. From Lo'et, you and the Ghosts need to head to that point. I'll meet you guys there right after I've sent the League to Gerebeta, through the portal. It should take me the rest of today to get there. Whilst you wait, bring up the map of Ikisi, the Eastern wing especially, and start planning our cover, points of attack - you know what to do."

"Of course. Lo'et, Red shawshank, river."

"Good man. Stay in touch."

"Will do."

The line disconnected, Jason looked over the map again. He had a _lot_ of ground to cover.

 

 

Meanwhile, at the IGC, the Elders were on their knees, wrists bound behind their backs. Armed guards held pointed rifles behind them.

Above them, in the Council seats, were seated the leaders of the coup: to the left: Thempre, Junio, Mehibosh. To the right: Lierna, and Buri. General Checkov's seat remained empty, and none felt anything at the sight. Good riddance. The middle seat was left empty.

The Elders remained silent, head bowed. None of the coup leaders had spoken as they had arrived to the arena, taking up their new seats. They sat now, arms clasped, staring down at the Elders. It was obvious they were waiting, but the Elders were afraid to ask why. The coup had come as a great shock to them all. One moment the Elders, all present minus Elder Semeticai'a', who had travelled to Demish for a meeting, were in their usual seats, deliberating the situation in Xan, trade routes between Plaei and Elek, when a number of armed men, Sicai'ari had burst into the room, shouting orders to _lie flat on the ground_. A few of the Council had bravely protested, demanding to know the reason behind it all, and had been forcibly dragged to the floor a a result, and beaten savagely for their disobedience. The next few hours were a flurry of movement, barked orders; Xanderian military aircrafts filled the skies, all around the borders of the Elima, and the guards had enforced a complete lockdown of the entire Pantheto, and at the ISSA border patrols. All traffic had been directed, nothing and none could enter or leave. After several hours, still flat on the ground, the Elders were forced to get on their knees, and they found themselves heavily chained, with no way to escape. It had only been a few moments ago when the door had opened, and in walked in six high ranking officials from both Xan and Gol. The group had steadily made their to the Council bench, comfortable, looking entirely at peace with the madness around them. It was hard to have predicted the shock then, when Elder Taenolot had started shouting at them, demanding that he had done his part, that he had every right to be _up_ there. The Elders had stared at him, speechless - Taenolot was _involved_ in all this? But the new group said nothing to the irate Taenolot, staring at him coolly.

And then the door opened. 

The coup then stood to attention, saluting at the figure walking into the room.

Honorable Semeticai'a', trusted colleague, dear friend, made her way into the room, looking resplendent in heavy gold and red robes. She seemed to _glide_ effortlessly, right through their midst, paying no attention to the gasps and utter shock across the rest of the Elder's faces. Even Taenolot looked lost for words, mouth agape at the sight. 

"Semeticai'a?'" he gasped. The confusion was written across his face. 

Semeticai'a' made her way to the middle seat on the Council bench, and on sitting, the rest of the coup sat, looking at her.

"Greetings, all." Semeticai'a' began, voice calm and level. 

The room erupted in uproar. 

Semeticai'a' said nothing, smiling at the insults being thrown her way. _Bitch, traitor, mad woman_ \- she was all of it and _more_. With a lazy wave, the guards behind them fired into the air, hushing them instantly.

"Thank you." Semeticai'a' nodded at the guards, who bowed before her, respectful. She turned her direction to Taenolot.

"As for you, useless worm." She beckoned a guard with a finger, and the man moved immediately, rifle directly behind Taenolot's head. The old man began to plead, begging to be spared, that he would do better. Semeticai'a' interrupted him, bored now.

"I gave you and Checkov all that you needed. The resources, the skills, and you failed in the one simple task I instructed you: to get rid of Red."

"Please, Semeticai'a', I had no idea it was _you_ -"

"Guard!" she barked.

"NO-" Taenolot lurched forwards, but it was too late.

The guard obeyed instantly, pulling the trigger.

The Elders turned away at the sight, sickened. This couldn't be Semeticai'a'. Semeticai'a' would have never done something like this. Their disbelief must have been showing, for Semeticai'a' laughed heartily, pleased at the disposal of the useless man.

"You have put too much faith in me, brethren! Didn't you ever wonder how I managed to "negotiate" so many deals, contracts, terms? Did you really think that being _kind_ and warm and understanding had any place among government brutes and corruption? Blind, deaf and stupid, all of you! she spat, tone venomous.

"All these years, and you never stopped to wonder how I managed to get even the most stubborn of realms to compromise. Well, I'm sure now you see how." She smiled, gesturing to the corpse.

The Elders said nothing. One they had known for _centuries_ \- the betrayal was devastating.

"As it stands, all access to and from Elima has been denied. All travel on the ISSA bridge has been shut down, and the IGC is on lockdown. Your task is simple: you are to submit your authority to us, and address the realm, recognising the coup as legitimate, surrendering all power to our leadership and agree to step down immediately."

Some of the Elders wept. Semeticai'a' found the emotion delightful.

"I expect that you will try to "resist" our takeover, and with this in mind, we are issuing you with a seventy two hour deliberation period, starting now. You will have exactly seventy two hours to come to terms with the situation and agree to our terms. Every twenty four hours, if you have not come to this agreement, then we will order nuclear strikes on exactly five percent of the entire realm, on the peoples, young and old, cities and villages. None will be discriminated. They will killed almost instantly."

The gasps were electrifying.

"Another twenty four hours, another five percent. In total, by the end of the seventy two hours, should you still refuse to step down, then you will have been responsible for the deaths of fifteen percent of the realm - millions of lives. We will continue wiping out the peoples until you submit and agree to step down. Understand this: we have the support of our military, nuclear arsenal at our disposal, and the support of the peoples. As you are aware, riots took place in Xan on Saturday and Sunday; dissatisfaction with the IGC and your policies are at an all time high, economic hardship is being felt across the land, as a result of your sanctions, and the peoples therefore in favour of new government. You have failed them in every way. Should the five percent be put to death, the blame shall be attributed to your stubbornness to hold onto power, and the _entire_ realm will call for your beheading. Once you agree to step down, after addressing the realm, you will then be imprisoned, on trial for war crimes, and should you be found guilty, you will be put to death."

Despair filled the room. Semeticai'a' continued.

"You are now to be taken and imprisoned temporarily, under lockdown, and you will be given time to make your decision. Before twenty four hours is up each day, one of my men will ask of your decision, and he will report back to me. You now know the consequences should you refuse to cooperate."

Semeticai'a' concluded, pleased with all she had said.

Waving a hand, she dissed the Council, smiling as she watched them taken away at gunpoint.

They would comply, most certainly, and Semeticai'a' couldn't be more pleased.

 

 

Eight fifteen am.

They were here.

It had taken close to six hours, their progress slowed due to the League's injured state and various rest breaks, including a forty five minute stretch of light sleep, but in the end, they had made it, and now a large, drabby-looking facility could be seen ahead in the distance.

Tiekr.

Jason took a look at the League now to see how they were faring. They looked _exhausted_. Waking them up had after the sleep had been hard on them all, Jason included. He'd felt like he'd closed his eyes for only a few minutes before it had been time to get up again. The day was getting brighter by the hour, and they'd needed to get to Tiekr as soon as possible. Hawkgirl had had a particularly difficult moment halfway in their journey, her left wing now fully dislocated, almost completely torn from her back, a gruesome sight, and she'd failed to hold back a sob, turning away from the group as she sat on a log, shoulders hitching. Diana had offered her a hand to stand, but Hawkgirl had shook her head, running a shaky hand across her eyes. They all felt for her, for each other, and Jason, as much as he hated being here, with the League, was moved by the woman's distress. It was one thing to be in this shit, but to be in it with a group of people to whom you were neither friend, nor ally? At _least_ Jason knew where he stood with the League. Shayera didn't, and he empathised with her, remembering how alone he'd felt as the black sheep among the Bats, never feeling truly accepted as one of them. Jason had taken a look at the situation, him out in front leading the pack, before he'd made his decision, dropping his armoury to the ground. He had walked towards Shayera who was still seated, trying to compose herself, striding through the middle of League who'd parted way for him, watching. Jason had made his way right in front of Shayera, crouching on tip toes, right till he was on her level, eye to eye. Without saying anything, Jason had placed his hands lightly on her knees, head bent, as Shayera's head met his, closing his eyes as she wept quietly. The group had stared, speechless. Barry was the first to recover, moving to his friend's side unsteadily, putting an arm around her as she cried, kissing the side of her head as he spoke comfortingly to her. After a few moments, Diana had made her way over to her former friend, not touching her injured side, but took her hand, squeezing it gently. Jason had allowed the woman to cry for a few minutes, and on hearing the sobs trail off quietly, spoke a few words, looking at her right in the eye.

"I _will_ get you out of here."

Shayera had been unable to meet his eyes for long, before hanging her head, tired.

"I swear it, on the life of Red Robin, that I will get you guys out of here, to safety."

The oath made all three of them look up at him, taken aback, but Jason kept his focus right on Shayera, who, after a few seconds, had nodded, surprised.

Jason held her eye once more before looking over her shoulder at her wing. Badly damaged, extremely low, it must have been causing her great pain. They had no first aid supplies, no kit - nothing. Jason remained crouching, thinking of how he could help. He looked down, only to realise something. He was still wearing his shirt and trousers from Saturday, his work clothes - he'd remained untouched after being captured. And under his work clothes was his limpra suit. Jason stood up quickly, beginning to unbutton his shirt. The group stared at him.

"Uhh, I don't think-" Flash began, but closed his mouth on seeing the suit Jason wore underneath. Jason kept his mind on the task, beginning to rip up his shirt into strips. Handing the pile to Flash, Jason took a few by his teeth and made his way round to the back of Shayera, coming in close.

"Shayera, this will hurt."

Shayera nodded, beginning to grip Diana's hand, eyes already closed.

For the next ten minutes, Shayera's anguished screams filled the air. Jason couldn't blame her. The poor woman needed surgery, like, yesterday. He'd made a sling of some sort, tying it sturdily across her back and left side. Jason had made it tight, in the hopes that the wing would remain attached, at least to the skin, avoiding tissue damage and possible necrosis due to inadequate blood supply. Jason had backed off afterwards, allowing Shayera some space to compose herself. Diana and Barry had remained right by her sides, waiting with her. Eventually, Shayera and gingerly stood up, supported by the two, and her relief could be read by all.

"Should'a done it earlier. I'm sorry." Jason had apologised, voice gruff, again to the surprise of the group, and he'd moved off to the front again without waiting for a reply. The group waited as Jason hefted his armoury right back onto his person, and stood ready to leave. Jason had turned to look at them, and seeing them ready, nodded, before moving forwards.

And now they were here.

Jason encased the area. Apart from the guards out front, who were probably coming to the end of their night shift, the area looked deserted.

A few feet away, Bruce had stopped beside him, after limping round the perimeter to assess the facility. 

"Anything?" 

Jason directed his query to Bruce without looking at him. He felt Bruce look at him as he answered. "Six guards so far, south and west entrances. Minimal artillery."

"Cameras?

"Mostly concentrated at the front gate, East. Two at the back, shielded by trees - it should provide us with adequate cover."

Jason nodded. It wasn't bad. He cast a glance at his weaponry. A couple of rifles, knives, two tiny explosives, a pair of thick gloves and that was it. Nowhere near what he'd have liked, but it would have to do - he would make it work. Jason turned his gaze to the Tiekr once again. Fenced all round, and by the looks of it, live. The group couldn't just storm in, they would be taken out easily. No, the best way would be to take out the guards, by distracting them somehow, disable the fence, before getting the League access to the facility. Jason turned to Bruce.

" I need you to stay and protect the League, as you move them, See those trees? Ahead?" 

Bruce nodded.

"I'm going to draw attention to the East side, enter the building, disable the damn fence, and hopefully, the security entrance. Once that's done, I'll tell you to move. Don't stop unless I tell you." Jason tapped his apilio before continuing. "Make your way South West beside the facility, behind the fence, opposite to where you see that external storage unit next to fire escape, and the toilets. There's an inbuilt gate into the fence on that side, which I'll disarm to get you guys through. Get the League ready to go."

Bruce nodded. He couldn't offer anything better, and now was not the time to start critiquing. He made his way over to the League, briefly informing them of the plan, and they stood, waiting for the go-ahead.

The League watched as Jason made his way to a tree ahead of them, over to the far left, scaling it with quick efficiency. The man sprawled out, positioned and loaded a rifle, before he fired East of the facility, careful to avoid the power lines. Bruce watched the guards look up at the sounds, drawing up their rifles, as they hurried round to the East side.

A voice crackled in his ear. "Get moving!"

Order made, the League hurried as quickly as possible to the target location.

"Hold!"

Ah, shit, Jason thought.

Bruce immediately held up a hand to the group and they halted immediately, frozen. 

Jason looked through the window of his rifle. A guard had just come out, lighting a cigarette. Jason swore. He needed this guy out of the way, but taking him out would draw the other guards _back_ to the South side. It was either he waited to see what the guard would do, or he risk firing more shots, knowing that he was already low on ammunition, and they had no idea what how many were armed on the inside.

Jason waited.

The League held heir positions, breaths held as they waited for Jason's signal to come through. It was nerve-wracking.

The guard took his sweet time, puffing away, slumping on the door frame of the toilets. Jason was just about to fire two more shots in the East when the guard suddenly pressed his ear, speaking into his communicator, before hurrying round to the East. Jason immediately gave the order.

" _GO!_ "

The League hurried as fast as they could, making it to the South West fence. Once Jason saw their position, he turned his rife East again, towards the guards, and with perfect accuracy, began to take out as many guards as he could, one by one. It was better to do it out here, where he could see them in the light, than inside the facility. The numbers would also give him an idea as to how many to expect inside. He kept firing, switching his view, turning the rifle at times. Eventually, fourteen guards had been taken out, and Jason waited for another minute or so before climbing down from his tree. The League watched as Jason strip himself of his arsenal, throwing each piece clear over the fence. Pulling on the gloves, they stared, awed as Jason moved close the fence, bouncing on his feet. A few bounces, and then Jason had grabbed hold onto the fence, ignoring the little fizzes of electricity in response. 

Bruce sat up, alarmed. "What in God's name is he-"

He needn't have asked.

Jason, on grabbing hold of the fence, had kept his body extremely taut, and streamlined it so that he climbed the fence, arms outstretched diagonally at the sides, chest arched toward the fence, _but_ back and legs arched _away_ from it, much like the letter "c". Jason closed his eyes in complete concentration, eyes focused, bearing through the strain of his muscles as he moved slowly.

Bruce could only stare at the man, for he knew of only one other person who could move like that in such rigid form, one who had such control over his body: Dick Grayson.

It was incredible to watch Jason, as big as he was, discipline his body so well, that not a single movement was made jerkily, or out of place. After steady progress, Jason reached the top of the fence, and, back and legs still curved out behind him, swung closer to the fence once before using the momentum to flip himself over the fence, right into the compound. Landing solidly, Jason picked up his arsenal, strapping it on as he ran towards the East entrance of the building, where the guards lay dead.

Bruce couldn't help but be impressed. They all were.

Jason entered, rifle up, and after headbutting two others unconsciousness, accessed the security panel and located the electrical fence button for the South side. The blue button turned dark, no longer illumined - it was a go for the League. Jason pressed his apiliwo.

"Open the gate. Head on through, enter the building via the fire escape. I'll direct you from there."

Bruce obeyed. He reached for the gate, a little hesitant, before firmly pulling it. Nothing. He held in his relief before beckoning the League to follow, and they entered the building. 

Jason was making his way through the facility, bringing up the map on his apiliwe. Apparently the nearest generator was on the second Lower ground floor. He began to direct the League through his apiliwo.

"There's a generator on the second lower ground floor, a couple of feet from the stairs over on the North side. Continue ten yards to your right, down the first set of stairs, along the corridor, left, and stairs again. You should have reached the entrance to the generator, Lab Jisslip - break in, blast the damn security panel to gain entry. You and Flash figure out how to get the generator running. Bruce, do what you have to do to get everyone there, no excuses."

Bruce gritted his teeth at the insult but allowed it to pass, following Jason's instructions. Jason himself was running as fast as he could, shooting, taken out men as quickly as he could. He had to power through it all; already, he'd heard the sound of an aircraft a few moments ago, and had looked out the window to see three large military aircraft coming into view. Jason had cursed loudly - he needed to get the League out _now_. He was held back for a few minutes by heavy fire. He didn't have time to take them out one by one; he'd be here forever. Firing into the ceiling, the soldiers looked up at the new source of attack, and Jason used the distraction to toss an explosive at them, running for the stairs. 

Almost there, he told himself, as he took the stairs four at a time.

"How's it going, Bruce?" Jason could just about hear a multitude of footsteps storming the building in the floors above him. The military were here. 

_**Fuck!** _

"We're in, but we're having difficulty with the controls-"

"-Hold on, I'm here, I think"

Jason jumped down the last entire set of stairs before crashing though the laboratory on the opposite side, powering like mad towards the League. He skidded to a stop, pushing Bruce aside, panting a little.

"The military are here, they're upstairs, you need go. Get ready, stand with the others!"

Bruce complied, as the League stood ready. He kept his gun pointed at the door, but it was difficult to do for long in his condition. Above them, the noise was growing louder. Bruce gave them only three minutes before the military would arrive at their location. Meanwhile, Jason was moving like mad, hands barely visible as they pressed all sorts of buttons. A loud whirring noise came on. 

The generator came to life.

Jason shrugged his rifle off as he held a thumb to the base of his neck. His necklace, the portal, appeared. Quick as anything, Jason held out the necklace by the diamond pendant and moved to stand in front of the generator. The noise was growing louder quickly. Turning his head to the League, he looked at them all, eyes hard.

"Once you step through, look for a big-ass golden clock tower and head towards it, to the town. When you get there, tell whoever you meet this: _**Red Skywalker. Ishbioth, Klsoe and Lielr**_. Those three names are my contacts. Repeat it, quickly!" 

The military were beginning to the descend the steps from the floor directly above them, and Bruce, propped up by Lantern, readied himself to fire on sight of the soldiers.

The League had to shout the names in order to be heard. Jason nodded before closing his eyes, focusing with all his might on Gerebeta. Good friends, warm, friendly people, the smell of fresh bread, Koesldle and honey, his house by the stream. The focus required was placing huge strain on his body, and Jason gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain." 

All of a sudden, a giant rip could be heard, and a strong wind suddenly filled the lab. In front of their eyes, a large portal appeared in the air, glowing white, purple sparks flinging. 

It was mesmerising, absolutely _incredible_ to behold, but there was no time to appreciate the view.

__

Jason screamed at them now, the military beginning to enter the lab, bullets flying.

__

" _ **GO, GO, GO, GO, GO!**_ "

__

The League ran at full speed through the phenomenon, which began to grow wider as they approached. The fell through the portal in a jumble, and the minute they'd all went through, Jason seared his concentration, closing the portal instantly. In one fluid motion, he lunged to the ground, picking up a rife, and rolled himself behind the control panel, firing back at the solidiers.

__

Jason looked behind him - there was an entrance a couple of feet behind him, the one the League had blasted their way through, but the fire was heavy. He couldn't outgun them all. Quickly, he searched himself, using one hand to fire back. Jason dug deep into his boots and fished out an explosive.

__

His last one.

__

A tiny ass explosive, but with all this equipment around him, it would make one hell of an explosion. 

__

There were only two problems.

__

One: Jason usually kept a generator on his ship, his own portable power source, but should the Ghosts _not_ show, then Jason would need to rely on _another_ power source to open a second portal for Superman. The nearest one from Ikisi was this one, and if Jason blew this place up? They'd be fucked. They wouldn't be able to stop the coup on time.

__

Two: If he was going to blow this place up, then he needed to be out of here, super-humanely fast, like, Flash fast. 

__

A bullet whizzed past his ear, breaking Jason's train of thought. The attack was too heavy - he had to leave _now_.

__

He looked at the door, looked at the explosive in his hand.

__

Taking a deep breath, Jason ran as _fast_ as he could to the door. He felt a bullet slice through his shoulder, but he bit his lip to keep from screaming out loud, focusing on getting to the door. Jason skidded into the doorway, leaping up the stairs, the soldiers hot on his trail. He ran, faster, _faster_ , until he reached the Ground floor. Turning around, he threw the explosive down the stairwell and kicked the door shut, running through the lobby right to the entrance, chest pounding wildly. He reached the door, crashing through the glass, still runnin-

__

 

__

 

__

All Jason would remember the next time he regained conscious, was the sensation of being lifted through the air, flying.

__


	23. Las Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ghosts receive Red's message, Jason wakes up from the explosion, and the League are welcomed into Gerebeta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, took a tiny bit out about the time difference between Xan/Earth!

_A few hours earlier_...

Monday, three fifty two am:

_\+ 123 -849-93 **03**_

_Asap._  
_Urgent._  
_02:0394, 09:9384, 01:3375_  
_Access code: ti170a!03_

__

That was all the message read.

__

The Ghosts were currently on a break, a few weeks of rest after their last mission almost two months ago, and now this message had arrived. One by one, each Ghost reached for their Vegas, reading a message from _that_ number. The emergency number, the "serious-shit-is-about-to-go-down-and-I-need-fucking-help" number. _**03**_ ? Red was in trouble.

__

When the Ghosts had been first assembled, anonymously, in a stock-filled warehouse North of the Sahara desert, over two years ago, they were tasked as a team, and given complete freedom, leeway, ability to plan and execute their own missions; provided with equipment and resources to go where law enforcement agencies, and even the Justice League, couldn't. They were Ghosts, to infiltrate, extract, intervene, in conflicts, coup d'etat, kidnappings, trafficking rings - all manner of evil, and get the job done without international involvement. They had to be invisible, leaving not a trace, in and out of countries at war with each other, in places with all sorts of red tape. But there were two rules.

__

The first was that they were to refer to each other by code names _only_ , and nothing personal was ever to be shared, but as the group had quickly bonded, that rule had gone straight out of the window. Blue was a former navy seal with a penchant for pottery and interior design, flipping houses as a hobby, Black was former SAS who was enrolled in online chemistry and Russian studies outside work, hoping to go for a masters in each someday, Yellow, a cyber security specialist who could only pay his mother's hospital bills through private work, after a three year stint in prison for unlawful hacking, and had a particular knack for impersonations, Orange, ex-CIA spy with a girlfriend and two year old son whom he called often, Red, weapons specialist by day, literature lover and chef by night, Green, strategy and logistics coordinator for Homeland security, who _hated_ anything that had more legs than necessary, Grey, private mercenary who spent his free time building boats east of the Pacific, Taupe, former Taiwanese triad, with contacts so widespread they called him the "phone book" - and had a much younger sister whom he was deeply proud of, Purple, Harvard law, civil rights activist who spent his time off as a social worker for delinquent youth, and taught free classes at his local prison, White, a document forger who'd spent time as a teen drug runner of the feared Del Toros Locos, the third largest cartel in Mexico, before faking his death in an attempt to break free from their poisonous lifestyle, Fuchsia, a foreign language expert who ran a small landscaping business with his grandfather, and Brown, a mechanical engineer, who was almost always blasting pop music any time he could, much to the group's annoyance. From strangers to brothers in arms, they understood the importance of trust, to have each other's backs, recognising that they were only as strong as their weakest link. Different personalities, different styles of working, yet they had all come together as one unit, cogs in a well oiled machine.

__

The second rule was similar to the first: everything was to stay at work - the Ghosts had a range of bases throughout the US, as well as London, South America, Asia and South Africa. Equipment, plans, discussions, ideas - all was to stay between them, on the job. Off the clock, they were to be complete strangers, with mundane, boring civilian jobs. But the Ghosts felt a little differently. Having to work so closely with one another other, twelve plus hours a day, through the night, in the wet, cold, dry, blisteringly hot, when food was scarce, or cover pitiful, having to attack, and cover their brothers when they were being shot at, protecting each other when injured, or threatened with compromise - becoming strangers afterwards was unthinkable, a motion shared by all. They didn't have to be best friends, calling each other every week like little girls, but as brothers, they made damn sure to stay in contact with each other once a month, meeting up every three or so for drinks, around the world, a different place each time. 

__

Which meant that having a second phone, nicknamed "Vegas", apart from the ones they used for official Ghost communication, was nothing unusual for them. The second phone was their "help-a-brother-out-for-world-ending-shit" phone amongst themselves, should they ever need it. The same model, make and phone number, apart from the last two digits, which would identify the brother who needed help- Blue's number ended in (01), Black in (02), Red in (03), and so on. The moment their "Vegas" received a message, the Ghosts would know that a fellow brother was in serious trouble and needed help, help that had to be on the down low -unofficial, unknown, and fast. The protocol dictated that the one requesting help had to provide three details: a date (asap meaning today, tonight, or otherwise a specified date), time (urgent/now, within one hour, two hours etc), and a location, or set of coordinates. Everyone who was available and could make the location by the date and time requested was to help, and so far, out of the three times their "Vegas" had rang over the two years, all the Ghosts had made it. The name came from the catchphrase used by groups of friends who'd make their way down to Las Vegas for a week-end of fun and various shenanigans, and to be bound into silence by the memory - " _What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas_." No questions asked, and never to be mentioned again. 

__

And now a message had been sent by Red. As soon as possible, urgent, and according to the coordinates each Ghost had entered into their laptops, some sort of facility, a few miles from Danver. Unusual, however, was the inclusion of a fourth detail, an access code, but for what? A group call was placed, and each Ghost had stated how long it would take them to reach the location Red had requested. All were still in the US apart from Grey and his boats in the Pacific islands, who was looking at a good sixteen to seventeen hours away by flight to Davner, give or take, which would mean an arrival time of around nine to ten pm, tonight, back in the US. None of them ever knew how long a job would actually take, but they weren't about to let their own down now. Red was a valued member of the team, who'd supported each and every one of them without question. It helped that the guy had a sense of humour, and though quiet at times, they all saw how much he cared. Cared about people, the victims they came across, how he always spoke gently, kindly, clearly well versed with the effects of torture and hardship, though none of them had ever pried - it was too personal a thing. Always ready to lend a hand, offer a shirt, even if it meant him getting cold, or left vulnerable - Red always put others first, and this time, all of them were more than ready to return the favour.

__

One by one, from across the country and the pacific, each Ghost packed a travel bag and began to make their way to Danver, determined to help their brother.

__

 

__

 

__

Monday, eight thirty am, Gerebeta.

__

They were here. 

__

They were safe.

__

Slowly, each member helped each other to stand. They had fallen through Jason's portal, clearly not helpful in their current safe, but a little bruising was much better than being re-captured again. They were up now, gawping in awe a little at their surroundings. 

__

Gerebeta.

__

This couldn't be real.

__

And _yet_ , it was. It _felt_ like it was. They had stepped into somewhere never seen before, in a whole new multiverse, through a portal that had been activated by nothing more than electricity and the focus of the mind. Jason had done it. He had kept his word, to get them out of here, and here they were, in Gerebeta, standing in a lush, bright-sprouting meadow, the ground soft beneath their feet. It was warm, yet so _light_ , airy, fresh - peaceful. In the distance, a large golden clock tower could be seen, glinting in the distance like a beacon.

__

The town.

__

Jason had mentioned that they were to head towards the clock, and now that they were here, that they could _see_ it, the relief was palpable. Unfortunately, along with the relief came guilt: that Jason was now alone on Xan, having left him in the midst of gun fire at Tiekr, nevermind Superman, who they could assume was _still_ being tortured at Ikisi. Survivor's guilt, Batman had said once, but that didn't make it any better now. They stood for a moment, taking in the scene, the freshness of it all. 

__

It wasn't fair.

__

Bruce could see the impact this was all having on the League. None had spoken; their focus on the town, on food, rest and safety, yet the League were afraid of moving, as if taking a step would cement their betrayal to their friend, having to swallow the truth that they had left Jason to die, probably, a man who despite his hate for them, had looked after them, albeit from a distance, who'd risked his life, and the life of his friend Yena too, to rescue them, and had now sent them here to safety, to _his_ friends, when Jason could have gone alone instead and left the League to their fate in Fewuity. And the _looks_ they had given him when he'd entered their holding cells with the General, assuming he'd betrayed them all, after everything he had done for them. Hateful looks. Their suspicions were warranted, Bruce decided, and yes, the man's measures were...unconventional, but Jason had tried for them, and in the end, not one of them had thanked him, even as they had left through the portal. Bruce, for the first time, knew that he owed Jason some well deserved gratitude and more importantly, his life. He cleared his throat now, garnering the attention of the League. 

__

"There's nothing more we can do now." Bruce looked at all of them, weary, half slumped, dirty, empty stomachs audibly gnawing in protest, limping and holding themselves in pain, before he turned to the front, eyes hard.

__

" _Red Skywalker. Ishbioth, Klsoe and Lielr_. Let's go."

__

And with that, the League made their way to the town.

 

 

Jason opened his eyes with a groan.

__

"Fuuuuckk" he ground out, wincing at the throbbing of his skull. 

__

What the hell happened? He forced himself to think. The air smelled burnt, fried even, and it felt heavy on his clothes. He felt something hard beneath him, and moved his arms slowly: rocky surface, crumbl-.

__

Right, he was on the ground. That made sense. 

__

Jason tried opening his eyes, little by little, till he met the sky. It was grey.

__

Huh? 

__

He was now thoroughly confused. Since when was the sky _grey_? Ohh- Jason took a deep breath and smelled something acrid, an assault to his nose, and bitter in his mouth. _Smoke_.

__

And where there's smoke, there's fire.

__

_Fire_?

__

_**Shit**_!

__

Jason sat up quickly, and regretted the action instantly. The movement felt heavy, sluggish, as if his brain was moving against the constraints of his skull like a ping-pong ball, and the sensation made him nauseous. He closed his eyes, letting it wash over him, before he opened them again, looking around now.

__

In front of him, a building was on fire. Grey-black smoke, and there were alarms ringing loudly, worsening his headache. Jason remembered now, sighing as the memories flooded back to him. Tiekr, power plant. The League, the portal, him throwing the explosive - he'd made a dash for the entrance, had broken through the glass when the explosive had gone off, presumably alighted by the gunfire, and Jason had sailed a few feet in the air, before landing, knocked unconscious by the blast. He switched his gaze to the floor, noting a number of charred bodies, before looking at the rest of the view. Apart from the alarms, no other noise could be heard, and more importantly, no other figures were in sight. A slight ache on his right shoulder caused him to look down and-ah, shit. The fucking bullet he'd gotten trying to escape. The bleeding had slowed, but now that he was conscious, the pain came back, unavenged, and his arm felt like lead. His _shooting_ arm, mind you. Jason bit his tongue from cursing and shook his head. Just great. Thankfully his training around the word had forced him to become ambidextrous, and he would still be able to shoot with this left, but it was still a bother. 

__

"Lets hav'a look and see what else is wrong." Jason muttered to himself as he took a quick self-appraisal.

__

Mild concussion, though rapidly clearing, a slight ringing in his ears from the blast of the explosion, that would subside after a while. Bullet wound in his right shoulder - Jason craned his neck to side, glancing at the red patch that had stained his limpra suit, top right corner of his back. Clean exit, then. Good, at least there was a lesser risk of internal bleeding from an indwelling bullet. Nerve damage? Jason wriggled his fingers slightly. Warm, and moving, all five digits. He breathed a sigh of relief. No nerve damage, good blood supply. The last thing he needed right now was to start considering an amputation. Jason looked down. A few shards of glass embedded in his suit, from crashing through that glass door, but no other major cuts or bruises and his boots were still on. Jason chuckled to himself. All things considering, things weren't too bad. It had taken a painful, tiring six hours, but he and the League had made it here, even in the daylight, and despite military attack, Jason had been able to open an _entire_ portal, ingoring the strain placed on him and adrenaline of events at his sides. Zatanna had warned him that such openings should ideally be done when he was calm and well rested, and it was a downright miracle that Jason had been able to even activate the necklace itself. Nevertheless, the only way Jason knew if he'd been successful on opening the portal to _Gerebeta_ would be much later, when all this shit had been sorted out, the coup overthrown, when he would travel to Gerebeta himself and take the League home. Jason didn't know how that last bit would work out; shit, he was exhausted, and there was still so much to do. 

__

Yawning, Jason stood up gingerly, steadily gaining his bearings. His shoulder needed support; the sensation would distract him from focusing on the tasks at hand. Jason didn't want to risk entering the facility - it was too unstable - and instead decided to take a walk around, looking for rifles, communicators, apiliwe, shirts even, that he could tear up and make a sling, much like he'd done with Shayera. He had left his gear back in the lab, when he'd had to drop the lot to concentrate on opening the portal. Now he was out here, alone, with nothing to protect himself with, and injured. Jason took a walk round the facility - the charred remains of three Ttrewure were still identifiable, their framework swaying a little, and Jason could just about make out the bodies of the pilots and the soldiers in the aircraft, long gone. Eventually, his search had proved mildly fruitful; one solider had died of blood loss secondary to both lower limbs having been blown off, but thankfully for Jason, his top half had been spared, shirt included. Jason made a face as he crouched beside the torso. This part was never easy. He removed the shirt, pocketing a few extra pieces here and there that might come in handy later, and holding a breath, dug inside the solider's ear, fishing out an apilio. Rank, he thought, wiping some of the blood on the shirt, but at least it was better than his own apilio, which he doubted would function even a little after the blast. For now, he wouldn't be able to contact Yena, and that meant trusting that his friend would make it to Lo'et on time, regardless of what happened to him.

__

Jason removed the items, and made no time of fashioning the shirt into a sling, carefully tying the material around his right arm, which by now was throbbing painfully. The added support was a great relief, and now, with his new apilio in, he continued his search, looking for a rifle and an apiliwe, in order to bring up a map of his current location, and the distance from here to his meeting point with Yena and the Ghosts, the point of bifurcation of the river Quet. Jason had chosen that location specifically - it was less than an hour away from Lo'et, and another two hours or so from Ikisi by foot - the coincidence of the Ghosts landing outside the city, aaway from the radar of Xanderian air control and also close enough to Ikisi, hadn't escaped his attention, and Jason thanked his lucky stars he'd had the foresight to make such a contingency plan, a favourite pastime of _someone_ he knew. 

__

A couple of minutes later, with an apiliwe in hand, and map on the screen, Jason started walking, mentally willing the Boy Scout to hang on, as he focused on the road ahead.

__

 

__

 

__

Monday, ten forty five am. Gerebeta.

__

Bruce breathed heavily as he took yet another step. His ribs were on fire, and every step made him close to pulling his teeth out.

__

They were almost there, and by _God_ , he'd never been so thankful for civilisation. It had taken over two hours for the League to cross the meadow, and as they came closer to the town, houses and smaller buildings now clearly visible, he could feel the League's spirits lifting, more determined. They were almost there. The sound of water could be heard tinkling faintly in the distance, but there was no time to try and locate the sound. Jason had told them to focus on the big clock tower, and Bruce didn't have the strength to stray away. They were less than fifteen minutes away now, and the smell of something warm, fresh...bread, it was bread that filled the air, making them even more aware of their hunger. Bruce could have wept right there had he not been the _Batman_ , with a serious reputation to maintain, even now. They could see the town now, different sized buildings, white and gold, with streamers, happy sounds and a liveliness that money couldn't buy. Still in pain, the League hadn't eaten in almost three days, and apart from that stretch of sleep Jason had thankfully permitted hours ago, they had been forced awake, all in the name of science. Bruce couldn't imagine the shock on the people's faces at their appearances.

__

Ten minutes away.

__

The stream could be heard clearly now, and the smells grew even more lovely. The hustle of the town was audible, laughter and sing-song voices filled the air.

__

Five minutes away.

__

The League could hear what sounded like carts on the ground, and seller's calls on advertising food items to be bought. A market square, Bruce decided. The little pitta patter of feet could be heard, bringing a smile to Diana's face - _children_. The League reached the entrance of the town now, gazing at the sight before them. Not quite medieval, and not glaringly futuristic either. Spacious, comfortable, clean and warm - like a suburban modern utopia smack bang in the middle of a fairy tale. Already, those who had noticed them were staring, and as the League entered, the people parted away from them, eyes side, whispering, as the League shuffled in the middle of them all.

__

It was hard to walk into this happy place, looking as they did - a complete mess, top to toe. Bruce took his gaze off the people, and of his pitiful state to look at the town, the numerous patisserie, a giant honey wheel, a little tree that held strawberries that young children plucked, dipping their treasures into bowls of cream. Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce could see his friend Barry staring longingly, and he felt sorry for the man. He didn't want to imagine what the whole ordeal had been like for the man, who'd gone from super fast metabolism, to human, and now back to superhuman, and the growing metabolism that would develop as his body stalibised with his powers again. The man was too good for any of this to have happened to him, and Bruce swore that he would treat his friend to a feast when they were back on Earth.

__

The music and bustle of the town drew to the stop as the League passed through, the people following behind them, cautious. Evidently, someone had ran on ahead and passed on the news, for three old men, greying yet kind looking, came towards them, eyes full of sympathy - town elders, most likely. Those eyes were the nicest the League had seen for a while, and it was hard to swallow the emotion they felt. Bruce stepped forward, about to speak on behalf of the League, when Diana touched his arm, smiling at him, before patting it, and stepped forward herself. The gesture was simple: _you've done enough_ , and Bruce, out of sheer exhaustion, and relief, simply breathed, nodding, accepting the arm Barry had put around his shoulders, drawing him to the rest of the group. 

__

Diana turned to look at them once before turning her gaze to the men, and to the people crowded around them, who were hushed, waiting. She bowed, and with a shaky voice, spoke the magic words.

__

_" **Red Skywalker. Ishbioth, Klsoe and Lielr.** "_

__

All she had in return was silence.

__

The League waited, watching the confusion in the looks the town members gave each other, children hiding behind their parent's feet, peeking a glance at them every so often.

__

Diana tried again, her voice breaking a little in desperation.

__

_" **Red Skywalker. Ishbioth, Klsoe and Lielr.** "_

__

Her voice hitched a little at the end, and that seemed to jolt the town into wakefulness. The old men nodded, seemingly recognising the names as they moved towards them and one of them held out his hands to Diana, who grasped them tightly, eyes closed, trying not to break in front of them all. The man took Diana by the hand, drew her to the side. Looking at all of them now, he spoke, pointing at his chest, saying "Hershur", presumably his name, and though none of the League had any idea what he was saying, the dialect foreign, the way he _looked at them_ , eyes soft, and voice ever so gentle, was more than enough: they were safe now. Diana brought up a hand to her eyes, unable to bear it any longer, and now the towns people moved towards the group, voices kind, arms looping around their shoulders, backs, gesturing to each other as clothes, food, water was brought out. They were led to a large house, all to different rooms, and were helped to sit on beds warm and comforting. The League could only watch, tears in eyes, as the people seemed to move as a whole, hurrying back and forth with supplies, cleaning equipment, children hauling bowls of water on their heads to place them by their elders, who soaked strips of material in water, ready to clean the League's wounds, and their pain away.

__

None of the League could find the words.

__

The smiles, the soft, warm tones, the gentle hands that steered, washed, cleaned, lifted, that wiped away tears, that hugged them, stroking heads - it was all too much for them, and one by one, in the privacy of their own rooms, each member broke down in their own way, crying into the embraces of those who were cleaning them, relieved that they were here at _last_ , safe.

It was difficult to accept.

__

But now, the hell was over. No more torture. No more pain, _agonising_ pain, hunger, or the torment at watching each other suffer, hearing the anguished screams, being forced to watch friend after friend being dragged back into the cell, bleeding, unconscious, and powerless to do anything about it.

__

It was time to rest.

__

 

__

 

__

Monday evening, nine pm, Earth.

__

Fuschia had been the first to arrive, a little after nine. He'd entered into a large, gated facility, with a security panel on the wall to the side of the gate. Neither Google Earth or any of their speciliased software had clarified what _type_ of facility the coordinates led to at first, but by the time Fuschia had drawn up to the compound, he had known _exactly_ what the place was.

__

A hangar.

__

And hangars meant planes, which therefore meant that they were flying out to the job, to Red.

__

Fuchsia decided to park inside the facility. Entering the access code into the panel, the gates opened silently, and Fuchsia drove inside, looking around. The hangar was larger, and Fuchsia, curious now, parked his car and walked round to the back, already open only to be left surprised by what he saw.

__

A ship.

__

Not a plane, or jet, or even helicopter - a big ass, streamlined, _motherfucking_ ship. And it was one he'd _never_ seen before, ever. He doubted it was even _from_ Earth - aliens _were_ real, after all, they all knew that.

__

Fuchsia stared a little - Red had always been the quietest out of the lot - and quiet people tended to have a whole lot of shit up their sleeves. He walked in now, gazing up at the steel grey ship, before looking around. Once again, he was taken by surprise - apart from the ship, which had a small piece of paper attacked to the side, instructions from Red most likely, there was nothing else around. 

__

Literally, _nothing_ else.

__

No cupboards, or shelving, no tools or kits - it was just this big ass ship and that was it. 

__

Fuchsia looked around, baffled. He'd never seen anything like this. Walking around it, he realised, foolishly, that he had _no_ idea where the ship door was located. None. It all seemed to merge into one. Fuchsia read the sheet of instructions, and chuckled lightly.

__

" _Fuchsia, if you're reading this, motherfucker, wait for everyone else before you damage my ship by trying to find the damn door._ "

__

He read further.

__

" _To everyone else: thank you for coming._

__

_The plan is simple: Wait till you're all here. When you are, go to the nose of the plane, there's a small panel there. Open it, bring out the key and close it again. Hold it to the nose, and it will disappear, but the door will open. When you're all in, all you need to do is gear up; there are bags loaded with suits under each seat, and the equipment we'll need is in the lockers. Once you're strapped up and ready to go, one of you head to the front, to the control panel. All you'll find is one little green button with "press me" written on it. Press it. The door will close, the ship will fire up and you'll be taken to your destination. No need to try and drive the plane; there are no controls available for you since only I can activate it, and I've programmed it already to take you where you need to go. Food and WC are to the rear of the ship. When you reach your destination, the door will open. Head out, with your arsenal, and I'll be waiting outside. I'll explain the rest once you're on the ground._

__

_In summary: when everyone who is coming is present, get on plane, suit up, press the button, enjoy the ride, and get off plane._

__

_Simples._

__

_Peace out, fuckers, and thanks again._

__

_Red._

__

_PS: Black, if you finish my stash of cereal bars, I'll kill you._

__

Fuchsia was tempted to peek inside the ship immediately after reading _not_ to, but Red was one those guys whom one could never predict how they would react. The guy was seriously talented; spoke a load of languages, almost as many as himself, could read people and situations almost instantly, and had a real knack for making the impossible possible. He was _not_ a guy to cross; somehow, they all knew that, and Fuchsia swallowed his desire to poke around. Red was a good man, a loyal brother in arms, funny, too, but he could be unpredictable when he wanted, and now was not the time to test him, especially when he needed help so urgently. Fuchsia took one last look around before sticking the note back onto the ship, and headed back to his car, waiting for the rest to arrive. By ten pm, the rest of the Ghosts had arrived, staring, a little awed at the ship, chuckling at the instructions, particularly at Fuchsia, and finally, a little after ten thirty, all were suited, strapped in, and rather excited, as the ship slowly left the hangar.

__

Las Vegas. No questions, and never to be mentioned again, and boy, it would make for one _hell_ of an adventure.

__

They couldn't wait.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ttrewure = Xanderian military aircrafts


	24. Calvary's here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ghosts make their way to Xan, the League remember where they are, Gerebeta, and the newly imprisoned Elders struggle to make a decision.

A few hours earlier...

Yena tried for the fifth time.

"Red, do you read me?"

No response.

Yena sighed as he paused to rest. Nothing from the apiliwo _and_ the apiliwe. It was now just after two in the afternoon, Monday, and Yena still had quite the distance to cover in order to reach Lo'et, by the late evening. He hadn't heard anything from Red for over six hours now; the last communication from the man had been somewhere around eight, when Red had sent an alert via his apiliwe informing him of the League'a arrival at Tiekr. Not long after, the ground had shook a little, and Yena had stopped where he was, in the middle of the forest, alarmed. An earthquake, possibly? Xan hadn't much of such occurrences, but then Yena had climbed to a higher vantage point, where he noted that to the far south east of his location, the sky was a dull grey. He peered a little before it hit him: Tiekr. Red and the League. Yena forced himself to remain calm. He wanted to help his friend, but Red had made it _clear_ that he was to head to Lo'et, to meet his friends, the _Ghosts_ \- the man had spoken the truth in the midst of them all; that to rescue Superman, to stop the coup - they needed help. Going back for Red now would mean another ten hours, minimum, in the opposite direction, back the way he came, and already Yena could see a few Ttrewure heading towards the area. If he went now, Yena knew that should the Ghosts arrive, he would not be able to meet them on time, dangerous for them - unknown territory- and a blow to their plans; they needed the reinforcements, and his friend seemed to hold these Ghosts in high regard. Yena, swallowing painfully, made the decision to continue. He couldn't be sure of what had happened to Red, to the League, but the priority now was meeting the Ghosts as designated. He had to believe that they were okay, that Red had escaped, and Yena continued trudging through the thick forestry, praying for a miracle.

 

 

Gerebeta.

Bruce had woken up with a start, slightly panicked, gasping for breath. 

Where was he? 

He looked around, searching for something to arm himself with, and the movement frightened the young woman at the far end of the room, who looked to be preoccupied with washing something above a bowl. Her eyes widened and she held out her hands, gesturing, mumbling something unintelligible. Bruce narrowed his eyes, bracing himself, already listing the possibilities for the situation: mind control, magic, hallucinogens, sleep deprivation, and the young woman grew alarmed, rushing out the room, voice raised. Bruce used the opportunity to plan his escape - bed sheets would make for rope; he scanned the room for instruments to arm himself with. 

But his plan failed.

For one, rolling to his side in order to sit up had caused him to breathe in sharply, drawing his attention to the fire that raged across his sides. Broken ribs? How? His head began to throb now - a headache, and as Bruce struggled to swing his legs over the bed, swearing, sweat beading at his hairline, three other women now entered the room, hurriedly, trying to placate him with anxious eyes, trembling hands, and soft voices. Bruce stopped for a moment. Wha-

Oh.

It came back to him now, as he took in the sight of the women, trying reach him without overcrowding around him at the same time. He took in the large room, the strips of fabric soaking in water, sunlight streaming through the windows, and Bruce made to stand. One of the women rushed forwards to assit him but he flinched, sending her an ugly look, halting her in her tracks. For a moment, Bruce felt a little remorse on seeing the way the woman's face fell, but he put the thought aside, moving sluggishly, as he reached for the window. Three pairs of eyes followed him, watching as he met the window now, panting a little, flattening his palms out to the wall in order to steady himself.

Xan. League, captured, tortured.

Jaso-Hood.

Saved by Hood, walking to that big place, Tiekr.

The portal!

Gerebeta.

Bruce breathed out a long, heavy sigh as he placed his forehead on the glass, the coolness a familiar comfort. Outside overlooked a large garden; a leafy tree stood off centre, near the rear, and leading to it were a few benches either side of a marbled footpath, and shrubbery to the sides. Standing quietly, Bruce realised he could hear the little cooing of birds, and it made him smile. It was all so idyllic, so fairy-tale like - and part of him wished he live could here, just for a while at least.

They were safe now. Bruce took the time to calm himself; his heart was already beating too fast, a reaction to the initial unfamiliarity of his surroundings. Calmer now, Bruce turned to the women, offering a brief, apologetic smile, bowing his head. They understood the gesture, and they smiled, moving towards him, speaking quietly, kindly, helping him to sit on the bed, as they moved about him, moving the bowls of water closer as they cleaned him and tended to his wounds. Bruce felt his eyes sting a little; he wasn't used to such kindness, and it reminded him of Clark. Clark, his best friend, brother even, though one would have to pay him to admit the truth aloud, the same one who was _still_ in Xan, most likely suffering indescribable amounts, and Bruce turned away, jaw clenched. Jason had been right, they were too badly hurt to be of any use, but that didn't make it any better - they were safe now, and Clark was still out there. How many times had Clark put his life on the line for him, for them all? Too many to count, and now that he needed _them_ , they had turned their backs on him, and the worst part of it all was that Clark didn't know. Wouldn't know that help was coming, that he wasn't alone. Bruce swallowed painfully, bowing his head a little, squeezing his eyes shut as they grew heavy with tears. The conversation around him hushed a little, before Bruce found himself being embraced lightly from behind, his hands being held, shoulders rubbed, and soft words spoken into his ears. Bruce couldn't understand a single thing they were saying, but he was grateful for the efforts made at comforting him, and he sank into the contact, heart heavy.

A few hours later, after he'd been cleaned up, Bruce awoke with a start. His clothes and bedding had been changed, a cane left at the end of his bed, presumably for his limp, and taking a look at the room now, Bruce could see that it was much larger than the room he was first introduced to on their arrival. Clean, spacious, fresh -the windows had been left slightly open, and a mixture of bread and honey wafted through the window. It was lovely, and Bruce felt himself sink into the pillow behind him, relaxing a little. His eyes drifted further- there was a large closet to the left, along with a small bookcase and to the far right wall, a door, which Bruce surmised was the bathroom. Bruce put it all together - the League had most likely been taken to this town's version of a hospital when they arrived, before being moved here, likely a large villa or mansion of some sort. Curiosity overcame him and he decided to explore, gently easing himself off the bed, and limped towards the cane, smiling at the thoughtfulness of the people. Bruce made his way out the room, and stood at the entrance, taking it all in. To the left and right were doors, four in total, probably a room holding each League member. To the far end of the hall was another set of stairs leading to an upper floor, where the rest of the League were probably staying. He listened - apart from the faint noises of objects being moved around, and warm smells filling the air - people in the kitchen then - Bruce couldn't hear anything else. He debated on knocking on each of the doors, but decided against it in the end. The League were either downstairs, having something to eat, or still in their rooms, sleeping most likely. 

Bruce turned to the right, and at the far end stood a large painting, adjacent to window bench, similar to the one in Auburn room, back at the Watch-tower. He limped towards the area, eyes roaming over the painting. Muted, earthy tones, depicting what appeared to be a homely town, white with flecks of gold, surrounding by a stream of water - so a map of the area then. Bruce moved in closer - in the middle of the town ran a long road, with little carts and stalls to the side, and a large statue of some sorts in a water fountain - a market square. Bruce gazed for a moment longer before sitting on the window bench, resting a little. He stretched out his legs, wincing a little at the tenderness of his bruised skin, and looked out the window. He could see down now; a white patio stood, and watched the bustle of activity as women went back and forth around a long table, holding bowls of food, steaming liquids, pushing in chairs, setting napkins and cutlery. In the middle of the table stood several fruit baskets already, a large cheese wheel, and a platter of thinly sliced meats. They had arrived in Gerebeta sometime in the morning, and judging by the sun high in the sky, and the warmth, it was currently the early afternoon. Lunch time, and on hearing quiet, mumbled, but certainly relieved voices, the League were downstairs already.

Bruce rested his head against the wall now, mind drifting a little. He still felt guilt at Clark left behind on Xan, but sitting here now, he knew that Jason had been right. They all did. They were in no shape to help - he had to keep reminding himself of this fact. 

Jason.

As he thought back to when this had all started, Bruce realised that he had been flitting between _Red_ , _Hood_ and now, _Jason_ throughout. It was as if his mind could decide who the man was to him, if he meant anything at all. Bruce closed his eyes gently. Hoo-Jason had proved to be exceptional, right from the beginning, when he'd spent an entire week putting in overtime to sort out the IGC contracts, dates, communication logs, to working alongside J'onn in making preparations for the League's stay in Xan. The man had helped arrange their timetables and schedules according to ability, had asked after them, shown concern at their well-being, even when he claimed that he didn't care, that it was just _all part of the job_. The same Jason who had pretended, for a moment, to be working alongside Checkov, something that had sent them all reeling at just how _well_ he'd played his part of traitor. The man who had risked his life for theirs, continuously, from protecting them at Fewuity, against the military, putting a great distance between them and himself in order to buy them time, and an escape route, the one who'd had taken them on a six hour trek to Tiekr, himself exhausted - and in that same _exhausted_ state, had somehow garnered enough energy and strength to open a portal, an _actual_ portal, into another multiverse - all for them, for their safety, not his. Yes, they didn't have Superman with them - but Jason had told them clearly, that he, Yena, and the support he was expecting - so certain of it, too- were going to break Superman out, get him to safety, _and_ stop an entire military coup, with the lives of millions at stake. No hesitation, just determination.

And the worst part of it all?

Jason had never complained.

He hadn't asked for anything in return. Not thanks, not gratitude, not payment - absolutely nothing.

The man had shown a completely different side to him, one that they all, Bruce included, could have never predicted. Calm, collected, brutal _and_ efficient, the one who, whilst Bruce had been warning Yena of his unreliability, had made things work out for them.

And they'd left him, in the midst of gunfire, by himself - and without a single thanks.

Bruce didn't know how he would be able to face the man. _If_ , he would be able to face the man ever again, assuming Jason somehow survived this.

"Bruce?"

A gentle, warm voice jolted him out of his thoughts. He knew who it was already, without question.

Bruce opened his eyes at Diana. She looked better, bruises all covered up, hair cleaned, but the marks were still here. Diana knew what her friend was doing, and she smiled, allowing him to continue his assessment. Bruce looked up now, catching her eye, not finding the words. Diana, his friend- no, more than that, every one in their group knew- a woman he valued highly, whom, deep down if he dared to admit, he loved - Bruce had had to watch her dragged out, beaten, screaming under her captors torture - the rage came bubbling up, seething and red hot with fury, but Diana simply smiled, understanding. The experience had revealed the truth: Bruce couldn't lose her, he'd denied himself, themselves too long for years now, and Diana loved him, human and all. She bent now, and kissed him deeply, ever so close to the corner of his lips, a gesture too close to be merely innocent and friendly in nature - an invitation. _Whenever you're ready_ , and Bruce could only close his eyes. They were long overdue for this conversation, and despite their circumstances, Bruce knew that there wouldn't be a better time. Earth was too complex, busy, filled with expectations, duties and limitations, and they would be back to being Batman and Wonder Woman the second the Watch-tower came into view. Bruce opened his eyes now, gazing back up at her, willing her to understand with his eyes. They would talk, out here, when they were properly rested, and beginning to heal, as Bruce and Diana - otherwise they never would. They looked at each other, understanding. After a long moment, Diana extended her hand, and Bruce took it, letting her take his weight as she pulled him up close to her. They were _too_ close now, standing like this, his lips just past the corner of hers, their hands intertwined, her chest heaving a little before his, his other hand lightly touching her waist, and Bruce stood, breathing in her scent, her closenes-

"Diana! Have you got him already, hurry up, I'm starving!"

Barry's voice jolted the two out of their heated proximity, and the two stepped away to a more appropriate distance, Bruce flushed, and Diana's ears tinged pink at the tips. They waited for a few seconds, smiling at each other now a little shyly as the blushes subsided, Diana brushing her hair back, masking their _almost_ moment, before making their way downstairs, Diana out in front, Bruce a little behind. For now, "they" would remain between the two, until they were comfortable.

 

 

Monday afternoon, four pm.

Meanwhile, back on Xan, Jason was making good work of the difficult terrain that led to his meeting point with Yena and the Ghosts. Looking at the apiliwe, at the map, he estimated that he had another four or so hours to get through this thick, dense terrain, navigating old airfields, and remaining hidden in the darkness created by forestry overhead, though able to navigate through pockets of light that streamed from above. Apparently there was a little rural village, Btwua, just a couple of miles away, and Jason knew that he would have to stop for a while and find shelter to rest, sleep and eat, none of which he had done properly for almost three days now. His limpra suit, the top half, had been uncomfortable to wear with all the sweat from the exertion, despite its breathability, and Jason had resorted to tying and wearing it as a bandanna, cooling his head, and mopping up the dew that trickled down his back. He had also removed his trousers, tearing it at the knees to wear as shorts - inside the forest was far too humid, and Jason was not about to develop sweat rash of the balls because of poor ventilation down there, he had chuckled to himself, groaning in relief as he removed the excess material, relishing the air that proved cool against his skin. Torso bare, skin flushed, Jason continued on his way, ignoring the dull ache of his bandaged shoulder as he journeyed ahead.

 

 

"Eighty one percent, Ma'am."

Excellent.

Magdaia hummed approvingly as she looked over the data. It was just after eight in the evening, but the team were still at work, sixteen hours in, focused and determined to see this important phase through to the end. Phase Two was almost complete; in a few hours, the Superman would be full man, powers extracted. Magdaia was satisfied, though word had come across that Fewuity had been destroyed, and the League seemingly escaped - she had called her mother, furious that part of her work was now lost in the wind. Semeticai'a', however, reassured her not to worry -the coup was in place, and at least Magdaia still had in possession the most important of the League, the best and most fruitful, nearing full extraction now. Magdaia had let her anger subside; it was painful, but Mother was right, and in the end, this research of hers would still be the most forward thinking in their realm. They would both be getting what was rightfully theirs, and in any case, Mother had promised extra military support would be sent over to Ikisi, ensuring that nothing would stand in their way. Magdaia peered over her glasses now, to across the room, where Eheto worked. The stupid girl worked diligently, head bowed, quiet as she labelled and compiled chemicals, equipment, and jotted notes in their logbooks detailing their progress. Magdaia smirked. She had not forgotten the girls intrusion when she had been enjoying herself with the specimen, and the fact that the bitch had denied her opportunity to unite with the Superman irked her greatly. 

Her mother, Semeticai'a', had approved plans for building her two laboratories specifically to further her research into biological manipulation and genetic advancement, but part of the stipulations were that Magdaia and her team could not have _any_ cameras in the "subject testing" laboratories themselves, so that nothing could be recorded and used against them should the _true_ nature of the work be discovered - their immunity. Magdaia had gone against her mother's wishes, however, and had a secret camera installed in both Fewuity and Ikisi laboratories, to be used as part of "specimen weakening process" - that she could replay at her own leisure, watching the subjects of her experimentation, noting various characteristics including physical attributes, and their emotional response. Magdaia had switched the camera on at Ikisi during Superman's Phases, and had the footage transmitted over to Fewuity laboratories, believing that the League were in need of some "encouragement" to cooperate by watching their friend. That day in the lab, when she'd began to explore the Superman for the first time, Magdaia had ordered the camera screen switched off, but had deliberately left the audio _on_ after her colleagues had made their way to lunch. Her purpose had been intentional - she wanted the League to _hear_ what exactly she was doing to the Superman - and wanted to be able to enjoy their psychological torment later, by reviewing the tape at the end of the day, in her own private time, as she did at the end of each working day. That day, Magdaia had watched footage of the tape showing the League's reaction to their friend's testing, before listening to the audio, delighting in her performance with the specimen, only for her delight to be cut short on hearing Eheto's voice, trying to console the subject. It had left Magdaia enraged, that her inferior would go against what had been instructed in their contracts, to provide some sort of "hope" by encouraging the man to _hang in there_ ; a pitiful notion, she had spat out, bitter.

But, after a while, an idea had come to her. Eheto had made the mistake of stepping into territory that was not hers, emotionally connecting with the specimen, Magdaia's work. The girl was bright, Magdaia could admit that, but her youth contributed to her naivety; that the girl _truly_ believed that she was having any impact on the ground breaking work that was taking place here at Ikisi, _her_ research - Magdaia found it hilarious. The girl was a simple minded fool, and Magdaia decided that a little "wake-up" call was in order; The girl's emotional comprise would be punished, certainly, for daring to inspire the subject to hope, when she knew that such a perilous emotion would hinder their progress by prolonging the extraction. It was disgusting behavior, and now, as Magdaia watched her, she would punish the girl. In less than a few hours, Phase two would be complete, and Madgaia had something special in mind, for Eheto, and her precious Superman. Eheto wanted to "empathise", yes? To be decent, and show kindness, respect? _Dignity_? Well, by the time Magdaia was finished, Eheto would appreciate the futility of such feelings.

 

 

Twelve twelve am, Tuesday morning. 

Yena checked his apiliwe again. Yes, this was Lo'et. He could see why Red had chosen this place; high ground, well covered, far outside the city in the rural outskirts - it would give him and his friends a good view of any incoming attack, and keep them away, out of sight, from those too nosy for their own good.

But, even as he stood here, in the dark, using the light on his apiliwe to look around, there was no sign of anyone. Red had mentioned that his friends would be arriving in the early hours of today, in a large ship, and so there was still time. Yena looked around once more. He still hadn't been able to make contact with Red as of yet, a worrying thought, but there was nothing he could do now apart from waiting. Clearing some space on the ground, Yena brought up the map of the meeting point Jason had mentioned - the one he'd' marked as "x" on the map. Just under an hour's walk from his current location, and about two hours from Ikisi, but if the Ghosts were fast enough, providing they didn't stop, then they could make it there in an hour, an hour and fifteen max.

Yena would spend the next fifty minutes reviewing the maps, knowing that most likely, military presence would be heavy at Ikisi, he and Dichwu had been sure of it. He checked his apiliwe - all travel via the ISSA bridges had been prohibited, and the IGC at Elima was reportedly on lockdown for "safety" concerns. Yena rolled his eyes, scoffing. The coup were the ones controlling the narrative - they would use the cover of "protecting" the council as a way to use the time to force them to step down, recognising the coup as new government in the process. Yena cursed them. They would need to get to Elima for this to work - Red had mentioned that his ship could do this, but how, Yena had no idea. Their technology was one of the best he'd ever known - how would they get past it? Sighing, Yena got to work.

 

 

A little past one am, Tuesday morning.

The Ghosts had been staring out the window for the last hour, and now that they were supposedly almost here, now landing, their shock could be clearly read.

What, in the ever loving _fuck_ had Red gotten them into?

The moment they started heading out of Earth's atmosphere, the Ghosts knew was this shit was the real deal. They were travelling at too fast a speed to comprehend, planets and scenes whizzing by _fast_ \- and yet they had kept on travelling. Their speed had increased so much that by now, everything outside was nothing but a blur of colour, and the Ghosts had held onto their seats, tight, feeling sick. They had looked at each other then - _no questions_ , their Vegas protocol dictated, but still, this was some freaky ass shit.

And then, the ship had slowed, considerably. 

The Ghosts, noticing the change, had turned to their windows, left speechless at what they say.

For one thing, they weren't on Earth. Not even in their universe, probably. There looked to be eight, nine planets maybe, of different sizes, shapes, colours, and connecting them all was a massive sort of bridge, golden - it seemed to be vibrating with energy, and as the Ghosts fished out binoculars to take a closer look, they could see that the bridge was made up of strands - thin, bouncy golden strands. 

But that wasn't all.

In the middle of these planets stood, or floated, what looked like a small platform, midair, and on that platform, a giant glass Pantheon. However, what raised their suspicions was not just the structure, but the aircraft surrounding it, and as the Ghosts got up from their seats to look out of different windows, they could see the same things at the very ends of the bridge too. They were being _guarded_ , it dawned on them all, but as to whether it was a good or bad thing was unknown. 

What really piqued their curiosity, however, was how this big ass ship was able to fly in the midst of all this _without_ being disturbed. No calls to halt, or unauthourised access, no lasers shot their way - in fact, as the ship came closer and closer to one of the two biggest planets, a white green dystopia, they passed right in the midst of some of these aircraft - military, by the way they looked, and yet none had made a move towards them. Yellow deduced the reason: either they were all high, hallucinating this shit, or the ship had some some sort of anti-cloaking device, possibly. Yellow knew the technology was apparently in the early stages of development on Earth, and had been finding ways to get his hands on the software for the Ghosts without being traced. Either Jason knew more people than he did, or, more likely, the device was part of the ship's infrastructure, judging by the fact that the ship was of alien origin - they had all agreed that there was _nothing_ like this on Earth.

The ship was beginning to descend now, and the Ghosts noted the time: nine past one, Tuesday morning. An early start, something that they were all used to. The ship came to land with a gentle thud, and the Ghosts unbuckled, gathering their equipment and kits, and waited for the door to open, ready to greet their friend.

 

 

Yena had been busy studying the map when he'd heard something. He looked up, but there wasn't anything to see.

Odd.

He returned to his work, before the sound grew louder: wind.

But not _just_ wind - it was the sounds of leaves scattering as they rustled in the wind, and standing up now, Yena could see that the trees were beginning to bend, and a small noise, one that sounded like an engine, could be heard, right where he stood, but still - he couldn't see anything.

Yena picked up the rifle Red had given him, on guard. He didn't aim it, however - the sound clearly related to a plane - ship, in fact, as Red had mentioned. He started walking now; maybe the ship had come into difficulty?

A small, heavy thump, and the engine died. So it had landed, Yena surmised. He debated clearing his equipment, and was about to turn to do so when a _whoosh_ could be heard, right in front of him. A small click - and Yena knew what is was. A door being unlatched. 

And then, as if by magic, a pair of legs began to descend, in mid air.

Yena stared.

What kind of sorcery was-

Ah: anti-cloaking technology. Yena smacked his forehead; he should have recognised the signs earlier. A consequence of being out in the field for so long, he smiled briefly to himself.

He followed the legs, upwards, up - to the face of a man, goggles on, appearing. Red's friends, the Ghosts, were here. Yena held his palms out, in surrender, and the man on seeing him held out his rifle, barking out a command, to _get on the ground, now_ , and he complied, curious as to how _this_ human spoke Xalanese, Did all humans learn their language? No, it couldn't be. Yena suspected that the men were wearing communicators like the League had been wearing, that would help translate the language and enable them to speak it in return. His theory was proved correct when the first man who'd spoken turned to the others, and Yena could see the distinct blue flashing light in the man's ear, the same ones as the League had worn. He held his tongue, however, and waited, watching as more men began to make their way down, until there was eleven in total, rifles up, looking at him, and themselves. Yena waited a moment longer, certain that there was no-one else coming out, before he spoke.

" _ **Red shawshank**_."

The term seemed to hush the men, who were clearly taken aback, before they put down their rifles.

One of them moved forwards now, an apologetic smile on his face. Blond, calm voice, he seemed agreeable. He offered a hand to Yena and helped him up. Pointing at his chest, the man spoke.

"I'm Green. _Do. you. speak_ -"

Yena chuckled now, shaking the man's hand. "I am Yena, a friend of your colleague, Red."

The man laughed, saved from making a fool of himself by speaking brokenly, and the group relaxed, coming forward.

"I believe you are the Ghosts?"

"Yes, that's right." spoke another, straight posture, sharp tone, and that one introduced himself as Blue. 

One by one, they all came forward, stating their names. After their introductions, ice now broken, Yena led them to his set up, where he began to explain, albeit briefly. He opted to keep the Superman's name a secret, referring to him as "target" - Red had not mentioned whether the Superman should be identified as such, especially as they would be meeting a weakened version of him, one that was close to being fully human, should the extraction be nearing completion. Yena decided to leave the decision of whether or not to reveal the targets name to Red - after all, he was their people.

"Red has asked you here because we need help. There are two main tasks at hand, but Red has asked us to meet him at this location." Yena pointed out his "x" on the map. "It's about an hour away by foot; the ship is to remain here, as we will need it for the second task. I feel it is best for Red himself to explain to you what is going on."

The Ghosts looked at each other, nodding. "Red skywalker" was Red's help code; they all had different ones, to be used when a Ghost was requesting help sent via messenger in enemy territory. Yena was therefore a friendly, but they had to make doubly sure, just in case.

Another man spoke. Tall, black beard, quiet voice, slightly suspicion underlying his tone - Black, Yena remembered.

"What's Red like?"

Yena smiled - they clearly wanted to double check they weren't being led into a trap. He kept his voice firm.

"Tall, quiet man, dark red/brown curly hair. Honest, keeps his word. Good at reading people and situations. Has a sense of humour, and puts others first, even at the expense of his own life. Enjoys reading, likes food."

The Ghosts chuckled amongst themselves. That was Red, for sure.

"Fine. Is there any way to contact him?" Taupe, a shorter, slimmer man spoke, eyes assessing him.

Yena bowed his head, wondering how to explain all this.

"He directed me to meet all of you here tonight, as he was preoccupied with a different task. Unfortunately, I have not been able to contact him, and due to the distance, going back for him would have meant missing this check point, something he insisted was of the highest priority."

Yena sighed, and the Ghosts could see the worry on the man's face. Orange stepped forward, placing a hand on Yena's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, he's like that. Always caring about others and shit. A mother hen, but you didn't hear it from me." The group laughed now, and Yena chuckled, finding himself liking the group.

Another voice drew his attention. Dark skinned, wide smile, gentle giant, the one named Purple. "You look worn the fuck out. Want something to eat? or change into? Red's provided us with everything we need, and we have a couple of kits for spare. There should be something that will fit you."

Yena nodded, touch by the generosity. "If you wouldn't mind, I would be most grateful."

The one who called himself Grey, stationed nearest to the ship's door, grinned and he spoke with a strange accent, almost sing song - in fact all their voices were strange, each fitting to their persons, and the mix, though jumbled, felt right. He beckoned Yena over. "If you wouldn't mind? Please mate, you're practically one of us now! Red isn't an easy guy to read like that. C'mon, let's get you something that fits, eh? Fuchsia, make yourself useful and get this guy something to eat." 

Fuchsia fake whispered to Yena, jabbing his thumb in the man's direction, much to Yena's amusement. "He thinks he's a big man, ignore him, its that stupid accent of his."

Grey stealthily made his way towards them, the rest of the group watching, holding in their breaths, and leapt in the air, coming down to slap Fuchsia across the back of his head, earning a bout of laughter from them all, Yena included, much to the yelping of poor man. Grey patted Yena's shoulder and together they made their way onto the ship. And what a ship it was - it looked even bigger on the inside, if that was possible, spacious and comfortable. Grey helped him to find a suitable suit, and went away to unload the rest of the ship's arsenal that Red had packed for them whilst Yena changed, and had something to eat, kindly provided by Fuchsia.

After an hour, with all of them set, bags packed, and an extra set of clothing and food for their missing friend, the Ghosts started on their journey, ready to help their brother.

 

 

One thirty seven am.

Jason slumped onto the ground, face first, breathing heavily.

He. was. exhausted.

Worn out to the bone.

He had made it out of that stupid forest, hot, dizzy, irritated at spending half his time slapping stupid insects away from his skin. Another three hours or so had him stumbling into the little village of Btwua, much to the surprise of the locals. After much pleading, and prostrating in respect, Jason had been allowed up, and given food, water, had his arm bandaged properly, a relief, provided with a light shirt to change into, as well as thick sandals - his boots had been cutting against his skin from the terrain, and now his feet were sore with blisters. They had also provided him with a mat, under a small tree to shelter him from the heat of the day, and he'd dozed off for an hour or two. Jason had woken up, feeling better, though groggy, and on looking at his apiliwe, had thanked the people with all the gusto he could muster, grateful for their kindness. He had walked, stumbled, winced as he'd rested his feet several times, rubbing n the cooling ointment one of the women had quickly given him on seeing the state of his feet. His back ached, his calves were tense from exertion, and his skin stained with dirt, but finally, _finally_ , after hours of trekking, he'd made it here. Jason had checked his map almost obsessively - no way was he getting lost out here, and thankfully, he was in the right place. A stream of water, splitting into two, the air cool against him, and Jason took the opportunity to wash the dirt and grime from his skin, before flopping onto the bank, wet grass ticking his back, just catching his breath.

There was no-one here. He'd only just arrived a few minutes ago, and now, resting, Jason thought of the things that lay ahead of him. Meet Yena and the Ghosts. Plan Superman's rescue - Jason reminded himself to only refer to Superman as the "target", or "S" if pushed. Secret identity and all. Jason didn't exactly like that he'd had to reveal to the Ghosts that he was in possession of an alien ship - they'd have figured out it was "alien" by now - or that he had somehow managed to get across to a completely different planet, one not Earth - so to now reveal that he knew the _Justice League_? It was too much. Jason trusted the Ghosts - they were a team, his friends, brothers, but that didn't mean he had to be naive. It was a good thing to be a little weary of others, after all. Jason couldn't have known that Superman would end up powerless like this when he'd first packed the emergency kits for the Ghosts, which had included a range of arsenal, including specially modified communicators he had built based on the ones modified for the League, and things like lead-lined googles - protecting the identity of the Ghosts should anyone, namely the Big Blue, get too curious in the future. Jason had packed the bags as his contingency plan, his backup I-need-help-get-me-out-of-here; the whole thing, Vegas, the ship, - all had been planned for. Jason smiled now as he remembered Tim's curiosity when he gave his Vegas phone to him, instructing him on how and when to use it. The boy had pushed; asked endless questions, and Jason had laughed, but he'd remained firm, not giving anything away. Tim had the phone in his possession now, for the first time, and Jason trusted that Tim would understand how much trust he was placing in him, on _not_ to go hacking or snooping or whatever flimsy excuse Tim would come up with. Contrary to whatever the Bats thought, Jason was very, _very_ good at planning things out, much like Tim, but his real strength lay on being able to think on his feet, as he'd done with Yena and Checkov, in blowing up Fewuity, in getting the League into Tiekr. This mission was no exception - preparation had been key, and though things had taken an unexpected turn, Jason couldn't be more thankful for the training and talents he had been given.

And then there was the coup. They had the means to get to Elima, yes - the anti-cloaking device would come in beautifully, Tamaraneans technology at its finest, in a multiverse far away- but that was only the beginning. They had to find and free the Council, disband the military coup - and try to do it all with as little bloodshed as possible. Jason found himself yawning and his eyes began to close, gently, softly, till he was-

"Oi! Wake yo' lazy ass up!"

A nudge to the side had Jason jolting awake, coming face to face with a semi-circle of people around him. Cocky stances, grins, and a hand outstretched in front of his face - Jason traced it up.

Yena.

The Ghosts.

They'd made it.

Jason let the smile show on his face, fully, as he was pulled up by Yena and taken into a hug. The group had burst to life then, back-slapping, one arm-hugging, laughing, ribbing him as they welcomed him, relieved to find him relatively well. It was clear that they wanted to know what in the _actual_ fuck was he doing here in the first place, but they all knew the drill: Vegas. After the welcomes, and a bit of food, clean clothes, and rest, Jason and Yena set up the apiliwe, detailing their plan.

"Guys, I can't tell you how much I appreciate you all being here."

"Yeah, yeah, get on with it."

"Drinks on you later."

"You're cooking for us when we get back."

"See what he's like, Yena? All humble and shit, the fuck does he think he is?"

Jason laughed as the group teased him. He'd known that they wouldn't allow him to thank them, and so they'd rib him instead. He let the jokes come to a close before he started.

"Alright, alright, you've made your point." Jason held his palms out, in surrender, and the group grinned back. Cheeky bastards, he thought. He set up both he and Yena's apiliwe now, bringing the map of the location and distance to Ikisi side by side with the floor plan of the facility, including entrances and exits. The Ghosts looked back, already talking with one another, pointing.

"So." The Ghosts drew to a hush as Jason began to explain. "This is the first of two jobs to do here on this mission. Our first is the extraction of target 'S'. He's being held here, in this steel monstrosity called Ikisi, a three story, thirty two roomed facility-" Jason pointed at the Eastern wing of the facility " -the subject of torture and scientific experimentation. It's likely that we'll find him pretty out of it, and I'll need to reverse what exactly has happened to him in the laboratory, or extraction rooms, whatever its called. I don't know how long the process will take, but in our experience, we're looking at anywhere between twenty minutes to two hours."

A few in the group whistled at that. Jason nodded, _yep_ before he continued.

"We've got to get in, break the target out, buy us time while I get him sorted, and then escape again, making our way back to the ship. I'll need to send this guy to safety too, but that'll only be after we've arrived at the ship - don't worry about that till later."

Yena took over now.

"According to a contact, the target is being held in this room, laboratory Nertrei, a large testing suite, and the extraction side is just a few doors down, less than three metres away." The rooms are on the first floor. Our two biggest issues are a. security and b. access once inside the building. We must expect military reinforcements due to the asset, and from experience, I can take you that the likely vantage points are here, across the roofs I've marked-" Yena pointed at the areas "-and on the ground. Expect security stationed on the floor, but particularly on entry to the Eastern wing itself."

"Exits?" Black asked.

"Either side of the building, one on the opposite end of East wing."

"Do-able by drop via window?" Blue enquired.

"Quite a drop, but possibly."

"How about the ground floor - here, at the gates. Electrical?" Brown stood up, moving closer.

"For sure. In fact, all this: security panels, doors, gates - all are probably under one main frame, which is here, basement." Jason tapped the display. He turned to Yellow now. "If you can get in here and do you wizardry shit - we'll be good to go, but we'll need directions as to which doors you've unlocked."

"Copy that. Lemme see what I can get from this distance." Yellow opened a laptop and immediately flurried hands moved back and forth the keypad, eyes glued to the screen. The rest continued to ask questions.

"What sort of artillery are we looking at?" Orange held up one of Red's rifles, studying it carefully.

Inside, short range, low calibre probably, just general armed guards. My main concern is taking out those bad boys up top - long range, and we've got to account for the wind too. Try to avoid hitting the power lines 'cause we need all the shit to work when it comes to the reversal process."

It was Green's turn to stand up now, arms crossed, pointing at various areas on the floorplan. "This will work, but we'll need to spread out, and move _fast_. Access to the control panel/switchboard, whatever you call it, Yellow. Two or three to take out those on the room, Purple, you can definitely take out those men on the ground, no problem - White, I'll cover you. Then there's a matter of getting in- we'll need to cover each other, create as much room as possible between us and them - possibly station three or four Ghosts here, at the entrance. And there's the escape we need to think of - the back seems quieter; lets have men guarding these two routes out here."

The men nodded, Green was good at thinking like this, planning strategies in advance. 

"How about a distraction?" Fuschia raised. "Draw the guards out as much as possible?"

"Good idea" Jason started. "but the only issue is whether that'll cause whomever is inside to move S - where, we won't know, - and if Yena is right, then our presence will of course set off alarms, and we know what that means."

"Reinforcements." the group chorused.

"Yep." Jason ran a hand through his hair, looking at the map, thinking. "I'm thinking a silent approach is probably the way to go-"

"-kill switches, infiltrate?" Taupe finished.

"Exactly." Jason nodded. This could work - no, it _had_ to work. He put it all together now, turning to the group, voice hard.

"And the facility, Red?" Grey asked, already smirking, and the rest turned to him, already smiling. Yena knew what they were referring to and began shaking his head slightly, sighing, causing the group to chuckle at his antics.

"I take it you've seen our boy's penchant here for blowing things up."

Yena groaned, and the group laughed now, understanding the sentiment. "I've never met anyone who seems to enjoy such a thing, and so casually too."

"Trust me, its so damn annoying - heck, he can make a weapon out of anything - give him an ordinary alarm clock and watch it blow a hole through ya roof." Blue laughed and the Ghosts agreed enthusiastically.

Jason smiled at the rest of them. "See what I have to put up with, Yena? You think I _enjoy_ this, having to deal with this shit?"

Jason gestured to the Ghosts, and had to duck as an apple core went sailing over his head, much to their laughter, before gradually subsiding now - Red still hadn't answered the question. They all watched as Red studied the maps, drawing circles, looking over at their arsenal, their kits.

"Your Vegas, your mission, your call." Taupe spoke and group nodded beside him. Red was the one calling the shots.

Jason looked at Yena now, before deciding, and Yena understood, dipping his head in acknowledgement. Ikisi had to go, just like Fewuity. None could be allowed to remain. Jason turned to the rest of the group.

"Distract, infiltrate, get control of mainframe. Extract target, make our escape. That's the plan." He eyed them all, and they looked straight back at him, sat forwards, eyes hard. They were ready.

"Yellow, start hacking in. You've got all the gear you'll need. Brown, work with Yellow, and start looking at the maps of the gate and fence too - use the disbaler in your bag to fashion something that will bypass the circuit safely. Green, look over the maps with Yena and station us where we need to be. Black, I'll need you to help secure our routes in and out of the place, all sides accounted for, particularly the roof. I'll go over the weaponry, see what exactly we have, and if there's anything else that we might need. Grey, Purple, I want you guys taking out as many men on the ground as possible, White, Blue, I want you guys to cover Yena and I as we go in. Orange, Fuschia, use your laptops to connect with the apiliwe here, and help me estimate how much military disturbance we can be expecting - go out towards Ikisi and use your infra red googles if you have to, in order to encase the area, particularly the entrances and the rear. Taupe, I'd like you to look over all that we've planned and liase with Green - ideally, we need to be on the move within the next hour give or take; the longer we delay things, the worse the outcome for the target. Any questions, ask me or Yena. Whatever happens, we need to get the target out of there, and as many as possible needs to head back to Lo'et, back to the ship. Is that understood?"

"Yep."

"Sure thing, Red."

"Good to go, boss man."

"Right on it, mate."

Agreements of _yes_ , and _ready_ were sounded out; Yena simply nodded at his friend. Jason, satisfied at the tasks, looked at them all before clapping his hands once.

"Let's get to work, men."

 

 

The first twenty fours out of the seventy two had come to an end.

The Elders sat chained to the wall, facing each other. They had argued, shouted, sent angry looks at another, and in the end, the room had been spilt. One half adamantly refused to give in to the coup; Semeticai'a' couldn't be serious, she just _couldn't_. Five percent of the realm? Surely not. It was a bluff, that was all. The other half had called their counterparts foolish - that if the woman could do all this, right beneath their noses, then what _couldn't_ she do? For hours they argued, and by the time one of the military commanders had entered their holding cells, a Lieutenant Katakia of some sort, there was no decision to be given. The man had smirked at them, before bowing, mockingly, and taking his leave. The Elders had sat, worried, frightened - they had neither said yes or no - what would Semeticai'a' do with that?

A few minutes later, they knew. No decision was just as bad as any.

Semeticai'a' had received word from Katakia, and had done nothing but smiled. Inside, she was fuming of course - she had expected their resistance, but on hearing that it was because of _her_? Because a couple of them refused to believe that she was capable of such atrocity? Semeticai'a' bared her teeth sharply - she would show them _just_ what she was capable of. With a wave, she beckoned to her guards, before turning aside to Lieutenants Lierna and Junio, other members of the coup.

"Go and do what we have planned."

With a smile and a bow, the two left the council room.

A few minutes later, the order had been sent out, and Semeticai'a' sank back in her seat, satisfied.

Down in the holding cells, a screen appeared in their cells of the Elders, showing a range of missiles fired, and heading straight towards Elek and Plaei. The nuclear warheads made straight for the cities, and the screen showed the impact in their full glory, fire and smoke evident. 

The Elders gasped. Semeticai'a' had done it. She had really, and truly, done it. Millions dead within seconds' one moment going about their lives, the next, nothing.

All those people - innocent lives, who had absolutely _nothing_ to do with any of this, and with a few words, Semeticai'a' had ordered their complete destruction.

The Elders sat, rooted in shock, as the screen turned towards the cities now - black, bodies everywhere, young children bloody, men with limbs missing, women crying.

It was their fault. Their stubbornness to accept the situation, to hold onto power.

 

 

None would get any sleep that night.


	25. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ghosts break into Ikisi. Magdaia exacts a little revenge of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this chapter was _damn_ hard to write.
> 
> EDIT: **WARNING! SENSITIVE GRAPHIC SCENES AHEAD, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! I'm new to this and I don't know how to add the tags for this particular chapter, so if you're a sensitive little soul, don't read it!**
> 
>  A LARGE PART OF JASONS CONVO WITH CLARK WAS FUCKING MISSING! SORTED IT NOW!
> 
> SORRY! Mixed up Black and Purple's positions a bit! Changed it now.

Two am, Tuesday.

Magdaia had sent the rest of her co-workers home almost an hour ago, now that they were at ninety percent extraction. In less than two hours, the process would be complete, and Magdaia would have made history. Her inferiors had all been instructed to take their departure hours ago, and ordered to not mention a single word of it to Eheto, else they face the same consequences. All had readily complied; they had seen what Magdaia could do, especially with all the resources at her disposal. Future careers at stake, few, if any, had dared to ever stand up to her, and now they had all left the facility hurriedly, leaving Eheto to work alone in the downstairs laboratory, unaware of the departure of her colleagues from the floors above.

Eheto had spent the last ten hours by herself, sorting out the reports, and plotting progress data on complex graphs; a task had that required specialised equipment in one of the laboratories on the lower ground level. She'd had her lunch brought to her by a colleague, not wanting to be in Magdaia's line of sight. The woman had yet to say anything to her since the incident a few days ago, only to act as normal, directing her to specific tasks, not showing any signs of animosity other than her self. Eheto had been relieved; the last thing she'd wanted was Magdaia on her case, and as she worked steadily, she remained oblivious to Magdaia's studious gaze, watching, bidding her time.

And now that time had arrived.

Magdaia looked at the specimen now, lying pale, strapped to a large table, shivering a little. She'd swept a little of his hair backwards, smiling at the wince he displayed as he closed his eyes tightly, turning his head from her, before she kissed his ear lightly, taking her leave. Magdaia made her way quietly to the lower ground lab where Eheto worked, nodding at the guards. She had ordered them to monitor the Eastern wing entrance, but none were allowed inside the wing, for what she had planned, and all had complied, respectfully bowing. And now that she was outside the lab Eheto was in, Magdaia could see the little rat, neck craned, headphones in, bent over as she scribbled away.

Perfect.

She entered the lab now, ever so quietly, making her way steadily towards Eheto's back, closer and closer, till she was able to pull out a needle, containing a nerve agent designed to paralyse a subject temporarily within seconds, one of her earliest works. In one swift motion, Magdaia jammed the needle into the woman's neck, smiling as she heard Eheto gasp, arms fumbling for her neck, before the woman slumped over, mouth drooling, eyes wide, and unable to move. Magdaia bent into the woman's vision now, satisfied at the way Eheto's eyes grew wider still, before nodding. She called out loudly to the guard outside the lab, who hurried over quickly, stumbling and stuttering. With a lazy wave towards Eheto, the man hoisted the scientist over her shoulders, light as a bag of flour, and together all three made their way back to the first floor, to the Netrei laboratory. Small glances were thrown their way before disappearing; none of the guards had seen anything; of course, especially nothing to do with Magdaia, daughter of Semeticai'a', one of the most powerful in the entire realm, one whom they currently knew was a member of the ongoing military coup. All would deny any and all knowledge, lest they wanted to lose their heads. 

Magdaia smirked as she walked past, and now on reaching the laboratory, gestured to the guard, who dutifully strapped Eheto to a chair and brought her right beside the Superman. He placed a device on her head: a brace, that would hold her head still in a fixed position, facing front - the Superman. The guard then attached small clips to Eheto's eyelids, pulling them apart, eliciting a small distress from the woman- Eheto wouldn't be able to close her eyes, not for any of this. Magdaia turned to the guard now, who bowed quickly and took his leave. 

They were all alone, none on the floor apart from the guards stationed outside the entrance of the Eastern wing. Excellent. 

The specimen had now turned towards them, eyes panicked, staring at them, at Eheto. He was alert and present now, very good. Magdaia watched their interaction before turning her focus to Eheto, smiling at her, who by now had tears in her eyes. Poor girl; Magdaia patted the side of her cheek a little, before delivering a stinging blow to the side, nails scratching the skin, sending Eheto's head reeling. The woman opened her mouth, trying to scream, but nothing came out. Magdaia bent now, eye to eye, and kissed the woman on her nose, mock pouting.

"Eheto, my little Eheto. Didn't you remember what I said about the specimen, hmm?"

Magdaia watched the fear spread across the girl's face before she stepped back, beginning to take off her clothes slowly, piece by piece, staring at Eheto. Beside her, she could hear the specimen inhale sharply, breath already quickening, but Magdaia took her time. This was her moment, and there was nothing, not Eheto, nor the man now, could do to stop her. 

"I made it _clear_ that the Superman was to be referred to as the "specimen" or "subject". That you were to remain on guard, distant at all times, that any emotional compromise would not be tolerated. I _did_ warn you, didn't I?"

Lab coat off, shoes slipping with a click, Magdaia started with her dress, unzipping slowly, gazing at the frightened two before her.

"And yet, after all that I said, knowing the importance of the work in here, _my_ research, years and years of work - and you dared to take it from me, hmm, little Eheto? Sweet little girl, who dared to "connect" with my specimen - did you really think you had gotten away with it? Treating the subject with _dignity_ , how repulsive."

Magdaia's dress was down now, and she stepped out of the material, shifting it to one side with her foot, standing in her undergarments. She continued, smiling at the way Eheto's tears ran, matching that of the specimen.

"You knew how important it was to strip the subject of any identity, of self-worth, in order to weaken and subdue them effectively, that Phase two, the extraction, might be achieved with minimal stress. And yet, Eheto, you defied my very orders."

Knickers off. Eheto could't even look away even if she wanted to. Magdaia started unhooking her bra, and the specimen's gasps turned to sobs, wet and shaky. Pitiful.

"You felt empathy for the subject, yes? Well, my dearest one, let me show you what "empathy" truly is. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll learn the meaning of _true_ empathy once I'm finished here."

Fully naked now, Magdaia walked slowly towards the Superman, whose eyes were tightly shut, shaking his head from side to side. Little pleas, little _no's_ , _I don't wants_ \- it made no difference to her. Magdaia walked round the side of the table, to the top of the broad chest and started unbuttoning, unbuckling, pushing the material away, till the specimen was in full view. She took in the view, assessing from top to toe, eyes resting for a few moments on his undergarment. They would be off soon, and the thought excited her.

Magdaia made her way on top of the table.

"Eheto darling, watch and learn. Remember - you caused all of this. You forced me to do this, and now I have no choice-" she smiled at Eheto whilst grabbing a fistful of the Superman's hair "-but to obey."

Tears flowed freely down the woman's face, small, hollow sounds from her mouth, but Magdaia's own was too busy. Much as before, she started from the top, savouring the best for last. Her mouth pulled and bit, sucked and licked at the skin, the cheeks, his lips, biting his chin, whispering her foreign tongue in his ear, running her hands through his scalp, all whilst he sobbed and begged her to stop, so weak, so desperate - the specimen failed to realise that all his pleas would simply fuel her on.

Magdaia continued.

His neck, across his collar bones, at his shoulders, marking her territory there. Already she could feel the man rising to meet her, hard as she lay plastered on top of him, savoring his sweat, his unwashed stink - the _rawness_ of it all, and her scales turned a fiery red, wild with passion. Her hands explored, gasping, yearning, and once in a while, through the pleas broke out a low moan of pleasure, causing Magdaia to smile. Of _course_ he would like it - he'd clearly never been subject to such a wonderful experience before. Magdaia knew she was a great teacher; her other subjects had reacted in much the same way. Her bites left oozing marks across his skin, and she made work of his nipples, biting, feeling them taut, the specimen lurching off the table to meet her in agony. Magdaia looked at Eheto now, her lower face stained with blood, smiling sharply as she saw how the woman cried and cried. 

She continued.

The heat radiated from the man's chest, burning her own, and Magdaia buried her face in his abdomen, kissing him, tugging at the fine hairs. She could feel his manhood now, erect, the tip reaching the base of her neck through the material. "I'm coming, my love" she whispered, looking back at him, to see a face turned away from her, cheeks red with shame. She looked down now, before lifting herself a little from his stomach, and shuffling down till her head met _his_ , pulling away at his undergarment with her teeth. The man let out a sob now, a high pitch yelp betraying his distress, and Magdaia laughed, moving the garment further down till it was at the ankles. She returned her focus back to his manhood which was now standing proud, ready to attention. She smiled at the sight. "Almost there, pet, but first, let me have a little fun."

" _No_..." Clark whispered, feeling himself detach from the moment, frozen. He hadn't the strength to fight her off, and now his head flopped to the side, eyes dazed.

Magdaia paid no attention to him as she bit at his skin, taking his wholesome parts into her mouth as she sucked away, greedily, taking what was not hers. She used two fingers to insert herself hard, up into the _other_ opening hidden between the two buttocks, burying her head deeper as the man rose up the table in pain, her fingers widening and forcing. Magdaia heard the man groan, a sharp intake as she made work of such treasure, and the warm, thick salty ejaculate entered her mouth. Delighted, she let go and rose all the way up to to the top of the table meet him, kissing him on the lips with his taste, smearing his face, forcing her tongue and himself into his mouth. The man choked, gasped, turning his head away, but it was no use. Magdaia forced it down him, over his nose, his eyes, using a hand to grasp at his manhood, pulling hard, feeling the pump of the material trickle down to rest on her fingers. She groaned, inside already wet in anticipation, and she could bear it no more. Without warning, Magdaia moved down little by little, till they were groin to groin, and now staring at Eheto right in the eye, her face wet with blood and sticky with semen, making sure the girl's horrified expression met hers, Magdaia inserted herself onto the Superman, hard, gasping out loud at the _deepness_ as he fully entered. The man groaned loudly, head smacking the table, and Magdaia could feel another spurt of hot liquid enter her, running down the sides of the labia, her groin, cementing their union. 

"Yes, ohh, yes, _yes_ " Magdaia arched backwards, eyes closed, feeling the climb, the ecstasy rising within her, as she went back on forth, hips grinding into the man, painfully, as much as she could. It felt electrifying, and Magdaia was lost in the motion, wet, wanting more and more and _more_. She gasped, holding onto his buttocks, forcing herself more till she felt like ripping inside, pushing and going, all whilst the man was begging now, even as his manhood rose higher to meet her, hips arching to fulfill the task. Magdaia couldn't stop; she'd never had this before, not like _this_ , oh, she breathed as she began to reach her climax - there was no way she could give up this specimen, not now, not when he could do so much, with all that he that he was blessed with - no, as she plastered her breasts hard onto his skin, moaning as she pulled on his ear, biting down hard on his chin as she rode him over and over again, panting, sweaty.

Clark was in a daze. He had nothing more to give, and yet his body kept betraying him, the emotions lurching out to match the bitch, his gasps, pains of delight. He didn't want it - he hated it all, and despised himself - and yet he kept gasping, groaning, feeling his own heat rise and lust swell within as his hips ground into hers. He wanted it to be over, to run away, for the ground to swallow himself up whole - _God_ , he was so disgusting, that someone could take advantage of him like this - he _must_ have wanted this if his body kept saying _yes_ , fulfilling the woman's desire; the _no_ and the _pleas_ meant nothing. Clark closed his eyes, weeping, head throbbing, hating himself as his body yearned for Magdaia even more, even trying to reach her more deeply, to push himself right in her, to take all of her. 

Darkseid he hated, Magdaia he despised, but himself, Clark? He was an abomination, loathsome, of the worst kind, and Clark knew he could never forgive himself after this.

Eheto could do nothing. Inside she was screaming, crying, pleading, begging this woman to stop, but whatever Magdaia had injected her with made her unable to move, to shout or call for help, and so she sat there, eyes forced open, cheeks wet with tears, despairing at the vile scene before her, the brutal nature of the act, as Magdaia went over and over, forcing herself so hard on the man the table itself groaned with the weight; the smell of sex, blood, the wetness of it all. Eheto couldn't bear to look at the man, the gasps, pleas, the pain that scrunched his face as Magdaia refused to let up, and even as he slumped over to her side, eyes unfocused, misty, seemingly numb to it all as Magdaia took him again and again, hating the bitch with all heart as she groaned, pulled, taking more of the man on each wave of her insertion.

There was nothing she could do but watch this man, poor, helpless, and now, ninety four percent powerless, be subject to the violation and cruel rape by Magdaia.

Eheto wept for him.

 

 

Three ten am.

They were ready.

The Ghosts were now situated outside Ikisi, night vision googles on, ready to go. Jason spoke into the comms.

"Yellow, you ready?"

"Just waiting on your count, boss." Yellow was all set now, ready to infiltrate the facility. He'd accessed the mainframe; all he needed now was to get inside, and hook up his equipment to override the system, using it to their advantage.

Red nodded where he lay, one knee bent, rifle pointed, armed heavily with guns, more guns, knives and explosives. He'd secretly bought mask for Clark to wear, kept in one of the bags, helping to conceal his identity further. To his left, Yena mirrored his stance, eyes focused.

"Good man. Right. Brown, disable the fence."

Brown obeyed instantly, setting out his equipment. He made quick work of the task, connecting leads, wires, plugging them into the ground. With the disbaler he'd fashioned earlier, Brown attached the device to the fence now, finger hovering over the switch.

"All set. On your word, Red."

"Black, Taupe, do your thing."

"Yes, Boss."

Black and Taupe were positioned high in the trees, overlooking the facility, high range, fast sniper rifles, silencers attached, loaded and ready to go. Jason would have played the part of sniper, but he needed Superman to recognise him as a friendly, to keep his identity concealed, and out of all of them, they knew he was the best at thinking outside the box when it came to the unexpected - Fewuity, case in point. At Red's command, the two Ghosts started firing, picking off the guards one by one. The distraction. The benefit of the silencers meant that along with the wind and high ground, the Ghosts were able to create the impression that the attack was coming from all over, masking their exact location, and the men hummed appreciatively as soldiers on the ground and roof turned their heads up towards the sounds, speaking into their communicators hurriedly. Good. Black and Taupe watched as more men began to make their way both to the roof and out front, _exactly_ what they had planned for - drawing out as many as possible, out here where the area was large, the coverings dense, givig them good cover.

"Brown, you're good to go."

Brown switched on his device, and the disbaler came to life, re-circuiting the fence, and smoke began to rise from all areas of the compound.

"The rest of you boys are up. Orange, Fuchsia, cover the front entrance, I'll get to you guys shortly. " Brown drawled into the comms, already pulling out his own rifle, ready to cover them as they broke through the fence into the facility. 

"We've got you, go." Orange and Fuchsia signaled to the rests of the Ghosts on the ground: time to go. They would cover the front until as many men as possible had been drawn out, before they would head to the rear of the facility, protecting the group's escape exits.

The group moving into the facility moved as one large group. Grey, Purple, White, Blue, Red, and Yena formed protective circle around Yellow and Green, firing their weapons, taking out those soldiers that came in close proximity with hand to hand combat. Explosives were to be saved until later; using them now would give a heads up to those inside, putting the life of the target in danger. They had to get in quickly, whilst taking out as many men as possible, quietly. Orange, Fuchsia and Brown remained closer to he peripheries, near the fence, taking out soldiers who would appear at the sides of the building, or those out of the first and second floor windows. Black and Taupe focused their attention on the roof and the third floor windows.

A few minutes later, and then-

"We're in, keep hold Black, Taupe, the rest of us, split!" Red used his hand signals to direct the group and they obeyed instantly.

At the signal, Grey and Purple positioned themselves to cover Yellow and Green; Yellow rapidly re-routing access to the mainframe network, setting up blocks and overriding mechanisms, and Green directing the men to the control centre itself, using a floorplan of the facility brought up by his apiliwe. White, Blue, Red and Yena darted in the other direction, heading straight through the building, turning right after ten yards to access a set of stairs to the right of the wall.

"We need to get to the basement, so: thirty yards left, get through control panel A, continue along the corridor to the end, control panel B, second flight of stairs, continue for forty yards right. Yellow, can you open remote access from here?"

"Yeah, just gimme a sec." Yellow's eyes narrowed in concentrated unti- "Done! Controls A and B are deactivated; we've got to hurry though, unless I get to the mainframe on time whomever's controlling the damn thing can try to lock me out."

"Shit's not happening, let's move!" Grey shouted, as the foursome advanced into the building; ducking and hiding beside pillars for cover after encountering fire. "Purple, can you see up ahead?"

"Yeah, three to the left, two bottom right, cover me as I take them out." The man slung one rifle across his shoulder as he took out another one, more suited for close range fire. Grey took out the bottom two and Purple darted across to the other side, slamming into the wall and taking out the three others in quick succession. 

"Alright men" Purple spoke as the ran, hearing artillery fire coming from behind them. "Control panel A coming up!"

Meanwhile, Red and his unit were advancing towards the first floor, towards the Eastern wing but progress was slow. They'd had to hold positions several times, before moving finally, and had now reached the first floor, taking out close to twenty men. Jason had been tempted to throw an explosive at them, to get it over and done with, but the thought that Superman was here, somewhere, made him resist such temptation, ordering the group to switch to infra red vision instead. Orange, Brown and Fuchsia had been making good work from outside, and had decided to move to the rear of the facility to secure the group's exit, on hearing that Red and the others had finally reached the Eastern wing. Taupe re-directed his focus and efforts on the front whilst Black continued on the rooftops and watching for incoming military craft, upon which he'd pull out the trusty RPGs.

 

 

Eheto didn't know how long they'd been there now - a long while at least. Her heart was heavy, numb with shame. The paralysis was wearing off little by little, and her own gasps could her heard, though pitiful.

The man had stopped moving, but Magdaia had kept going ; she'd fondled the man a few times to cause his erection once more before she would enjoy herself, moaning, gasping, riding the man hard. Magdaia had been in the midst of her climax when Eheto had heard a noise. She forced herself to listen. It was there, the sound of heavy footsteps, gunfire-

 _Someone_ was here.

She tried not to panic, to not let her anxiety show; Magdaia paid no attention to her, lost in the midst of the sex. Eheto had no idea whether whoever was coming was a friendly or otherwise - would they rescue her, the Superman? She strained her eyes as much as she could to the doorway slightly to her right, but it was of no use. She had been trapped to the front, to watch the horror before her eyes. The sounds grew louder before stopping suddenly, and all that could were heard were Magdaia's pants filling the air, breathless, moaning, the wet smacking of flesh as she continued in endeavor, lost to the world.

Eheto paid attention. The sounds were there, quiet, but they were there. 

All of a sudden, a pair of footsteps appeared at the very outer edge of her vision - Eheto could just about about make out the rounded front of a boot, but she couldn't see any more than that. She whined a little, desperate for the person to help, when suddenly an incredulous voice filled the room.

" _ **What the fuck**_?"

 

 

 _A few minutes earlier_...

Jason and his men had finally made it to the Eastern wing, under several commands directed by Green, and easy access thanks to Yellow. The Netrei laboratory was apparently the sixth door down, right side, and in order to keep their exits open, Red had White and Blue stationed at the entrance and exits, to cover them, whilst he and Yena got hold of Superman. The men had agreed, and holding their positions, Jason and Yena had entered Eastern wing, rifles up, reading the names of the laboratories as they stalked past, quietly, in order not to tip off Superman's captors. Pordle, Kosje to the left, Keejt, Bave, the first two on the right, Iusue the third, and finally, Netrei on the fourth.

The two were about to enter when they heard a noise.

A woman's voice, gasping, moaning; the distinct sounds of wet flesh - people were having _sex_ out here, in the middle of fucking _gunfire_? Jason looked at Yena, incredulous, before he stepped into the dark room.

What he saw, left him, for a few seconds, absolutely stumped. Yena beside him had also stood, mouth slightly open.

In front of them, to the left was a woman, bound to a chair, and with some sort of barbaric head device. In front of her was a table, and on it, a naked woman on top of someone, clearly having sex and pretty caught up in it too, since both Jason and Yena had entered silently, yet the woman kept going, making work of the poor sod, but Jason wasn't paying attention. He moved his foot one tiny step to the left, ignoring the woman who was panting up and down, eyes closed, moaning loudly, to look at the person on the table.

Jason wished he hadn't.

Clark Kent, pale, eyes unfocused, face stained with what looked like blood and cum, if the smell of sex in the air was anything to go back, on his face, lips, smeared in his hair, lay on the table, dazed. He didn't even look up to register Jason's voice.

And for a moment, Jason was taken back to Gotham, from eight years old and onwards, an orphan, when earning a small hot meal for the night sometimes required him having to lay on his stomach while something cold, wet and slimy, too big, was forced up his backside, causing tremendous amounts of pain; and how he'd limp away hours later, when the pain was a little more bearable, to find something to wipe away the blood with, and if Leslie wasn't too busy, then to her for stitches. Jason had always threatened to kill her should she say anything, and even when she did, at times, he never stuck around for the police or social workers to catch him - some of them were on it to, supplying street rats like him to Gotham's wealthy as part of a trafficking ring. How sometimes, when his mother didn't have the right amount of cash for her next fix, she would sometimes plead, beg - and offer up her son for an hour or two, to satisfy the perversion of her dealers. The way she would sit, getting her fixed, eyes staring at the ceiling, lost, as her own son, Jason Todd, was forced down on his knees, being forced to suck and swallow something no child should ever be exposed to, before being flipped onto his back, face pressed into the floor as he was taking it up, again and again. And how, when it was all over, he would lie there, crawling on his stomach, butthole leaking, on his way to the bathroom while his mother sat, sprawled, in her heroin fueled ecstasy, numb to his suffering.

Jason saw the same look now. He heard himself swear at what the fuck was happening, before realising he was moving.

And with a fury too quick and too intense for words, Jason lunged at the woman, _enraged_ flicking her off as if she were little more than a fly. The woman screamed, but Jason paid her no attention, pummeling, and lashing, whipping, hitting, choking this bitch, this utter, fucking, filthy bitch and a cunt who could do this, to take advantage of someone so vulnerable, so helpless - and to think it was fucking _Clark Kent_ of all people.

Jason lost it.

His mind was a rampage of red, seething at the corners, bursting, as he beat the woman bloody. He heard a voice calling his name, and eventually, a hand on his shoulder which spun him around, forcefully. He glared back, eyes bulging, letting the fire of the Pit run through his veins and mist his eyes, something he usually kept under tight control. Yena took a step back, scared now and tried calling him again.

"Red, Red! Can you hear me?"

Yena reached out an arm to him, but Jason slapped it away. It was all too much, the heat, the rage - he needed to get himself control, fast. Jason held his head in his hands, willing himself to calm down, breathing in, and out. Yena saw his friend's distress - evidently the man had been through a similar sort of history, judging by the intensity of his rage at the situation as he unleashed his fury on the woman, and he stepped back a little more, giving the man room. Turning now, he saw the Superman still on the table, exposed completely, private areas red, swollen, sore, a mess, eyes glazed over, and next to him, a woman crying, trying to angle her head at the Superman - _help him_ , Yena interpreted. He nodded. He looked around the room, wishing there was anything to cover the man's dignity, something that had clearly been taken from him tonight by the looks of things, but there was nothing. He sighed, before looking at the woman, whom he noticed was wearing a labcoat.

Yena went towards her, ignoring her flinch, and bent on one knee, close to her, palms out - a friendly.

"I am Yena, here with my friend, Red over there - we have come to rescue the Superman."

Eheto could barely get her name out, a tiny whisper. "Eheto...help him, please, help him, I be-"

"We will, but first, I'll need some help. If I untie you, will you help us?"

"Yes, _yes_ of course!" Eheto, eyes wide, voice panicky.

Yena nodded before untying her, and removing the ugly device from her head. He cast a look at his friend, who had by now backed into a corner, chest heaving - a panic attack. He turned to Eheto.

"Eheto, if you can help me with the Superman - cover him with your labcoat, get him a little clean and dressed. We are running out of time and the extraction process needs to be reversed. I need to help my friend, can you do that?"

Eheto nodded hurriedly, already stumbling over to where the Superman lay, seemingly unresponsive. Her hands shook as she removed her labcoat, covering the man's groin, before she went over to the sink with a bowel of water, washing his face. The man lay still, not moving, and Eheto felt like throwing up as she washed the sticky mess from the man's face. Yena had made his way slowly over to Red, in front of him, but not too close. The man's breathing had picked up pace, and he tugged absent-mindedly at his hair, as if he could will the memories to disappear.

Yena kept his voice low and steady as he spoke.

"Red, I need to to listen to me. Focus on my voice, I have to get your breathing back to normal. Deep breaths, one, two - that's it, good. Whatever's going on, in your mind - it's not real, its not here. We've got Superman now, we're getting him dressed and ready for the reversal process. Red, I'm _not_ leaving till I make sure you're okay, we all need you, Superman especially. Red, look at me. Now."

Yena let his tone get a little firm at the end there, forcing Jason to look up at him. All he saw were wide, panicky eyes, red, already tear filled. His friends's hands were shaking, trembling a little, and Yena moved forward to hold his hands. Jason gripped them tightly in return, closing his eyes.

"That's it Red, you're doing well. You can do this, we've made it this far, and I know we can do the rest. Deep breaths, just focus on me, on my voice..."

Jason squeezed Yena's hands tightly as he fought for control. Eventually, the Pit's poison began to dissipate, and Yena's voice began to flood his mind, lulling, warm. When Jason was finally calm, mind clear, he squeezed his friends hands. Yena squeezed them back, not letting go.

"That's my boy. Come, up you get."

Together, they helped each other stand. Yena gave Jason's shoulder a squeeze, and Jason looked back at his friend, immensely grateful. Yena smiled, briefly, and then turned his attention back to Eheto now, who had buttoned up the Superman and wiped away the traces of such violation on his face, though the man moved as if he were in a dream, dazed. Yena moved to the other side of the man, looping Superman's arm over his shoulder, hating himself at the flinch that the contact caused. He'd known that victims of sexual trauma almost always could not tolerate any form of contact in the moments after the abuse, and Superman was no exception. Yena apologised to the man now, sorry that he should further the man's distress.

"I'm sorry, Superman. I know the _last_ thing you want right now is to be touched, forgive me, but please, we need to get your powers back, and get you out of here, to safety, and to your friends. We don't have much time, we need to move _now_." 

The man emitted a small noise of distress, trying to push Yena away, but Yena held firm, the action no stronger than a mewing kitten. He made to move to the doorway when his friend's voice stopped him.

"What about her?" His voice was dull, flat. Yena didn't need to clarify the _her_ Red referred to.

"Leave her, Red, we don't have time to waste on that repulsive creature. Come, my friend, take Superman's other arm here and let Eheto direct us to the lab, we have no time; remember your friends are also waiting for us, under attack."

That seemed to jolt Jason out of his hollow state, and he moved swiftly now, gently taking Superman under the arm. "I swear, S, I'mma pay her back, _believe_ me." He ignored the dazed look in the man's eyes and both and Yena hefted Superman up, moving quickly behind Eheto, who'd entered the extraction room, quickly setting up the controls. She beckoned them over to the table, Jason standing guard at the door, ready to fend off attack, and Yena helping attach the wires, tubes, and other instruments as directed by Eheto.

"How long will this take? I've heard it said that reversal is quicker to do when a person is in an already weakened state."

Eheto nodded, hands moving quickly, eyes darting across the screens as numerous figures and graphs came up. "That's right. For him, since he has been extremely deprived, no more than twenty minutes. Starting the process now." Eheto typed in a few commands, flicked some switches, and paid careful attention to the screen depicting the percentage of extracted material being re-infused into Superman. Yena stood back, allowing her to work, glancing at Red.

"Red. Twenty minutes!"

Jason nodded at him, briefly nodding, before speaking to them all through the comms. 

"Guys, hows it going?"

"Military aircraft under twenty minutes out. You boys alright? " Black could just about make out large aircraft heading in their direction, as Taupe began to load the RPGs to his left.

"Got the target, all accounted for. White, Blue, you boys hanging in there?"

"Alright for now, Brown's helping me take out some guards this side of the building on the ground. White, buddy, you good?"

White spoke, gritting his teeth. "Negative; coming under some heavy fire, Red, gonna need some help." 

"On my way." Red cut the communications as he turned to Yena. "Yena, tell the girl that she's only to refer to Superman as "S" from now on, to protect his identity. I'm heading back to the entrance to White. When you're finished here, let us know, and start heading towards Blue at the rear end." Jason fished out the mask from his pocket and threw it at Yena.

"Copy that". Yena watched his friend dash along the corridor before taking his place at the entrance of the room, muting his communicator as he turned to Eheto to speak.

"Eheto, only refer to Superman as "S" from now on - we need to protect his identity, and the less people that know he's here, the better. Here, cover his eyes with this." He threw her the mask, which she caught deftly.

"Of course, no problem." Eheto put on the mask and resumed her rushing back and forth, checking Superman's vitals, wincing as she saw the man shake with the pain.

Fifteen minutes to go. Extraction dropped from ninety one to seventy nine percent.

Eleven minutes to go. Now down to Fifty two percent.

 _ **BOOM**_. A thunderous sound could be heard outside, and the ground shook slightly. Jason swore, that must have been Black and Taupe with the RPGS. He tried to get across to them now. "Black, Taupe, do you read me?"

Coughing, weak voices. "We're here, Red, just a lot of smoke." More coughing; Jason was anxious for his men. "Gas masks on, lads! There's about to be more, guys sorry! How much longer"?

Yena looked at Eheto, shouting to be heard now over the noise. "How much longer?" and relayed back " About ten minutes to go, hang in there!" to the rest of the Ghosts.

Eight minutes, forty four percent. Gas masks all on, infra red vision on.

Seven minutes thirty seco- _**BOOM**_ , another RPG. The ground shook with more force now, and the smoke began to enter the facility. On the ground, Orange and Fuschia had been forced to take cover.

Six minutes, thirty two percent.

Five minutes, twenty five percent.

"Five minutes to go, Yena!" 

Yena turned and related the message to the Ghosts now. "Five more minutes, men, get ready to mov-"

 _ **BOOM**_ , another RPG. The lights in the lab flickered a little. Shit, any more and Yena knew they would lose all power, probably killing Superman in the process. He got across to Red now. "Tell Black and Taupe to try and hold their fire, any more, this place is out and we'll kill Superman!"

"Black, Taupe, hold fire, hold fire!" Jason shouted, the smoke beginning to enter the first floor.

Three minutes, twenty percent.

White swore as bullets whizzed past him, and Red dashed to the other side, focusing his efforts on the soldiers who were dashing up the stairs.

Two minutes, eleven percent.

Yena turned his attention to the opposite lab, where a sound of a window caused him to enter, firing at the soldiers who had broke in now. He swore - he had to protect the Supmernan.

"Yena!" Blue shouted "One minute?" Yena turned to shout the confirmation. Men were beginning to advance towards his side. He needed to cement their rear escape. "Orange, Fuschia, head to the rear, now! We can't get stuck here, secure our exits!

"Copy that!" The two powered through the smoke, covered by Taupe shooting from above, and entered the facility, racing through the stairs. 

"One minute!" The men began to get ready to move now.

"Guys, there's attack from all sides now, you need to get moving, now!"

One minute, six percent.

"Nearly there, White, Red, start moving towards Blue!" Yena shouted as he took down three soldiers with a elbow to the throat, slamming one down, and delivering a swift kick to one who was still mid swing as he entered the window, kicking him right back out again. He ducked as a bullet whizzed over his head. He heard Eheto scream from the opposite room. "Extraction complete!"

"Get moving, we're done here! _**Now __**_ _!_

__Jason signaled White to start moving; White dashed along the corridor to help Eheto and Yena now with Superman, whilst he covered them until they reached Blue, at the rear exit, before he threw an explosive down the stairwell in front of the entrance to the Wing, putting some space between the group and their attackers._ _

__"Green! Where to?" Blue's voice filtered across._ _

__Green's voice cackled through. "Down the stairs, twenty yards right, down the second stairs, continue straight down the hall. You should be directly above Orange, he'll run up to meet you."_ _

__"You guys go on ahead. I'll cover you from behind, go!" Red stayed back again waiting till the group were a few paces behind before he brought up Yellow on his comms. "Yellow, I'm going to blow this whole place -all the laboratories need to go. I need you to re-circuit the control panels for each entry, copy?"_ _

__"Will do, Red. When you've reached the end of each floor, give me the go ahead."_ _

__"Thanks man, I'll need to wait till the group are at least out on the ground with Orange and then Fuschia first." Red turned and began fishing out a small copper wheel. Fishing out the end, he grabbed the piece by his teeth, looping the wire across each panel entry of the laboratories, one after the other till he reached the end._ _

__As he made his way quickly through the floor, Jason failed to notice that the laboratory they'd found Superman and Eheto in, Netrei, was empty._ _

__First floor complete._ _

__"Green, how am I looking?"_ _

__"Heavy fire coming your way, Red, take a different route to the rest. Down the stairs, forty yards to the left, out the window, there's a drainpipe that goes down a floor. Go down that, smash through the window, you'll enter the ground floor on the far west side."_ _

__"Fine. Any laboratories elsewhere?"_ _

__"Yeah, there are loads, but Red, listen, you don't have time to start blowing up each one. You've done the biggest ones, the rest are smaller, so get out, _now_ , and let Black send a RPG through this motherfucking place once we're clear from this area."_ _

__Jason nodded. He'd have liked each lab to go up one by one in flames, leaving nothing to chance, but there wasn't enough time now._ _

__"Copy that, Green. You and Yellow, out, now."_ _

__"But-"_ _

__" ** _I said, out, now!_** " Jason's voice was fierce._ _

__"Copy, we're on our way out." Yellow sounded reluctant, but Jason knew he would obey._ _

__"You guys need cover?"_ _

__Green looked at his map. "We shoul be-"_ _

__Orange blinkered to life. "Target acquired; White, Blue, Yena, target accounted for. Fuschia, take the group and head east of the facility, as far as you can - get clear of the area."_ _

__"Will do."_ _

__"Brown, you're with me - we're going to cover Yellow and Green."_ _

__"Roger that." The two men headed inside. "Green, Yellow, are you still in the basement?"_ _

__"Negative, we've reached the end of the hall but we've had to retreat by a metre, under attack a couple of yards out."_ _

__"On our way, stay out of sight, hold your positions. Feed us your locations." Brown spoke as he and Orange made their way inside, which was now thick with smoke._ _

__Meanwhile, Jason had powered through down the first set of stairs, left across the hallway, and swung himself out the window. He ducked as two bullets embedded themselves into the wall by his side._ _

__"Taupe?-"_ _

__"Got'cha covered Red, you're good to go, make you're way down."_ _

__"I can't drop from here?"_ _

__"Unless you wanna electrocute yourself dead by landing right into that one hundred thousand voltage unit, then nah mate, head through the window and out through the ground floor. We've got you covered, go!"_ _

__Jason obeyed the instructions, switching on his light source, now that the ground floor was pitched black. He made his way through the front, giving a thumbs up to where Taupe and Black lay, grateful that they had covered him out through the main entrance. "White, Blue, do you read me?"_ _

__"Copy, Red. Fifty yards East with Yena and the target."_ _

__"Atta boy." Jason paused._ _

__"Where's the rest of the ungodly four?"_ _

__"On our way, just in the midst of heavy-"_ _

__"On my way." Jason turned and made his way straight back inside, much to the frustrated shouts of his men, but he tuned them out. He'd asked them all here, risking their lives for his mission, and there was no chance in hell he'd fail to have their backs. He entered now, the place already on fire, and close to pitch black. Jason thanked his lucky stars he'd updated his and the Ghosts tech with WE's latest prototypes, courtesy of one very generous brother._ _

__"Green, Yellow, where are you?"_ _

__Static response._ _

__Jason swore._ _

__"Orange? Brown? Can you read me?"_ _

__"Copy, Red. We're under heavy fire here-"_ _

__"Are Yellow and Green alright?"_ _

__A pause and then- "Yellow's been hurt. Bullet wound to the leg, non vital, but he'll need assistance getting out."_ _

__"Feed me instructions, I'm going in."_ _

__"Red, you _can't_ -" _ _

__" _ **Do it, now.**_ "_ _

__"Fine." Orange was pissed but Jason shrugged it off. The man could be pissed all he wanted when they were all out, safe and accounted for._ _

__"Aircraft incoming, ETA six minutes." Black spoke through the comms._ _

__Jason began moving then, meeting the darkness head on. "Brown, feed me their locations, I'm going in. Orange, cover me."_ _

__"Red, we're on our wa-" Whit began, already heading back, Blue at his side._ _

__"No the fuck you're not. I need as many of you out and clear from this area, this place is gonna blow. Plus, I need you to take care of the target and the young lass looking after him. We've got it under control, don't worry."_ _

__"But Red-"_ _

__"Stay the _ **fuck**_ back, I swear it, if I see any one of you on sight, I'll be mad as hell. Clear?"_ _

__"Clear." Blue's voice was acidic, and Jason sighed now, his tone gentle now. "I can't risk you guys getting hurt, alright? You guys are doing a great job where you are. Keep feeding me info on how many men are still coming, make sure that not a single one of those fuckers gets anywhere near the target. "_ _

__"Fine, but if we see anything-"_ _

__"Then you'll be the first to know, promise, babes." Jason grinned cheekily as cut off the communication, already hearing his friends swear at him in the background._ _

__He moved on autopilot, shooting, taking the soldiers down easily as he rounded a corner, made his way down a staircase four at a time, ducked behind a pillar and took out three other men. He moved, determined, ignoring the way his right shoulder felt as if on fire, knowing that he must have pulled his stitches somehow. Finally he arrived at the basement, only to meet Green hurriedly pressing his shirt into Yellow's leg, who looked a little pale. He skidded into the room, assessing the situation quickly._ _

__"Green, how much blood has our boy lost over here?"_ _

__"Not too much, but this smoke and heat ain't helping. It's slowing down anyway."_ _

__"My man." Jason squeezed his friend's shoulder before turning to Yellow, patting his cheek lightly._ _

__"Oi, Wake yo' ass up! Is that what you always say to me?"_ _

__Yellow opened his eyes, smiling weakly. "Lies."_ _

__"Yeah, well you can lie ya heart out once we get outta here, alright. We need out, like, yesterday, so I'm afraid its either bridal style or sack-over-the-shoulder for you. Choose, quickly."_ _

__Yellow laughed a little. "Shoulder; be gentle, my love."_ _

__That earned a bout of laughter from the three, and Jason complied, lifting his friend over his shoulder in one smooth motion. He turned to Green now. "Green, we need an out."_ _

__Green nodded, now talking in his communicator. "Orange, Brown, how's it looking up there?"_ _

__"Can't go back the way we came, sorry guys."_ _

__"Can we at least get to the ground floor?"_ _

__A little pause, gunfire, and then "yeah, we'll have to move fast though."_ _

__Red took it all in. If they couldn't get through an out, then they'd _make_ an out. He turned to the entrance now. "Purple, where are you?"_ _

__"Covering your fat asses from outside." the gritted reply came._ _

__"Good man." Jason smiled. "Change of plan - we're gonna blow our way out, west side of the facility. I'll need you to cover us there."_ _

__"Over and out, get going."_ _

__Jason beckoned to Green, as he spoke to the two currently covering for them._ _

__"Orange, Brown, hold your positions. We're coming up, and I'm blowing a joint through this bitch."_ _

__Their chuckles could be heard over the comms._ _

__"Ready when you are." Jason and Green moved quickly now, running, keeping focus even as the gunfire was directed at them_ _

__"Aircraft ETA three minutes, guys, hurry it the fuck up!" Black was tense, loaded and ready to go._ _

__Jason and Green made it on the ground floor now, where just a few feet ahead were Orange and Brown, crouching, covering them. It was dark, smokey and the attack was heavy. They were out of time. Jason hauled Yellow over to Green, who shifted to the side as Jason began rigging the west wall with explosives. A few loops there, a little wiring here, Jason thought, as he made quick work the task. Less than thirty seconds later, the wall was rigged and ready to blow. Jason spoke into his communicator._ _

__"Alright guys, its time to go on out. Stand clear of the wall, I'm blowing her up now!"_ _

__The men complied, Orange and Red dashing over to where the group stood._ _

___**Three** _ _ _

___**Three** _ _ _

___**On-** _ _ _

___The ground seemed as if it would fall apart as forced blasted the entirety of the wall. Ears ringing, the men stumbled out before running as fast as they could, clear the area, Jason once again with Yellow on his shoulder. "Purple, move already!" Jason screamed at the man, as all seven of them high tailed it out of there, east of the area._ _ _

___They kept running, finally reaching White, Blue, Yena and the rest, supporting one another, helping Yellow to the ground._ _ _

___Jason turned back to the facility. "Taupe, Black-"_ _ _

___"On our way, Red, the RPG is set to blow the aircraft up, in-"_ _ _

____**BOOM**. It was as if a giant pair of hands had clapped like thunder in the sky. ____

___ _

_____ _

 

_____ _

___No warning. The men, as they were, were thrown backwards by the force of the explosion, made worse by Jason's internal rigging. Jason swore loudly, eyes misty, choking in the smoke. "Black? Taupe? Do you read me?"_ _ _

___No response._ _ _

___Jason scrambled to his feet, ignoring the looks of alarm the group were sending each other. His chest began to pound. Not his men, not today._ _ _

___" _ **Motherfuckers**_ , I sai-"_ _ _

___"Yeah we read you, Red."_ _ _

___"No need to be _such_ a Mother hen, you know."_ _ _

___The group whirled round to see their two brothers, Black and Taupe, making their way towards them from behind, bags strapped to their shoulders, already beginning to chuckle at the groups astonished faces._ _ _

___"How in the _fuck_ did you manage that?" Fuschia asked, incredulous._ _ _

___The two started laughing now, but had to duck as Jason picked up what looked like a pine cone and lobbed it over their heads, half furious._ _ _

___"The fuck is wrong with you two, huh? We could lost you back there!" Jason felt like throttling them._ _ _

___Taupe simply smirked, arms crossed. "You mean like how you ignored all of us and went back inside? Yeah, you'd better sit your pretty self down and shutup, 'cause you ain't got shit to talk about."_ _ _

___The group looked back at Jason, arms crossed, smirking, and Jason knew Taupe was right. He said nothing for while, eventually holding his palms up in surrender. "I concede."_ _ _

___"Damn right you do."_ _ _

___"About time."_ _ _

___"This little shit right here."_ _ _

___Jason smiled, allowing them to rib him. The teasing subsided, however, as they say how Jason took his time assessing them over, eyes resting on the target, and felt a little guilty at the way their boy ran a hand through his hair, clearly stressed._ _ _

___"I'm sorry, alright? Its just..." Jason sighed, looking up at the sky, jaw clenched. His team, his friends, brothers - he'd been close to losing them all tonight, for a mission that they had willinginly chose to go on, just because of him. The guilt began to weigh on him as he spoke. "Man, that was close. Too close, I coulda lost you-"_ _ _

___"Yeah, but you didn't." Black moved to stand beside Jason, punching his arm lightly._ _ _

___"Remember we're here because we chose to be, so don't get'cha knickers in a twist." Fuschia grinned._ _ _

___Jason couldn't help but smile, and the tension dissipated, all on good terms once more. He angled his chin to Superman and Eheto who were still on the ground, Superman still looking out of it. The Ghosts nodded, giving Jason space as they turned to count their arsenal, and study the map of the area. None knew who he was, not with that mask on, and all knew what man who'd being tortured looked like. They had deliberately kept their distance, reasoning that the young woman who'd being sitting close to him, but careful to not touch him, would be the most contact the man could tolerate at present. Jason walked towards the two on the ground, coming to stand by Yena's side as he did. They looked at each other, and all Jason did was to squeeze his friend's shoulder, smiling at the man. Yena returned the smile, dipping his head in acknowledgement of the message - _thank you_ , before moving way, herded into the rest of the group as they began to joke with him._ __

__

 

__

Jason advanced further til he was right in front of Superman, sending a brief, grateful smile to Eheto, who moved away a little, giving them a little privacy. Jason crouched on his tip toes in front of Clark, looking at him. He was thankful for Eheto cleaning off the mess on his face, but Clark still looked far away into the distance, in the dark, that dazed expression on his face. Jason couldn't blame him; the first time he'd been raped as a child had left him seething with rage, angry, but the other times that had come after that had resulted exactly like this - a dazed, far away look, numb to the whole thing, the "lights on but nobody's home" look. He sighed, looking into the distance in the same direction is Clark, wondering how best to broach it all. Jason thought back to himself as a kid - would he have wanted someone telling him that "it would be alright?". He knew he wouldn't; probably would have told them to fuck off or something like that. Jason looked at the ground now, and decided to sit down properly, legs crossed. He'd chosen his position carefully; not too close that Clark would feel trapped, _again_ , and careful not to touch him at all, but not too far away that the man would feel alone, adrift in the recess of his mind, which Jason knew would be in complete turmoil right about now. There was no point in asking if he was okay - Jason had always hated people who asked that question after rescuing victims from the depths of hell. It was such a stupid question - of course they weren't okay, nor would they be for a long time afterwards.

___Jason took a small breath, making sure his voice was kept low, quiet._ _ _

_"Clark."_

___The man didn't move, and apart from a blink now and again, the man barely registered his name being called. Jason didn't push it. He carried on._ _ _

___"I'm talking to you, because I know you're in there, somewhere." He broke his sentences into small bites._ _ _

___"You don't have to say anything, at all, but listen, if you want."_ _ _

___No response._ _ _

___Jason carried on, regardless._ _ _

___"I'll lay it out right now: what happened to you, back there, was not your fault."_ _ _

___A blink, but nothing else._ _ _

___"I don't care what the bitch said: it wasn't your fault, and you didn't ask for it, nor did you want it."_ _ _

___Another blink._ _ _

___"You have nothing to be ashamed of."_ _ _

___Two blinks, but Clark's eyes were still lost in the distance. Jason didn't want to imagine what Clark must be seeing right now._ _ _

___"And don't you ever, _ever_ blame yourself for this, for any of it."_ _ _

Jason watched as tears begin to fill the man's eyes, and he swallowed, moved.

"For what it's worth, I'm damn proud of you."

A tear rolled down Clark's cheek. Jason forced himself to keep it together, that its not about him, its about Clark, but _God_ , he wished he'd had someone to talk to him like this.

"You held on, even through it all. I know it may seem like the opposite, but you've shown strength, resilience - and Imma say it again: I'm damn the fuck proud of you, for getting through it, to be here today." 

Another tear. 

"It'll take a while for you to see what I see."

Another tear.

"You'll hate yourself, what you look like, what you see in the mirror, how you smell, even, and that's fine. That's normal, Clark, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise." 

Two tears rolls down this side, and Jason could feel his voice beginning to crack. 

"You be angry if you wanna be. Shout, scream, cry, retreat to a corner, I don't care- whenever, however, you go right on ahead. It's normal." 

The other eye let out a tear. 

Jason struggled to compose himself, head bowed, and closed his eyes shut. 

His voice was tight when he next spoke, allowing a little silence to reign between them. 

"I'm getting you out of here, to safety. Don't worry about everybody else, they're safe." 

No response. 

Jason guessed that Clark couldn't bear the thought of being around them, probably ashamed - Jason knew how much he'd hated people near him the first few times it had happened to him. 

"Where I'm taking you to, you'll be safe. You'll be staying in my house, away from everyone else, and....just take some time to yourself." 

A blink. 

"You'll be alone, with books to read, a nice little garden next to a stream, warm, and peaceful." 

A blink. 

Jason smiled softly; his home in Gerebeta _did_ sound good right about now.

He remained silent, saying nothing for a while. They didn't move, but Jason could hear the Ghosts beginning to pack up their stuff now. It was time to go.

"Clark, we have to go now. We need to, if I'm gonna get you out on time."

No response.

Jason looked at Clark now. It didn't matter that Clark hadn't even registered his presence, not even to look at him. Clark needed to hear this.

"My guys are good men. They'll help keep you safe." He paused, and then concluded.

"Clark, don't give up. Keep ya head up, because I'm rooting for ya, we all are."

No response.

They sit like that for a little longer, Jason in front of Clark, both looking in the distance. Eventually, Jason got up, looking at Eheto, whom resumed her position, sitting quietly next to Clark, not saying anything. The man hasn't moved, not even a bit, but Jason knows that he's simply protecting himself from the world by being numb to it all. His recovery can't be forced; the man will need time, space, patience, and Jason hopes to fuck that he gets it. Clark Kent, Superman, the one who he'd have happily stabbed in the heart with no regrets, and now here he was, comforting the guy after witnessing something utterly despicable, rooting for him to pull through. 

After a few moments, the two stand. None miss how closely Eheto walks next to Superman, murmuring quietly, nor do they fail to notice the target's head angled low to the side, eyes blank, moving as if on autopilot. _Light's on but nobody's home_ , Jason is reminded. He turned from them to look up, arms clasped behind his head. He was tired, but they had work to do.

Turning to his men, he found that they were all ready now, bags packed, standing to attention. They'd all clearly recognised the signs of torture, of PTSD, had noticed Jason's reaction as he'd bowed his head as he spoke to the man, and not one had the heart to tell them to get going. Jason looked at them all, too grateful for words, and once again, tears welled up in his eyes. He looked in the far distance, jaw clenched, forcing the emotions back, willing himself to gain composure. Once better, he nodded at the group, head a little bowed, and they moved closer to him, shoulder patting, small smiles, a one armed hug from a few. Yena walked close beside him, not saying anything - the silence was more than enough, and Jason counted his lucky stars that he had friends like this, that he could regard as brothers.

Hefting his own kit, Jason and the group made their way back to the ship, minds quietening over the night's events.


	26. The first step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A direct continuation of the previous chapter; the Ghosts head to back to Lo'et, and the League finally meet Jason's friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> added a little bit abut Jason also bringing Tim to Gerebeta on a few occasions, and one one or two visits, a _woman_...

Gerebeta.

Lunch had been served around two in the afternoon, a wonderful affair. Light, carefully selected that the League would not become sick from eating too much after their ordeal. The food was lovely, fresh; a mix of spice and honey, breads, thinly sliced meats and stews. And even though not one of the League could understand the language, their servers did their best to explain the foods brought out to them, gesturing, positioning, smiling and laughing a little, making the League comfortable, and they were grateful beyond words.

During the lunch, Bruce had locked eyes with Diana, just for a moment, across the table, and the urge to just be next to her, imagining holding her hand as they took a stroll, was strong. He closed his eyes to focus inwards instead, not wanting to give anything away. Diana herself had hid her smile as she took a sip of water; she'd shared the same feeling. They would be together, and out here, there was no rush. She'd sat back in her seat, turning her mind to Barry and Lantern arguing a little, heart warm, skin a little flushed. To the side, J'onn had been steadfastly reading a book he'd picked from the house library, but he had not failed to notice the _look_ his two friends shared. Unknowingly, their feelings for each other, deep and complicated- a mix of companionship, mutual understanding, admiration, and interwoven in the bands, love- could often be detected as waves interrupting his telepathic conscious, though out of respect for his two friends, J'onn had never broached the matter. But this time, something was different. It was strong, and the respect more towards love this time, and when he brushed the tendrils of their connection, J'onn realised that this was _more_ \- and he smiled inside, though keeping his face neutral, at peace. It was about time these two were honest with each other - he was aware that it was not only Barry who had a bet as to whether they would make it past being "friends", though he himself had never participated. It had always been there, the love, but it was Bruce who had insisted on keeping himself distant; professionalism, respect, the differences - human and Amazonian, and Diana had complied, though they knew at times she'd pushed, just a little. Both of them had refused to talk about the incident surrounding Diana's transformation to a pig by Circe, though Diana liked to tease him about it now and again, much to Bruce's chagrin, and for the League's amusement.

And here they were now, in Gerebeta, a beautiful haven of light; with kind people, lush scenery, and a calmness that soothed the soul. J'onn smiled a little, no wonder Jason brought them to this place. Knowing a little of the boy, J'onn surmised that his time out here must have done wonders. He closed his eyes, thinking. The man had shown great concern at their well-being, despite his denial, and had risked his life several times over to get them here. J'onn knew that the League would find it jarring; the Red Hood, world known criminal, highly feared with a penchant for violence, was the same man who had been gracious enough, even when he didn't have to be, to put the needs of a group he considered the enemy before his. J'onn had always known that there was more to Jason than met the eye, right from childhood, even as the man had stood arrogantly in front of the League at their first meeting a few weeks ago, and J'onn was glad that Jason had proved himself to them all. He was more than a reckless criminal - clearly, that had been a front. They hadn't seen much of him and his skills, but what they _had_ been exposed to was enough. The man blended in with his surroundings better than any they'd ever seen, logical, efficient, able to think on his feet - and use the unexpected to his advantage, making what was impossible, possible. It dawned on them all that the Red Hood was nothing more than an act, that Jason had _wanted_ to be seen as an unstable, unpredictable man, using it for his benefit for those, including the League, who had underestimated him.

And now this same man had vowed to break out Superman with the help of support he was awaiting - and J'onn didn't doubt him. Jason had told them multiple times back on Xan that he would be getting them out of there, to safety, and the man had stayed true to his word. If there was _anyone_ who could get Superman out, and stop this "coup" that was taking place, then it was Jason, J'onn was certain. Jason's name had yet to be raised among the League since their arriival, but J'onn knew that they more or less felt the same, particularly Lantern, who had been taken aback by all Jason could do. Bruce had been surprised, but he'd masked it well. J'onn chuckled to himself as he remembered how Jason had climbed the fence at Tiekr. Bruce had lurched forwards from his slumped position, alarmed, but they had all watched, astonished, as Jason scaled the fence, ignoring the fizzes of electricity and smoke. They knew of one another who could perform such a feat, and so elegantly too: Nightwing, and J'onn could feel the realisation dawning in Bruce's mind. The portal was another thing that had left them all speechless - how Jason had access to such a phenomenon was beyond explanation, but there had been no time to question him. The man was an enigma, constantly surprising them, much to his smirking.

By four, lunch had drawn to a gradual close, and after things had been cleared away, one of the women, Elga, had brought forth a picture of the elder, Hershur, the one who'd tried to introduce himself to them a few hours back, who'd taken Diana by the hand. Elga had pointed at Hershur, then brought out a watch, pointing at the number seven. The League understood immediately, much to Elga's relief - Hershur would be visiting them in the evening, at seven, probably to explain things a little more in private as he dined with them. The League thanked her warmly, Barry rising and touching her arm, causing her to blush before she bowed, taking her leave. Conversations had been light but kept short, and their surroundings did much to help them relax. None wanted to talk about Xan, least of all Superman, and after much bowing and thanking the cooks, the League had drifted their separate ways. Bruce had been the first to leave, and J'onn witnessed Diana touch the man's hand discretely as he walked past, smiling a little as Bruce's fingers squeezed hers as he retreated, before Diana turned to the rest of the group. One by one, they all left the table, till J'onn had been left alone, at peace with his book, and his cup of Oeiwo, a light, tangy liquid that reminded him a little of his former planet. J'onn would spend the next few hours reading, dozing a little, and thinking about his friend, Superman.

 

 

Xan.

Magdaia lay still in the underground bunker, a few hundred metres from the facility. On hearing the explosion, she'd screamed aloud, spittle flying as she cursed wildly, throwing down books and scattering her equipment.

Decades of research, of hard work - gone.

The Superman and the extraction - gone.

Magdaia held her head in her hands, shaking with rage. That good-for-nothing Eheto, _her_ research, the one that had brought her great pleasure, so _willingly_ , all destroyed by that man, those men, Magdaia spat, face red. She had been in the heights of complete ecstasy, mind on another level altogether, when a sudden voice had startled her, jolting her concentration. The _rage_ behind it blinded her to the force of the man who'd rushed straight at her, delivering blow after blow, breaking her jaw, her nose, knocking her close to unconscious. Her vision had been unfocused; Magdaia could only just about make out blurry figures moving, the Superman being helped to walk out of the door - Magdaia had wanted to scream at them, to get up and claw their eyes in fury, to go after her specimen, but her head swam, and her arms felt heavy like lead. She'd remained that way on the floor drifting in and out of unconscious, hearing what sounded like shouting, and gunfire. Later, after a couple of minutes, when smoke had began to enter the floor, she'd rolled over, crawling on her stomach to the end of the room, which contained an emergency hatch. Her movements slow, Magdaia kept her face as close to the floor as possible, not wanting to breathe in the poisonous fumes. Those that had attacked her seemed too preoccupied to notice her absence under the cover of darkness, and Magdaia had reached the latch, arms trembling with the effort it took to open it. She'd managed in the end, and flopped exhausted, catching her breath, before turning and making her way down the set of stairs, a long fire escape in a chamber concealed into the wall, that would lead her underground to the outside, where it was a series of tunnels before reaching the underground bunker, one of the remains of the airfield they'd built the facility on.

Magdaia had stumbled along the tunnels, holding herself to the sides in pain as the ground above her shook with gunfire, explosions, and faint voices in the far distance. Eventually she'd reached the bunker, unleashing her rage, and now as she sat, still naked, groin stained with the blood and semen of her superman, she forced herself to pull it together. What would Mother say, Magdaia rebuked herself. Mother would never give up, not while breath remained in her body. She looked around the bunker now. Packets of food, spare clothing, boots, rifles. Magdaia had never found much pleasure in learning to shoot when she had grown up in luxury, protected by armed guards, but she'd learned regardless - every ounce of her strength would count now. Her jaw swung hinged, and Magdaia set about grabbing tape, hissing through the pain as she fastened bandages around her head and jaw, tightening it together. It would do for now. Next was the matter of finding something to wear. She looked down at herself, smiling at the evidence of her union with the Superman. Yes, he had been stolen from her, but she had _him_ , his material, and heading over to the fridge, she took out four laboratory bottles, using finger to scoop some of the semen inside two of them, and blood in the rest. Her groin was sore, heavily stained, and though she'd cleared most of the man's gift, Magdaia opted to keep a little remaining down there, right inside, a reminder of the pleasure she'd had. She liked her lips greedily as her mind drifted back earlier, now salty, and Magdaia went over to the mirror, only to see that her face was also stained with blood and ejaculate. She swallowed it all, not wasting a single bit. Superman was _hers_ , and, now as her mind cleared, thinking- if they'd managed to produce something special out of their union, a miracle, then even better. She would be connected to him _forever_ , an exciting thought. 

Magdaia dressed and sat on the bed. What should she do? She had no idea where Superman was being taken to, nor could she keep up with them in this state. Mother would have heard about the explosion by now and would be worried; the best thing was therefore to inform her of her suvival and get access to safe sanctuary. Magdaia knew the bottles would need to be kept safely hidden, but taking them all with her was far too big of a risk - what if they were damaged along the way? In the event that the man had _failed_ to impregnate her - _unlikely_ , Magdaia smirked remembering just how _big_ and how _much_ the man had given her - then she would need these reserve bottles. Magdaia made her decision; moving to the small sample fridge, she adjusted the controls suitable to genetic material storage and inserted two test tubes containing blood and semen, her prize. The other two, each containing one type of material, she would keep on her person, in the event that she was unable to return to this place, to the bunker. Standing up now, she wrapped a scarf around her head, placing a few essentials into her bag before bringing up a map of the area. The military was currently under the coup command, which of course, was being led by her dearest Mother. Either she waited for reinforcements to arrive - but already the facility had been destroyed; Mother wouldn't waste resources on a destroyed facility, _or_ she would need to get to the nearest military base and be escorted to safety, which, judging from her map, was down South, past the now destroyed Fewuity, and an hour further. Good.

Taking one last look in the mirror, Magdaia left the way she came. Superman, in person or otherwise; they would always be together.

 

 

"How far away are we?" Jason looked at Yena, who was currently fiddling with his apiliwe, enlarging the screen.

"About an two hours away, Red, we're roughly half way. We've had to take a slightly different route to the way we came, in light of our passengers." Yena directed this to mean Superman and Eheto, who'd been walking slowly for the past hour, the man evidently in pain judging by his slow steps, tightly shut eyes, and small sharp inhales now and again. 

Jason knew Yena was right; the journey from Lo'et to their meeting point at River Quet's bifurcation would have ordinarily taken two hours, the terrain unfavorable, but he and the Ghosts had made work of it under one hour thanks to their specilaised training. From _that_ point to Ikisi had taken an hour, so it therefore would take three hours back to Lo'et. However, in their current state, especially that of Superman's and Yellow's, they were looking at four hours if they were lucky. Jason looked at his clock: four thirty am. Daylight would be in less than two hours, and there was still the coup to attend to. They were all tired; Jason was now close to four days without sleep, Yellow needed to be patched up, and Clark, God, _Clark_ -Jason closed his eyes a little, dampening the rage that threatened to rise. He had to remain calm, for Clark's sake. The man was already in a vulnerable state, and had yet to speak to any of them. The dazed look had subsided a little, but in place was a man who simply looked dead to it all - pale, and unfocused. Brash emotion now would simply shut the man down further. The sooner he was in Gerebeta, the better, both in terms of medical assistance, and with the League. Jason turned to the group, watching Clark stumble a little yet _again_. Jason's jaw clenched.

"Time." he called out to the men, who stopped, too tired to argue. They set up camp a little, bringing out supplies, heat pads, helping each other set up the equipment. The Ghosts set up a little area just for Clark, each lending a pad to serve as a bed, whist they would rest on the forest floor. One of the men helped Jason set up a small tent like shelter, just to give Clark a little more privacy. Jason was too grateful; his words stuck in his throat, and he nodded at them, appreciative. The Ghosts turned their backs now as Eheto helped Superman to his little set up, hearing a soft murmurings echo through the air, counting the small steps Clark took. Jason watched them go, and now signalling to the rest of the Ghosts, the men turned front again, quietly unpacking cooking equipment and passing each other water. Jason brought out the map of their location and checked his apiliwe for the news. Still lockdown at the ISSA bridge borders, at the Pantheto, but worst of all, a nuclear airstrike had been reported at Plaei and Elek, with video footage showing burning buildings, screaming children, and dead bodies. He'd shown the news to the Ghosts silently, not wanting Superman to know anything, and all had understood what was going on, they'd seen it before. The coup was demonstrating retaliation; presumably those in place were still refusing to step down from power. Yena was right - the Council were resilient, but at what cost? Jason knew that the longer the Council refused, the more people- innocents, would die as a result. The Ghosts knew it was a no-win situation: the leaders stepping down in power would be put to death the moment they acknowledged the coup as legitimate, and in the end, lives would be lost either way, because coups were _always_ bloody. It didn't matter when; sooner or later, there would be bloodshed, and now, they were all seeing it.

Time flew by, and the smell of stew filled the air. Jason was reluctant to disturb Eheto and Clark but they needed to eat. He made his way to their tent, standing a little away, placing emphasis on his footsteps to alert them of his presence. A few soft murmurings later, Eheto made her way out, smiling a little as she walked towards him. Jason dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"How's he doing?" He kept his voice quiet, jutting his chin at Clark's direction.

Eheto sighed, running a hand through her hair. "He's...there, inside, just a little numb right now."

Jason nodded; it made sense. "Yeah, I get that. I know he's in pain, but I imagine he doesn't want anyone near him right now in that region."

Eheto smiled sadly. "That is correct. I-I didn't get a chance, to, to clean him properly - I doubt he would have been able to tolerate...such contact."

Jason looked away, to the Ghosts now, feeling sick at what he and Yena had burst into. Clark, dazed, lost to the world, trapped underneath, almost completely powerless, and too exhausted to fight off that parasitic bitch. He switched his gaze abruptly to Eheto, who cowered a little.

"Listen, I didn't get a chance to properly confirm - how long do you think it'll take his powers to come back?"

Eheto wrung her hands, thinking. "I expect over the next several hours to a few days; it will take some time, since he has quite a few faculties that will have to be re-stabilised, but don't worry, the reversal went smoothly, and I don't foresee any major issues."

"Time and patience, got it. And speaking of extractions and research facilities - how many copies of the work did you have in Ikisi? Fewuity?" Jason's tone was firm, a little hard.

Eheto flushed, embarrassed at the role she'd played, naive or otherwise. She bowed her head a little. "Everything was in the labs, we were forbidden from removing anything outside the facility, Magdaia made sure of it."

At the mention of that bitch's name, Jason clenched his jaw, tight. He really should have put a bullet in the bitch, a couple even, but stupid flashbacks and panic attacks. He swore quietly, Eheto shifting a little.

"I....I am sorry. I..she-" Eheto stopped pausing, struggling to form her words. Jason watched her coolly. Yes, he'd met her tied up, but he hadn't forgotten that she _had_ played a part in all this. The only reason she was still breathing was because Clark seemed to tolerate her presence - at least, not flinching away from her.

"-Magdaia was an evil woman. Sick, twisted, evil _bitch_ -" Eheto's tone turned venomous now, her fists clenched and Jason noticed her eyes filling a little. "- and I'm glad she's dead." 

Jason watched her a moment longer before he spoke. "How did you get involved in all this, anyway?"

Eheto swallowed, staring down at her feet. "It was never like this...not-not anything like this-" she brought up a shaky hand to wipe away a tear, but Jason made no move at comforting her. He'd save his concern for Clark. She continued.

"A few of my colleagues and I were invited to take part in an exclusive opportunity - a chance at working under Magdaia and her team, some of the realms most renowned scientists. Thy offered us a chance at being part of ground breaking research into genetic manipulation studies, all in the interest of health, curing disease, advancing what we have here. They showed us their studies, data they had already collected, we took a tour of their labs - it was all so _genuine_ , a fantastic opportunity. We were first tested in our scientific theoretical knowledge, practical skills - it wasn't as if they simply let anyone in. Those of us who had passed the tests were able to meet Magdaia and her team at interview - the very best of the _best_ , please, understand, sir - people who'd published the books we studied from, who wrote our exams, sat on the boards of companies, research enterprises-"

"-so how did an "exclusive research opening" turn into "torturing the shit out of another person?" Jason's voice was acidic, and he held no regrets.

Eheto looked away, ashamed. "It wasn't revealed to us, not at first. We had to sign affidavits before we could start, and we all complied willingly - it was simple: all the work was to stay in the lab, ideas were not our own - the latter a little tough to accept, but if it meant excelling in our future careers, ahead of our counterparts, getting to the top, then none of us were willing to give up our spots in the program. For months, we worked on research projects, giving presentations in Hunio, Demish- all over. We were directly able to see the results of our work into health labs, medicines - it was new and exciting, and we were all so over the moon, that we'd finally made it, after years and years of slaving away in further education, working long hours as laboratories assistants - our leads, renowned experts praised us, invited us to participate in _their_ work, and...-"

Eheto swallowed, tears running down her face. Jason closed his eyes, a little regretful at his harshness. He put a hand on her shoulder - not that she was totally innocent in all this, but still - a young scientist, a lifetime opportunity, sworn into confidence, only to be caught up in some sick shit with no real way out? Yeah, Jason could see it.

"And then we started work on subjects. People, all innocent at first - general health questions, their history, but then the "tests" started. And when it started getting too much, we were threatened with being thrown off the projects, and not just that - all our work would be discredited, and I mean _everything_ , right from our early days in the field. And when _that_ didn't defer a few from trying to report what was going on, then the threats extended to our families, to our very lives - and they didn't just say it; colleagues started going missing, those who dared to speak out. Attempts at trying to contact them were fruitless, and sometime later, the body of one lab partner had been found. It had been deliberate - they'd arranged for the body to be "discovered" - and the threat was solidified. Magdaia showed her true colours - she _tormented_ people, found ways every time to degrade them, subdue them, break their spirits, and we were all terrified. The woman was untouchable-"

"How?" Jason's tone was sharp.

Eheto signed, running a thumb over her knuckles. "Her mother is Honorable Semeticai'a' - one of the most powerful in the r-"

 _That_ sent Jason reeling. "Semeticai'a'? The Elder? You're sure?"

"Yes. The woman has the wealth, power and resources at her disposal; apparently she was the one who'd ordered laboratories to be built for her mother's research. Like I said, Magdaia was untouchable, no-one dared to go up against her, not if they wanted to to find themselves in exile, or dead if they were lucky. Sir-"

"Call me Red-" Jason was staring. He couldn't believe it. Semeticai'a', really? Kind, sweet old lady, the one who'd encouraged him and Yena to work together, find out what was going on with suspicions of a coup. Well damn, Jason thought. Poor woman was probably caught up in the coup. But Magdaia though - how could that sick, twisted bitch be related to Semeticai'a'? 

Eheto could see the disbelief across Jason's face and she smiled. "Exactly how I reacted when I found. Such a good woman, so kind - I couldn't believe her and Magdaia could even be said in the same sentence."

"Right." Jason took a breath, hands on hips, shaking his head slightly. He was learning new shit every damn day. "Well, I'll let the others know." He looked at the Ghosts now, beginning to serve themselves food, and Blue came towards them.

"Here, young lady, you and our friend over there are in desperate need of sustenance." Blue smiled quietly at her, nodding at Jason, before leaving. Eheto accepted the bowl gratefully, bowing a little. These men had been kind to her, Red, though she knew part of him felt she deserved to die. Eheto knew that she had the Superman and Yena to thank for sparing her life from Red.

Jason turned to her now, waiting till Blue had retreated far enough before speaking again. "It's not much I'm afraid, but it should be filling, for now anyway, till we get you guys to safety. Will you be able to manage with...helping S eat?"

Eheto smiled fully now, nodding. "We'll be fine. Red...thank you. I know I don't deserve it, but thank-"

"No need. Just keep doing what you're doing with him, talk to him. He's used to your presence and I'll be honest here - we don't exactly have the best history between us. I'd like to talk to him a little later, if that's okay? I'll don't know when the next stop will be; I've got to get him out of here as soon as possible."

"I will." Eheto look her leave now, determined that if there was one right thing she could do, out of the many wrongs she'd been involved in, it would be to help the Superman. 

Taking the bowls now, Eheto made her way back to Superman, ready to feed him if necessary.

 

 

It was a little after seven pm in Gerebeta, and the League sat around the table, outside in the patio, taking in the view. An orange pink sky, the tree in the garden _glowing_ with white leaves, the little stream that tinkled softly in the background.

It was beautiful.

The League had been given fresh clothes, and were now were sitting at the table, waiting. A knock at the door, warm voices, and then walked in Hershur.

Hershur and three others. One very tall male, young, dark haired, a knowing smile on his face, the other male, older, shorter, dark skinned, who bowed a little, and the last, a woman, senior probably in her sixties, kind crinkly eyes, apron round her waist.

The League knew who they were even before they spoke. They stood up, and the trio walked over, greeting them warmly, shaking hands, kissing cheeks - it was all so homely and welcoming, as if the League had lived here all their lives. After the warm introductions, Egla directed the room to sit, and then the conversation started.

"We welcome you to Gerebeta, my friends." The older male spoke, shocking the League all - they could speak English? Their faces caused the trio to burst out laughing, and Hershur himself chuckled into his root beer, Hudit. 

"Don't looked so shocked! Our mutual friend, Red, gave us three special communicators that allowed us to translate whatever we are saying into English the next time he visited. We insisted, though the man speaks our language fluently." The younger male said with a smile.

"Let us introduce ourselves: I am Ishbioth." the woman bowed to them.

"I am Lielr." the older man smiled at them, lifting his glass.

"Which just leaves me then, the best of the bunch, Klsoe." Klsoe spoke, to the laughter of the room.

Hershur spoke now, and Ishioth began to translate for him.

"I believe you have all met Hershur, one of the town council leaders. He along with the two other elders, Ilp and Reney were the ones you first met on your arrival, before our people ushered you in to care for you."

"We are most grateful." Diana spoke for the League, who themselves bowed, nodding, and the trio smiled, Ishioth waving the gesture away.

"There is no need for that, please. Out here, we welcome everyone, and cater to all who require it. We are one people, one community, and where one hurts, we _all_ hurt. Ishioth looked at them all, each one, and the League understood, deeply touched at their acceptance here.

The dinner arrived; a rich affair of stewed meats of various textures, large, thick pies, something that looked like rice, potatoes, vegetables, a large roast in the centre, along with various dips scattered throughout. Two jugs of wine, Jusoe, -Iekr one of the servers had called it- sat at either end, and behind the League stood a variety of other drinks: water, Ewi, a type of squash, Oeiwo, tangy, similar to soda, and beer, Hudit and Voio.

Lielr took over now, a deep, rich voice, smooth and lulling, and the League felt relaxed at the tone as they all began to eat. "We must extend our apologies for not meeting you earlier. After you were taken to our health centre to be attended to, the Councillors came to us. We sat down and they relayed the message. We've known Red for quite a while now, a good, heartfelt man, and the fact that he would use the nickname the children refer to him - " Red skywalker", along with requesting us specifically, meant that he was in some kind of trouble. You arrived without him, instructed with his call for help - that was an indication that you were sent by him, to escape trouble, and that you were to be cared for."

The League slowed their eating. Red had put their welfare above his, enough to entrust them into the care of _his_ friends. They owed Jason their lives.

"Red has entrusted you into our care, just as he once cared for us all, the entire community, and we will do out best not to let him, or you down." Klsoe spoke quietly, looking at them now before he looked at the distance. "Did Red tell you anything about us?"

Barry spoke now. "Only that we're on planet Gerebeta, in the multiverse Casp'qwe, if that I can remember correctly." The trio nodded and Barry continued. "Red emphasied that it was a lovely place, very peaceful, one of his favourites - I think he said that, and that he had good friends here."

The trio looked at each other, smiling. That was their Red.

Ishioth spoke now. "Red is correct; our town is Pepo, and it is a testament to the love we have for him that he was able to entrust you into our care." She paused now, and the League knew the question that was coming. "Have you had any word from him?"

Bruce spoke up, voice quiet. The guilt was beginning to eat at him, at them all.

"Red opened a portal here; he was adamant that we should get to safety. He-" Bruce swallowed, reminded that Clark wasn't here with them. "-He and his friends are currently in the processing another friend of ours." This was difficult for him to admit, and he didn't know how to form the words, but once again, his Diana, seemed to read his unease, picking up where he left off without missing a beat. 

"-Our friend was held in a separate place, and is hurt. But," Diana looked at the table, gathering her thoughts before she looked at their guests, voice firm. "Red promised us he would get us to safety, and he did. He kept his word then, even when things looked impossible, and he will do it again, with our friend. Red risked his life for us, and we cannot thank him enough."

Diana spoke on behalf of the League, and they all knew it, nodding.

The trio said nothing for a few moments, looking at them, before Lielr spoke. 

"Understand this, my friends: whatever Red puts his mind to, he achieves, without a doubt. If he says he can do it, it can be done. The man doesn't know the meaning of "can't" - he uses whatever he has to make things work, believe us, we've seen him at work first hand. Therefore, do _not_ not think too harshly of yourselves at your being here, in his place. Red clearly wanted it this way, and it was for good reason. Judging by your injuries, it is not far to assume that Red would have wanted you away to be taken care of, and to focus his efforts on rescuing your friend. So please, do not blame yourself or feel guilty, do not blame Red, and most importantly, have a little faith. Red is a resourceful man; give him time, and be patient. In the meantime, you are here to rest, and recover from your ordeal in the midst of safety and warm people." Lielr's tone was final.

The League were touched. They couldn't argue with _that_.

There was silence for a while as they ate, and then Klsoe spoke, drawing everybody in.

"We met Red almost two years ago. At the time, our community was scattered, under the rulership of a cruel dictator who taxed us mercilessly and turned his back on our hardship. The town we were living in at the time, Urjt, was a difficult land - a series of flash flooding had rendered the earth unsuitable for farming, and the roads had been damaged, making trade almost impossible. The man who ruled over us, Weqa, refused to give any leeway, demanding that we continue to pay our taxes. When we couldn't do that, he sent his men to raid our stock and produce as payment instead. He damaged our town's signals, energy towers, making sure that we couldn't send any messages to other nearby towns to help us. They themselves were too afraid; Weqa had threatened their very livelihoods should they dare intervene. There was nothing we could do but watch, begging him to have mercy, but the man had a heart of stone. Our people were beginning to starve, and yet that bastard continued, cutting off our access routes." Klsoe took a breath, visibly angry. Lielr squeezed his shoulder and the man threw a grateful smile at him, appreciative of the support.

"The last straw was the night his men broke into our houses and took our children. Our _children_ , my son - they took as many as they could, ignoring the screaming parents, the pleading. We were dejected - we didn't have any weapons or resources to get back our children. A few hours later, a stranger arrived in our town. Red."

Klose looked to Ishiboth to continue. 

"He was clearly not of this world. A completely different look, as you can tell, odd clothes, carrying a large bag on his back, and yet he spoke our language, fluently, though with an accent none of us could place throughout the realm. He took one look at us, the crying, the tears, the fact that our children's toys were still scattered across the market square and yet there were no children in sight - he walked right up to us, the town elders, and asked us how he could help. Not even a name, and yet the man wanted to help us. We had looked at each other then before deciding to tell him - after all, what more could we lose? And Red stood with us all, looking over our plans, marking areas of interest. He then asked us to see how many weapons we had in stock - a couple of rifles, a few bits here and there, nowhere near enough for a townspeople -and he said "that'll do." No arguments, no doubts - Red simply told us to get ready, that we would move in the evening, and by nightfall, we would have our children back." Ishiboth spoke quietly.

The League sat, rapt to attention. Jason had done all this, by himself?

"Our men tried to tell him it was impossible, that we didn't have enough resources, but he looked at us, all of us, before he said this "we have more than enough." And I tell you, we were incredulous! A man we'd never seen before, to walk into our compound, in our distress, and seemingly make promises he couldn't fulfill, against men who were heavily armed, well protected, who could outman and outgun us all without a sweat? Insanity! And yet, as Red began to lay out his plan, where certain men would be positioned - himself in the greatest line of fire, how we would break through, take out the men - it began rapidly clear to us that Red wasn't any ordinary man. This man was an expert of some kind, and as he opened up his travelling bag to reveal what he had all along - equipment that we were sure didn't exist anywhere in our realm - we knew then that somehow, a miracle had been given to us. And not only that - Red took all that we had, and spent the next new hours taking it all apart, putting back together, modifying it with the materials he'd brought. It was incredible to watch." Lielr smiled at the memory.

"If we're talking about incredible, the actual event itself is something that defied the odds of logic. Anyone with any ounce of sense knew that the odds were far against us - and yet Red made it work. He set up all sorts of equipment, rigging rifles that could fire unmanned, tripping wires that would release smoke, localised explosives, causing a distraction. Even with the little we had, Red moved as a _machine_ \- he kept firing, moving, taking out men almost three at a time, running, disabling and knocking men out as if it were all just a little exercise. I have never seen anyone do what he can do, never - and he did it all so gracefully, as if it was him alone, in tune with himself, his weapons and the situation. Weqa and his men tried to bring out the children at gunpoint, tried to force Red to retreat, put down his weapons, and he did. But little did they know what that man was capable of. He moved so _fast_ , so quickly, that by the time it was over, the man had put down close to fifty men by his hand alone! As for Weqa? Well, Red made _quite an example_ of him - he wiped out the entire place within the hour." Klose spoke admiringly. Red was truly something else, a force to be reckoned with.

"His prowess, his skills, tactic- that was one thing, but the man proved himself in the aftermath." Heshur spoke for the first time now, Ishiboth translating for him. "He refused all that we offered him. Gifts, praise, clothing, money - everything, he refused. He wouldn't take a single penny from us. Instead of leaving us to go on his way, he trekked with our men and children back to our town, and helped us look for another place to call home. We searched, debated, before finally deciding on this place, which we called Pepo. He worked alongside our young men, humbly, hefting all sorts, working as they did. He came with us, after we travelled on road for weeks, till we arrived on this land. And even then, the man stayed. Helped to set us up, to lay the foundations, the housing, our technology - Red was the one to install our security, to update all we had _and_ provide us with more, that he brought from whenever he came from. Houses, shops, the square, school, places of work, the health centre, even the academic institution and great library - Red stayed with us for _months_ , sometimes making a few trips here and there in the midst of his own work, from Earth, another realm away, as we later learned. What you see in this beautiful place, Red helped build. We came to know him very well -a lover of literature, a man who loved children, caring for them, who was able to sit with young women, wives, mothers, gossip with them even, and yet in the next moment, laugh with our men, tell stories, work alongside them. A man who had no problems out in the fields, and inside the kitchen; he fit in seamlessly, he understood _people_ , and that was his greatest strength. His love for others, to put their needs first before his - you can see why we are so protective of him." Hershur smiled at them all.

The League were lost for words. Bruce struggled to hold onto his composure. Jason had always been like this, so caring, always putting others first, even at the expense of his own safety. A real protector, not afraid to get in the dirt and grime with the lowest of society, because that was where he came from, and Jason had never been ashamed to admit it. He bowed his head, feeling Barry squeeze his arm. Their memories, the fights, the struggles, the intensity of it call now flooded him in droves - how he could love someone so much, and yet hate them so? Wanting to see _this_ side of Jason but always saying the wrong thing, or being shut out, even with the fights they'd had as Batman and the Red Hood. How one day, when it had all become too much to bear - how Bruce had looked at his son sadly, now little more than a stranger, thinking " _I don't know how to love you anymore_ ". And now Jason had grown up without him, a father, into a young man who had friends, on world and off world, who'd moved on without him, deeming it good to cut him out of his life, who was completely indifferent to him.

Bruce couldn't speak. 

The trio and the elder noted the man's reaction, but let him to his emotions. Clearly the man was connected to Red in someway, and it dawned on them - the man hadn't known their friend as they did. The truth hurts, they thought.

Lielr decided to lighten the mood a bit. "Red has his own place here, in town. He visits us every few months or so, always bringing plenty of gifts for the children, books, and everyone is always happy to see him and welcome him home. He often comes to see how things are, helping to fix little issues here and there, making sure we are safe, our technology is up to date, and so on. The library is his favourite place, museum too; many a time can Red be seen on top of the Lisoe hill, just west of here, reading under the large tree as groups of people and families have picnics all around him, and children set up their water slides, running and eating ice-cream. At night, a lot of us are gathered under the stars here, which twinkle a multitude of colours, and we share drinks - Red installed a giant projector for us that enabled us to watch a few of his planet's films right in the sky, and we have a film night every month, where all the people come with drinks and share food, to just relax and enjoy good company. I think it was Zootipia; I believe that was a real hit with the adults and children alike. On other occasions, the man likes to take a visit through the market square, spending time at the various stalls, milling in shops, eating and catching up with us all, refusing to take anything for free - Red insisted on earning a wage here as an apprentice and fixer. The children love him dearly, calling him their "skywalker", and he spends a lot of time with them all, reading to them, fixing their toys, teaching them. He came in the summer a while back and we set up line of grills that ran through the entire market square, a barbecue for everyone. Music, dancing - all had a lovely time." 

Ishiboth chuckled to herself before interrupting. "Oh-yes, Red has also brought his brother along, little Red, I believe, on a few occasions. The two are very similar in personality despite their physical differences. Red is very protective over that one "A very kind, sweet boy; the two are one. I remember how little Red and the children set up a day of pranks on the people, it was a day to never forget. It will be good to see him again, the boy is lovely."

"Don't forget about that woman, she came with Red one or two visits. Her name escapes me, but she was quiet, kind, very beautiful; they seemed close. He seemed to be very comfortable with her, in a slightly different way to his brother." Klose smiled into his glass, winking at them all.

The guests all nodded, hummed, smiling at each other, as they recounted little quips back and forth, and the League could only listen, floored. This was all truly Jason they were hearing? Who was the woman? A girlfriend, perhaps? Tim had been here too? He must have known about Jason's portal ability then; the League remembered that Tim had mentioned he wouldn't tell them _how_ Jason had been to Xan and Gol, or even _why_ he could do it - in other words, Tim knew all along. Bruce honestly didn't know what to say. Jason and Tim were likely glue; it finally dawned on him now that there was no Tim without Jason and vice versa. Tim _did_ make it clear how he and Jason both relied on each other, after all.

A little silence dawned. Dinner had now finished, the plates cleared away, and now the group had opted to move to the large seating area under the canopy, taking their drinks with them.

Klose took a few sips, swirling his glass before speaking. "Red asked for us three specifically. We will be your guides during your stay, taking you round the town, out into the fields, the various attractions in and around the town - there are many, and I'm sure you will not grow bored out here. Don't worry about expenses or remuneration - we will _not_ accept anything like that from you, and I'm sure Red himself would dislike such a thing. For now, you are welcome to stay here, in Lielr's house - should you wish anything more to yourselves, please, my friends, do not hesitate to ask. I can take you around, helping you navigate the area, and Ishiboth will make sure that you needs are catered to- food, any special dietary requirements, clothing. Lielr is one of the senior medical doctors in the town; he was the one who helped direct our nurses and towns people in providing you with medical attention down at the health centre."

The League bowed, eyes welling, at the generosity of Lielr, giving up his large house so freely, in the willingness of Klose and Ishiboth to make their stay as comfortable as possible. The trip chuckled softly, gesturing at them to stop, that it wasn't necessary, and Hershur reached out a hand to Hawkgirl, smiling at her warmly. Shayera couldn't help but smile back. 

"My lady?" Lielr directed at Shayera, bowing a little, but Shayera moved forwards to stop him. If anyone was going to bow here it was her and the League.

"Your wing will require surgery, and I have arranged for you to be flown to the capital's main hospital tomorrow, where they have highly advanced technology available to mend your wing. It is about an hour's flight from here, and, if you permit it, you will be extensively monitored under specialist equipment, all to aid your recovery. You can take as many of your friends with you as you like - all the rooms are private, designed for the individual's comfort."

Shayera swallowed the lump in her throat. She was expecting to have to wait for Red to take them back to the Watch-tower, where they would probably look her over there, but none of them knew how long Red would be away, and Shayera was in serious pain. The bandages and sling fitted down at the health centre could only do so much, and the wing was now affecting her balance, and placing pressure on her back, and on her ribcage, making breathing difficult. Surgery was required as soon as possible.

"Thank you, I would like that very much. Please, call me Shayera."

The trio smiled widely at that, and Hershur hummed, gazing at her. "Shayera, meaning one quick to adventure; bright,clever and capable. It is a good name for you, young woman, very fitting." 

Shayera blushed at the compliment, saying thank you quietly, reddening even more as she caught Barry's grin, and to her surprise, Diana's small smile.

The group remained there for another hour more, talking, relaxing under the canopy, enjoying the company.

Clark would be here soon.

 

 

Xan, two hours from Lo'et.

Breakfast over, Jason had decided to let the group rest for a while. They were out of the main danger, Ikisi, never to be seen again if the explosion was anything to go by, and with their bellies now a little full, the tiredness caught up to the men as they sat. Let daylight come, Jason thought, as he closed his eyes a little. Already, Jason could feel himself drifting off to sleep, eyes darting open a few times to see that the others had done the same. He'd sighed before sitting up against a tree. They were tired, as trained as they were - the Ghosts had had to hold expert focus and remain attentive in order to break Superman out, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, the weariness had caught up to them. Jason was exhausted, Yena too, and that was nothing compared to what he knew Clark was probably feeling. The coup would still be there, whether they made it back to Lo'et in one hour or or three, and Jason knew that he would need to rest a little in order to conjure up another portal for Superman. There was also the matter of getting Eheto to safety - they couldn't just leave her out here, and Jason didn't think he'd have enough strength to take two portals. No, Eheto would need to be hidden somewhere, safe. Jason swore to repay her kindness after all of this had been taken care of properly. Yena had shown surprise at Magdaia and Semeticai'a' connection, and both he and Jason arranged to find out more about them later.

Jason looked around the camp. The Ghosts were spread out in a little circle, all asleep now, though Jason knew that such appearances were deceiving - his men could be on guard in less than a second, ready to fire if necessary. Jason stood up, deciding that a little walk and a bit off fresh air might do him some good. He was careful to move quietly, a bit further out from the hilltop they were currently on. Already, the sky was beginning to lighten, a light navy grey as the first rising of sun dared to peak through. He walked out a little further, only to stop in surprise at who he saw sitting alone, with a heat pad wrapped around him.

Clark.

The man must have known he was there, but Clark sat, not moving, knees brought up to his chest, arms hugging them tight. From this angle, he looked small, and Jason would have found the thought comical if not for the reason behind such a stance. It was a protective one, designed to keep himself closed in from the world, one that Jason had adopted many a time as a child, and even as the Red Hood, sitting in dingy, empty safehouses, all alone.

Jason took a small step forward, placing a little more weight on it now, and stopped, breath caught in his throat as he witnessed Clark turn his head minutely at the sound.

All Jason could feel then, was relief. It had been the first time Clark had registered _anyone's_ presence, and Jason counted the action as a breakthrough. He watched as Clark held his head half turned towards him before facing front again. Permission to proceed, then, Jason thought, and he did just that, taking his time. Eventually he reached Clark and after standing a while, staring at the horizon, he sat down next to him, legs crossed. Not too close, about an arms length away. Jason made sure to keep his eyes forward, though he detected Clark glancing at him a little before looking away.

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

They sat there, Clark and Jason, watching as the sky began to awaken. Jason had an idea of the struggles that were taking place in Clark's mind and he opted to remain silent at first, his presence serving as an anchor for the man. It was easy to get lost in the mind, to let the pain, the rage at the injustice turn into bitterness, poisoning the mind, and as Jason sat mow, mind drifting, he knew he was slipping back to his old ways, back to the old hurts, the misunderstandings and the never fitting-ins. Clark was a good man; Jason had known that even as a child. He thought him too eager to please, a Boy Scout, always believing in the justice system, on what was right, and fair, but the problem was that Clark didn't live in his world. Clark no idea what it must have been like to grow up with a part-time, alcoholic, abusive in every kind of way, a mother who spent half the time either drugged out, forgetting he even existed or ranting at him, blaming him for their poverty, and the rest piling him with meagre scraps, desperate for his forgiveness. To go from a mother who forgot to send him to school and the times he went were in an unimaginable state, smelling like unwashed piss, foul body odour, matted hair, dull skin, to a man like Bruce who insisted he do his homework, Alfred who let him help in the kitchen, only to have all that taken from him at the tender age of fifteen, to a mother who betrayed him, watching him beaten at the hands of the joker as she stood by coolly, smoking her cigarette, to coming back to life, a crazed madman, a slave to the League of Assassins, only to return to a Gotham that had moved on, and a Bruce that had replaced him.

Jason turned away. Clark, he knew, had grown up on a farm. Jason closed his eyes, picturing it now. A country farm, with chickens, horseshit, cows, all warm and friendly and ever so _normal_.The guy would have definitely been a hit with the girls and boys, handsome yet humble, always a good sport. Did well in school probably, only to yearn for city life, bright and flashy. This guy knew next to shit about poverty, hardship, how life could be so damn _cruel_ , forcing you to choose yet another night of starvation, a gnawing in the belly so painful your knees buckled, or a hot meal, bland, for the price of a good fuck, under too-old hands, whisky on the breath and against a floor damp with mould. Jason feel it coming back to him now, and the tears sprang to his eyes, hot. In that moment, Jason wished for home, in Danver. His own house, his space, with his books, a comforter, a hot mug of chocolate and cream in one hand and a novel in the other, Tim at the other end of the couch, headphones in as he watched a movie. He missed his lunchtimes with Alfred, at the manor while everyone was away, or at their monthly dinners, bonding over their love of the classics, mixing in with the new, the plays they were going to see together. Jason missed his catch-up calls with Talia, who knew some of of his darkest shit, yet never failed to see him as anything less than _hers_ in her eyes, always caring and watching over him, despite her supervillian status. He was supposed to be in the south of France with her right about now; they'd planned to spend a week or two together after his last Ghost mission, a bit of yachting, in their coastside villa, time spent reading, eating, sight seeing and Talia failing to hide her laughter at his jokes. Jason swallowed, the lump in his throat painful. 

Jason spoke now, for his sake, and for Clark's. His voice was tight, but he started in a low voice, speaking aloud, describing some of his favourite works of literature, the places he loved travelling to most, funny anecdotes - anything to bring him back from that dark recess of the mind, the one where the Pit lay, threatening to take him whole. He spoke, aware of how Clark's head had angled towards him, as the tension in the man's shoulders eased just a little bit at the deep, warm baritone of his voice. Jason found himself speaking more freely, letting out some of what weigh on his mind. Little perceptions, about people, things, the foods he found most interesting to cook, and he himself felt his back ease, relaxing a little. Eventually, Jason had trailed off, letting the silence carry his thoughts. Clark had remained silent throughout all of it. Jason spoke to him directly now, though he kept his gaze in the distance.

"You'll get through this. It'll take a while, to find your footing, but I _promise_ you, I swear on Tim's life that you will. It will be hard at first, being near people, especially when they move too close. You'll lose your temper, maybe lash out a little, but as time goes on, you'll heal."

Clark said nothing. Jason clasped his hands.

"Don't be like me, Clark. Don't do what I did - shut myself away, shut down, and refused all help. I thought by doing so, it would make things better, but it didn't. You-you" Jason breathed, fighting with himself. "-You have friends, a family, something I-honest to _God_ , C, I wished I'da had at the time- and they'll be there for you, even when you don't want them to be. They'll love you no matter what, even when you push them away, or scream at them to leave you alone. Talk to them; even if its just one person, do it. Trust me, there's nothing quite like being able to talk to someone about a level of hurt that deep, and I wished I'da known it sooner."

Jason heard a wet, shaky inhale from beside him. He brought his hand to his own face, tears escaping. He was opening up his hurt, something he'd _never_ done to such an extent, and it was all new to him, but he was ignoring his own pain to get Clark through his. His voice broke a little as he continued.

"You can do this. You can get through this. Yo-you've gotta fight through the pain, past the hurt, the anger - don't let it turn to bitterness, 'cause then you'll hate yourself, Clark, and everyone around you, and...and I, I just can't let anyone else get to that point, not you. It's not a good place, it changes you, everything, the way you think, I-"

Jason heard himself catch his breath, and more tears fell. Beside him, he could hear the same thing. 

Both of them were hurting.

"I know we're not exactly best friends here, but shit, man, I know you can do this, I just _know_ it. So don't give up on yourself. I'mma get you outta here...I've got a little place where you're going. There-there are books to read, the air is warm and bright and fresh, the garden is beside a stream, and you just take your time, Clark, take all the time you need. If you wanna stay there for a while, that's good too. Only thing I ask is that you don't eat up all the Djuti, little crisp bars, _man_ , they're heavenly."

A little chuckle.

Jason's eyes widened a little at the sound, and he turned, surprised, only to meet Clark's red, tearful eyes, gazing at his. They looked at each other for a few moments, smiling a little, before Jason chuckled suddenly at a memory he'd forgotten. It was the time he first brought to Pepo fizzy gum balls for the kids from Earth, the kind that fizzed in the mouth as it dissolved in saliva, and Jason found himself telling the story to Clark now, heart lifting at hearing the man's muffled chuckles. He told a few more stories, and the chuckles turned to quiet laughter, from both of them, particularly at one incident involving one of those stupid bath bombs that Tim loved to collect, a deep black one, and him falling into the stream that the kids played beside. Jason had been showing one of the kids how to use it before being distracted by something else, and as the kids had tugged at him towards the stream, he'd placed the bath bomb in his pocket, forgetting all about it. A couple of those sneaky shits had ganged up on him, pushing him into the river, and he'd let them, laughing as he did so. Their laughter turned to screams, however, as the water around them began to turn into a jet black, and Jason had stumbled out, shirt stained, skin discolored, lumbering after them in their terror, that a monster was after them, one that had eaten their Red. Much a commotion had been caused, and the incident had been remained in the hearts of people fondly for a long time afterwards. Clark had laughed and laughed, and Jason too, both right through the tears, as they pictured the scene.

Eventually, Jason's talk had quietened down till the silence returned, but the tension between them had been replaced with an ease, an understanding of sorts. Jason had remained seated a few minutes longer before taking his leave, smiling a little at Clark, who'd shyly offered one in return, before facing the front once more. Jason would have squeezed the man's shoulder, or patted his arm, but he knew Clark wouldn't like the contact, and he'd therefore offered a smile instead, heart a little glad on seeing a tiny on in return. Jason made his way back to the Ghosts, back to his friends, men who'd risked their lives for him, and without question. He sat back down, resting his back once more against the trees, and dozed off lightly.

 

 

Clark would get through this, and Jason vowed to help him.


	27. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Semeticai'a' receives a call, the coup takes the next step in their plans. Clark has a breakdown. The League begin to explore Gerebeta, only to be taken surprise by a visitor.

"Ma'am, there's a call for you."

Semeticai'a' looked up with a slight frown before beckoning the young man over. He appeared nervous, no doubt by her presence, but Semeticai'a' did not have the time to delight in his reverence today. 

It had only been less than an hour ago when she'd received word from military personnel on-site that Ikisi had been involved in an explosion. Apparently, the entire facility had gone up in flames, and for a moment, Semeticai'a' went numb. Magdaia, her pride and joy, gone. It couldn't be so. Semeticai'a' forced herself to remain calm; she had taken the call in front of the other leaders of the coup who were watching her reaction. Schooling her face into a carefully neutral expression, she asked the shaky voice on the phone if there were any survivors. None were expected. Semeticai'a' made sure that not a single thing gave her away, but inside, she was filled with dread. Magdaia was a clever girl; Semeticai'a' had ordered one of the underground bunkers preserved for her daughter's safe-keeping if she ever needed it, but how could she be sure Magdaia had reached it in time? Semeticai'a' wanted to scream in rage, lash out, spittle flying, eyes wild, but she couldn't; not now, as the coup leader, with everything she'd ever wanted right before her eyes. Dismissing the coup leaders or excusing her presence to a private room would make the other members suspicious, regard her as weak, unable to carry through with the agenda at hand, and they could very well plot to overthrow her. No, that couldn't happen, not even for Magdaia. Her daughter, as much as she loved her, could very well be the price that Semeticai'a' had to pay to achieve her life-long goal, and if that was the case, then she was prepared to do it, however painful. She wasn't about to let sentiment distract her attention. Semeticai'a' pulled herself together; she would have all the time in the world to grieve in private once this was over, and the coup firmly established.

So Semeticai'a' had slowed her breathing, kept her eyes narrowed, glare cold, as she finished the call with a "Do not waste my time with such frivolous matters.". Case closed. No facility, no survivors - therefore there was nothing more to be done, and no time to waste. There were more important things at hand. Semeticai'a' could sense the other members glancing at each other, a little impressed. They knew of Magdaia, of course, but the fact that Semeticai'a' was so willing to treat news of her daughter's probable death as something little other than a waste of time increased their respect for her. Here was a leader who was willing to let nothing stop her from the task ahead, unlike one General Checkov, who'd allowed grudges and personal grievances to stand in the way of common sense. None of them offered Semeticai'a' condolences; the woman clearly didn't need any, and the work continued, as if there had been no interruption.

And now this young officer was in her presence, pale, fingers clasped. 

"Spit it out, boy." Semeticai'a' spat, already irritated by the worm's presence.

"You-Your Hon-Honor, a call has come through ask-asking to-to speak to you alone, pri-privately." The young man stuttered. Semeticai'a' rolled her eyes. Pathetic.

"As you can see, or perhaps you are to dim-witted to realise, I am rather busy with matters of utmost importance. Whomever is calling will have to-"

"-It is urgent, you-your Honor, I'm sorry to in-interrupt-" The boy gasped out, face red. "-they refuse to be contacted later; they say it is _you_ they want to speak with, directly."

Semeticai'a' stared at him, furious. This inferior had dared interrupt her, like this? She cursed inwardly. Receiving too many requests for a private conversation would raise red flags, especially now - people might start to suspect she had plans of her own which they would _not_ be a part of, and Semeticai'a' could not allow any rumours to fuel the fire. Of course, Semeticai'a' _had_ planned to get rid of all of them once the power was legitimately in her hands, but the rest were not to know that. Semeticai'a' stood up, eyes blazing at the young man who cowered, eyes drawn to the floor. She spoke, low and deadly, venom laced in her words.

"I will take this call. And if it is _not_ urgent, _boy_ , then I promise you, you shall pay for your insolence with your head. Away with you!"

The coup watched as the man bowed and skittled hurriedly out of the room. Semeticai'a' watched him go before turning to address the other coup members. 

"The first missile strike has been launched, in line with out expectance of the Elder's resistance to our leadership. Our next task is to promote our government to the people, in order that they too will continue to support us. Remember that the blame for the nuclear strike is to be put onto the Elders, a consequence of their stubbornness and refusal to yield. We have the backing of our military, now, we need to cement that of the peoples. They must believe, without a shadow of doubt, that _we_ are the answers to their problems. We have spent the past few hours discussing some of the issues these people have complained about, especially those raised in the Xanderian's riots."

"Junio, what are the core issues?"

Junio bowed a little before speaking. "Your Honor, the core issues are those felt across the realms, and they haven't changed at all. Higher minimum wages, improved living conditions, lower taxes, child benefits, unregulated working hours." 

"Fine. Mehibosh, what can we offered them that isn't already in place?"

"We can increase the minimum wage by ten percent and give more consideration to those on lower wages in regards to priority housing. We can promote increasing child benefits to stop at twenty years old instead of eighteen at present. Taxes, we _might_ be able to keep them as they are if we do two things: one, increase health insurance plans and cover, including dental, to extend to those over fifty, pensioners, retirees - even set up nursing home cover, and two: if we drive home the point about free education up to the first university funded degree, along with a guaranteed position immediately after their studies. We can begin to enforce workplaces to put in safeguards in terms of working hours - for example, no more than forty eight hours a week, and overtime to be around twenty percent of normal take home pay. Fine any whose working conditions are below standard."

"And best of all, we can make it clear that IGC sanctions are to be no more. No more affecting the peoples, our trades, our way of living." Lierna spoke, voice firm.

"Even better-" Thempre took a few sips of water before continuing. "-Make our government more "accessible". Regular council meetings at local and regional levels, have the peoples elect representatives among them to stand at court here in the Pantheto, maybe even open a little of the place on weekends for tours or something, classes of school children to spend a day or so here, learning about our new system. It shows that unlike the previous lot, we, the _new_ Council, are willing to remain in touch with the peoples, that we care about their struggles, what is important to them. Perception is everything, your Honor, and we want to not only take power, but to hold onto it for as long as possible. Recognising the new coup in front of the realm is only the beginning."

The room nodded, murmuring appreciatively. The proposals were very good. Semeticai'a' waited for quiet before speaking. 

"Very good. In order to reach the people, therefore, we will have to rely on the media - every kind of multimedia there is. Mehibosh, use your contacts within the media to start laying out the foundations of our propaganda. Explain what has happened, who we are, and why we are doing this. We need our message out, loud and clear, everywhere you look, turn, read, listen - no excuses. We _must_ control the narrative. Junio, reach out to your contacts across the governments of the other planets; leak out news of the situation, and try to assess their thoughts on it all. Make sure you emphasie _why_ we are doing all this; a lack of change and dissatisfaction with the IGC, the suffering of the peoples in their hardship as a direct result."

Semeticai'a' looked at the others now. "Lierna, Buri, your task is to root out _any_ dissent at our leadership and the way the coup has taken place. Any who are against it, and who have the power to stage a revolt - from those on the ground leading opposition groups, to those in the military, police units, security - root them out and put them to death, quietly. We cannot allow any to take up arms against us. Also, make sure our restrictions on travel has been well enforced. Thempre, you are correct in saying that perception is everything. The people must believe, at least for now, that we are on their side, and that everything we are doing is for them, to give them a better future. They are starving, therefore - give them bread. Have designated food trucks collect grain, wheat, food stuffs from various banks and company warehouses - pay these companies handsomely for their "cooperation." Situate these food trucks in various parts of the cities, the outskirts, and have helpers destitute the food to the peoples. Food, water - do the same for clothing as well. In terms of employment - Mehibosh, also leak the news about new coup's "proposed" plans for job creations in finance, industry, agriculture, health - that will stir up support from the masses."

Semeticai'a' assessed the room. They sat up straight, eyes determined, pleased with the plans. Good. "As for me, I will solidify our relationships with the ministers and presidents of the other planets. New trade routes, prospects -all that I will create, so that our coup appears as forward-thinking as possible, open to change. They will be angry, scared most likely, about the nuclear strikes, but the blame of course will be put onto the Elders. In this way, they will turn back to their _own_ peoples and encourage support of the new coup, and for the old Council to step down, else they be victims of the next strike. The ministers will also want reassurance of course, about the legitimacy of the coup, the power structure, and I will be clear to do that. Remember, we need these people to also believe in us, in our coup, in order for us to be and stay in power."

Semeticai'a' paused now, studying them all.

"Are we clear on what must be achieved?" Her voice left no room for arguments.

The room nodded. Buri spoke, bowing a little. "What about the Elders?"

The room turned to Semeticai'a' now. She smiled sharply, eyes hard. "What about them? Well, they already know what needs to be done, and they now know the consequences should they refuse to comply on time. The reason we are not killing them straight away and declaring ourselves as the new leaders is that we want as much _favour_ with the rest of the realm as possible, and we will _not_ get it if our first move is to put to death those who've led us for thousands of years. All of this, the media, the people - all of it is to strengthen our support, drive out dissent, so that when we _take_ power, we can remain _in_ power. Kill the Elders too early, and the latter will not happen."

A satisfied silence.

Semeticai'a' stood, and the rest stood in salute. 

"Brethren, we have work to do."

And with that, the coup parted their various ways, determined to cement their hold on power. With a slight _whoosh_ of her robes, Semeticai'a' made her way to her private office. Nodding to her secretary, she made her way into her chambers and waited for the line to be put through.

"This is Elder Semeticai'a', whom am I speaking to?"

"Lieutenant Ldoe, fourth regiment Ma'am. I'm sorry to disturb you like this but there is a woman here, called Magdaia, claiming to be-"

"Put her on, _**now**_."

The voice stuttered their apologies before a small pause and then-

"Mother."

Semeticai'a' closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself. Her daughter was alive, and Semeticai'a' would have shed tears for such a miracle had she been a weaker woman. Instead, she sucked in her breath, held in her relief, and addressed her daughter firmly.

"Magdaia, I heard about the explosion. Are you well?"

"I am relatively unharmed, Mother. I was making my way down to the military base near Fewuity when I ran into some military units on the ground, who were trying to clear the area. I informed them of the situation and of myself, though they refused to believe me at first."

"They shall pay for their insolence later, my dear. Where are you?"

"Not far from Ikisi. I haven't managed to progress very far."

"I will have the men fly you over to one of my private residences. There you will be attended to and kept safe. For now, do not fret, and as for your resear-"

"I have more than that, Mother. Should things go well, then I'll have something worth more than everything I've ever done, something that will benefit us and our realm for _years_ to come. Wait and see, Mother."

Semeticai'a' paused. She knew of her daughter's....tendencies, but her willingness to let go of her research at both laboratories, particularly Ikisi, was highly unusual. 

"Magdaia-"

"Mother, all is well. I have my brain, and in a while - well, we'll know soon enough. Do _not_ focus on me, Mother. Focus on the task at hand: securing the coup, establishing your reign, and taking the power. Everything else will fall into place."

Semeticai'a' smiled. Like Mother, like daughter.

"Of course. As I said, I'll have someone pick you immediately and take you to safety. Rest, my child. We shall see each other soon."

"Goodbye Mother." Magdaia gave the apiliwo back to Lieutenant Ldoe, who was now staring at her, fearful. She smiled at him. Good. He had _no_ idea what kind of power followed her.

Semeticai'a' proceeded to give the Lieutenant instructions on where her daughter should be taken to before ending the call, berating the man heavily. She sat forwards, elbows on her desk, hands clasped under her chin. She would not lose her daughter after all. It was a satisfying thought, and Semeticai'a' smiled, enjoying the view outside her window. It was time to work.

Magdaia waited for Ldoe to finish his call, smirking at his anxiety. The man and his men had been extremely hostile to her, and now that she was indeed related to _the_ Honorable Semeticai'a', word had spread rapidly, and Magdaia hadn't failed to notice the stares thrown her way. The Lieutenant finished his call now, bowing, apologising profusely, and Magdaia allowed him to grovel for a few minutes before sending him away. No less than a minute later, a plate of sandwiches, biscuits, at her side, a cup of tea at the other, covered in a warm shawl, in the Lieutenant's private study, Magdaia looked out of the window, resting contentedly. She glanced down at her belly. The fact that she was half Xanderian (late father, rest his soul) and half Elemkian on her mother's side, an unusual pairing, and having mated with a species previously unknown to the realm, a Kryptonian who'd spent his days in another environment entirely, the genetic possibilities of what their union could look like, if it happened at all, and more importantly, what it could _do_ , was up in the air. Even with the realms advances in health and technology, Magdaia knew she would be unable tell if the Superman's seed had germinated fruitfully within her until some time later - it could take days to weeks to detect signs of a pregnancy. Magdaia sighed to herself, a little frustrated. It would simply mean that she would need to take the time to rest, to take precautions, and Magdaia vowed to make sure that nothing would harm her miracle. Should it _not_ occur, then at least she had samples in reserve. As Mother said, she was to rest, be looked after, and kept safe, and Magdaia settled into her seat now, eyes shutting quietly.

 

 

Bruce opened his eyes. 

Just after ten am, in Pepo, Gerebeta.

He looked around now, remembering where he was. Yawning, he sat up a little, taking a few slow deep breaths. His mind drifted back to last night. Their three guests and Hershur, conversations about Red, or rather, Jason. Bruce closed his eyes at the man's name. It had been easier, before all of this, to acknowledge just one version of the man: The Red Hood. A violent, unstable man who enjoyed dealing out his brand of justice without regret.

Except, that wasn't _quite_ everything.

Jason may have been unstable back then - coming back alive from the dead to find out the guy who murdered you was still alive and well _tends_ to have that effect- but that wasn't the same now, most definitely. Jason had changed, and Bruce had no choice but to admit: leaving Gotham had been the best thing for Jason. He remembered the early days, when he and Dick were the only two who knew about Jason, before Tim found out, and then Damian. How he'd gone from wanting to help the man to wanting to put him down. How dealing with Jason was like treading on thin wire, dangerous and unpredictable. Bruce _had_ given up, when he'd been unable to take any more, for his sanity, and for his family, but Bruce couldn't help wondering now: should he have tried harder? Should he have given up on Jason earlier, if it meant him leaving earlier too, and coming back changed? What should he have done, what could he have done, what shoul- 

Bruce felt his mind racing; too many questions swirled around his mind now, and Bruce forced himself up, head in his hands.

Jason.

Tiny little boy, cheeky smile, green eyes, snarky. Died too young, came back unhinged, crazed, and absolutely lost. Disappeared again, and Bruce knew he'd made no contact to track his movements, even to call him. Just let him go, as if he'd never belonged in the first place. Bruce knew he'd made Jason feel that way on purpose - whenever the man had come along into helping the Bats Bruce had always made it a point to have his three boys working together, safe, looking over them, but Jason? He'd left out in the cold, treated him as a solider, asset at a stretch, but nothing more. The boy had noticed, of course - he'd stood apart, on the sidelines as he watched the family prepare, quip over one another, sharp smiles and even sharper wit, but the boy had never said a word despite staying. And now, over two years later, Jason had walked back into the picture, a whole new man. Completely different, calmer, and happier than Bruce had ever seen him. With Tim also - the two shared an undeniable bond, and Tim looked up to the man even more than Damian did to Dick. Stronger, faster, clearly better trained, perhaps over him, and yet, both Jason and Tim were adamant Jason be left alone. No attempts at "re-integration" back into the family. No bonding, putting old hurts aside. Jason, with this multi-verse ability of his, had saved a whole town, their children, their livelihoods, and was dearly loved out here, by all,- even then, the man had refused anything for free. And yet, the two of them could barely speak to each other, past hurt too great for words. The same who'd saved all of them, the League, and was still-

Bruce shook his head. The guilt had been creeping in and now it was out, full blown, threatening to devour him. He wasn't wrong about Jason, no, but he wasn't nor had he been _entirely_ right. There was much he and the man had said to each other, words that barbed, actions that had stung, but where could they go now? Bruce knew he couldn't forgive the killing - that had been his one rule, the one which prevented him from turning into _them_ , the one that had kept him in check, disciplined, never losing sight of the bigger picture, allowing him to work with the GCPD. Jason had never understood it, had thought him a coward either unwilling too take that step or too caught up in the opinions of others to do what was right. Jason _was_ right that killing one saved lives, but what he didn't understand was that it was _never_ **just** one. After one would _always_ come another, and another, and more - was Jason going to keep killing for the rest of his life? How much was too much? How long before the state turned on him too - Bruce knew that had Gordon _not_ vouched for him, for his morals, then the GCPD would be all over him like the rest of the criminals he put away. Many _still_ wanted him put down; he knew it, Gordon knew it, and yet for his sake, the man had taken responsibility for him, and it had cost him. Barbara was one example. Bruce walked over to the window. Did he _want_ to reach out to Jason? If so, then why? To assuage his guilt? To make him feel better? To forgive him - could he do that? Could Jason forgive him? Was it for Jason's sake? The man had clearly told him that this was nothing more than a job, that he didn't want anything to do with him, nor the Bats, so then, why, oh _why_ was he feeling this - a deep need to reach out to a man who thought nothing more of him? A knock at the door caused Bruce to snap his head up at the sound.

"Hey. Breakfast is ready, we're all down already. Klose will be over a little before ten. He's taking us into town for a little bit." Lantern spoke, voice quiet. He paused now, and Bruce knew what he was about to ask.

"B, you okay? Last night was...something, for all of us, but if you'd rather-"

"I'm fine, Lantern." Bruce's tone was a little harsher than expected and he closed his eyes, sighing a little, before speaking again, voice softer. "Thank you, John, but I'm fine. I'll be down in a bit."

Bruce hoped that John wouldn't pry any further. It was one of the things he liked about the man; John understood when to push, and when to stay back. A little stubborn, like him in fact, but the man respected people's boundaries, giving them space, unlike a certain son he knew. Dick made Barry look like a saint in comparison, and Bruce had had _years_ to tolerate his friend. 

Lantern said nothing for a few more seconds before leaving with a "Whenever you're ready."

Bruce waited till the footsteps padded out softly before leaning against the wall, grateful Lantern hadn't pushed the matter. Nine am and already his emotions were up and down like a roller-coaster. Grunting, he pushed himself off the wall and went into the shower.

By ten, the group were ready to go.

"I'm taking you to a little of the town square this morning." Klose started, as the League made their way out of the house. The man had declined to join them for breakfast, and had instead spoken to Ishiboth and the other cooks, before waiting for them outside. Stopping back to look at their residence now, they could see that it was less house, more mansion, white cobbled path, little hummingbirds in the air. It was lovely, and the group reminded themselves to thank Lielr once again for his hospitality. 

"It is very big; you entered Pepo by the East side entrance, and we are _still_ in the East. Lielr's house is called Cata." The group took note of their surroundings - large houses to their left, and a lush meadow to their right. A little boy on a bicycle rode past, waving at them merrily as he continued on his way. It really was straight out of a fairytale. "The mornings tend to be slightly quieter than the afternoons; it'll give you a chance to properly enjoy the area without feeling too overwhelmed. You are new here, and of course, related to Red, so I'm sure there will be many who will want to talk to you, meet you, though they understand you cannot speak our language and vice versa. Please, my friends, whatever is offered to you, do not hesitate to accept. Our people are pleased to give and to share what we have; believe me, by the time we cover the south bit of the town -if we can even-, you will be stuffed full with honey delights, different types of breads, cookies, sweets, meats, all sorts. And the people will just keep on giving." Klose laughed, eyes twinkling, and the League shared a smile, particularly Barry. 

"As I said before, expenses, re-numeration - all that is taken care of. You are to spend your time here resting, relaxed, and enjoying our company. There is a lot to see, and for today, in light of your recovery, we'll stick to just the East this morning, and maybe a little of the South if we have time. I am sure that once you get a little stronger, you'll be able to take the time and explore the other areas of the town, the attractions, and what lies in the meadows that surround you. In terms of lunch, we will be having lunch in a little restaurant just bedside the river, just to give you a break from all the interest you will have gathered. The owner is a man called Dainei; he runs the business with two of his sons, Rewo and Vaish. They are well aware of our arrival and are already making preparations. After lunch, Ishiboth and a few that work under her will meet us; the ladies will go together for some clothes shopping and other necessities, while we men will stick together. I'm sure we'll be finished long before you anyway."

The group chuckled. It was true; Earth or otherwise, all of them knew that women took longer with almost _everything_. Diana and Shayera fake laughed and dramatically rolled their eyes at one another and at the group, who were amused at their antics, before laughing for real. The League had noticed the two becoming closer, and it was hoped that the change would be permanent, especially now that they were away from Earth.

Klose let the laughter die down before continuing. "After you have purchased all that you desire, we hope to be back at Cata by seven or so, in time for dinner. Don't worry about hurrying or rushing; take your time, enjoy the sights, we are not going anywhere. If at any point you would like some time to rest, or to even head back to Cata, please, say so, we are not here to punish you. You are free to come and go as you wish. Tomorrow l'll come a little later, after lunch, to show around a few other places. It is up to you as to how you spend your time. You may opt to lie in for the morning, or go exploring by yourself and meet us later, or even not at all. There are many attractions here, so please, my friends feel free to explore."

The League were touched. Klose was here giving up his free time to take them around, and these people, all of them, had showered them with love and kindness. They were too kind, and the League could not help but bow in gratitude, cut short by Klsoe's polite refusal of such a gesture.

"Here, one last thing." Klose took from beside him a bag, and began to hand out what looked like small cameras to each one of them. 

"A little something to record your stay, should you wish."

The group didn't know what to say but to bow _again_ , much to Klose's laughter.

"Come, my friends. Let us explore a little of this "Pepo", shall we?" Klose winked at them before leading the way.

 

 

Clark opened his eyes.

He shut them again.

Another deep breath, and Clark opened his eyes, heart pounding a little at what he might see this time. More instruments? Loud, whirring sounds, harsh lights; his head that hurt, vision blurry, his breath caught in his throa-

Clark sat up with a jolt. He brought a shaky hand to his face, hair sweaty, scared.

He was free. No more experiments, no more of that low, harsh voice, brash lipstick, that sadistic glare.

Clark couldn't even say the bitch's name out loud. Just thinking about her caused a flurry of emotions: cold dread, fear, a slow mounting rage, hurt, absolute despair, reaching a peak before everything became numb. Detached. Jason had mentioned something like this, that he would lash out a little, and Clark felt a strong urge rise within to scream, to destroy everything around him. He needed some fresh air. He needed to get out of this tent, and Clark did so, stumbling, heart now racing. He made his way out now, hands reaching to the sides of various trees to steady him, as he made his way back to where he'd sat some time earlier. In his blindness, he was unaware of how he was being watched by the rest of the Ghosts as they cleared their things away, Jason included, and deaf to Eheto's pleas to stay put. He didn't see how Yena took her arm, stopping her from going after him, nor did he pick up on the look Yena and Jason had shared before Jason had stood, brushing himself free of leaves, intending to follow. All he knew for certain was that he needed to get out of there.

Clark sat down. He'd neglected to take the heat pad with him, and though it was now morning, bright and a little chilly, Clark felt as if the heat within would suffocate him. His skin was too hot, his cheeks flushed, and Clark found himself gasping for air, fearful. Magdaia, the experiments, they were gone - and yet he was still so _afraid_. Afraid that it was all a dream, a consequences of all the toxic chemicals they'd been injecting him with back in the laboratory. Clark knew he was losing control; though his powers were back, and he could just about brush the surface of his abilities, anymore than that sent him reeling. He closed his eyes now, telling himself to get a grip. "Ground yourself in reality," that's what Batman would say, and Clark tried now, he really did, but his chest hurt too much, and down below was so _sore_ , the violation still fresh in his memory; bony hands, blood, bites, red lips -from the lipstick or the blood, Clark didn't know- giving up, giving in, wanting her, _more_ , the _lust_ that arose as he came to meet her, the smell of him, of her, their scents, the urge to meet her, to pump it all and cement it deep, strainin-

A small thump. A soft brush of the grass, and now a heavy, foreign weight right next to his shoulder. He tried to shrink back from the contact but it remained. Jason had held his shoulder firmly to Clark's.

Clark froze, his mind still. Beside him, Jason could see the rapid fire movement of Clark's eyeballs under their lids. Trapped in a flashback, Jason reasoned.

Clark, on his part, didn't know what to do. For a moment, he sat, thoughts racing all around him. And then he heard a voice. Low, gentle voice, lulling. 

An anchor.

"It's just me, Clark, Jason. You're trapped in your thoughts, you're caught up in a flashback."

The thoughts clawed at him, desperate to keep him, and Clark felt himself losing the battle. His breaths were coming out in short quips now, and the hairs of his skin stood up. Everything felt so _wrong_ , his muscles were tight, and-

"Focus on my voice, Clark. Not on her, not the sounds, or the touching, the hands, or your skin, just on my voice. Nothing else."

Clark tried - _God_ he really did, but it was too overwhelming. Hot tears began to run down his face, and his breath came out panicky. "I-I can't, I can't, they've-she's got me, Oh God, I-I-"

His body felt hot and cold at the same time. Lights kept flashing, blinding him, taunting voice in his ears, his arms like lead, legs dead weight and-

Something warm held his hand. Firm grip, not too tight as if it were trapping him, but not letting him ago.

"I've got you Clark. You can do this. Use me-I'm your anchor. I'm here, I'm real, you're real, alright? Squeeze as hard as you can, as much and as long as you want, don't worry about hurting me. I can take it."

Clark shook his head, tears coming down faster, a little sob now.

"I-I can't do this. I'm trapped, and I-"

The grip on his hand tightened even more.

"Yes you fucking well can, Clark, and I'm here to make damn sure of it. The bitch is dead and gone. All of them, dead, gone, we took them out. I took them out, for you, to get you out, and to get you home. Clark, you can do it. Fight it, fight the thoughts, they're not real."

Clark broke now, crying, sobbing, eyes still closed. Another weight was placed on top of the hands already clasped. Jason's other hand.

"I've got you Clark. Alright? I've got you, and I'm right here. I'm not letting go." The voice was firm, a little hitch at the end.

Clark held on, tighter, shaking his head, all while the voice spoke gently.

"You can do this Clark. You can, trust me, believe it. You went through hell, and now you're here, so don't give up. And if you can't do it for yourself, then do it for me. You can't stand yourself, well, focus on me. On my voice, on this anchor, right now - abandon everything that's telling you otherwise."

Clark cried.

A shift now, the weight near his shoulder was lifted, and Clark felt the chill of air against the skin. He panicked even more now, gripping the hands tighter, gasping.

"Shh, shh, I'm right here, Clark. I'm not going anywhere."

Jason couldn't stand it. _Jesus_ this was...his voice was about to give away his barely-there composure, but he held on, wanting his tone to remain low and calm for Clark. Clark wasn't getting any better, and so he did what Bruce had done with him a few times all those years ago, the same gesture he'd done with Tim on countless occasions, like the day he broke into the boy's old house to find him with a gun in his hand, panicky, tears streaming, and about to end his life. Jason moved to sit cross legged in front of Clark, as close as can be, shin touching shin, and gently, he lowered his head till forehead met forehead. He closed his eyes as he heard the shaky inhale, holding himself together as the man wept now, brokenly. That was what Clark currently was: broken, but he wouldn't remain the same, not if Jason had any say in the matter. He didn't even consider if the others were watching; the Ghosts were his family, Yena too, and they'd all been through some fucked up shit together. This was simply another day in their lives, and all of them were too much man to allow a bit of hand holding and hugging affect their self-esteem. When shit hits the fan, all thoughts of holding on, and appearing strong tend to go out the window, and a friend is not a friend until you've broken down in front of them, in the ugliest way possible. He and Clark might not have been friends, but Jason swore; he sure as hell was gonna sit his ass down and be there, man to man or whatever the hell else people called it, for someone who was going through a life-changing crisis. And if that made him a pansy ass gay lil' bitch, then so fucking be it.

Clark wasn't sure how it happened, but the moment Jason's head had met his, the floodgates had opened. It was as if the numbness had broken his spell over him and now, all that was left was the rage, the despair of it all, his safeguards broken, violated, and Clark fell apart, with Jason holding him tight, and never letting go.

Eventually, Clark had cried all he had left to give. The silence had reigned a little, peaceful, and yet their heads till remained in contact, both eyes closed, hands still clasped firmly. Clark felt worn out, and though he would come to blush at the memory a couple of months, years later, watching his son hoisted upon Jason's shoulders as they stood in the garden, pointing at the sky, right in this moment, he couldn't make himself care. Jason still said nothing, his own tears having dried up a little, and he let the silence dawn a little longer before speaking.

" _Clark_."

Neither of them moved from their positions.

"This is your rock-bottom. The worst of the worst." Jason paused, struggling to find the right words.

"It was awful, terrible. Something that should never have happened, that you'd never imagined, but it did. You didn't ask for it, nor did you want it, but it took place."

Clark held on tighter to Jason.

"But you've made it. And I know from....experience, that for a while, you'll hate yourself. You'll go through stages, Clark. You're numb at first, usually in the immediate aftermath, and then its the nightmares, flashbacks - you try to hold it all in, and be strong, but you can't and you won't. And that's normal, C, 'cause when you reach that stage, it means that's the time for you to let it all out, and I mean, _out_. Everything. The hurt, the pain, feeling powerless - its all gotta come out."

Clark took a shaky inhale, tears already forming. Jason stopped. He wanted Clark to hear this. After a minute or so, Clark moved his head a little, an indication he should continue.

"This won't be your first break down. You'll have _many_ more - alone, with friends, maybe in the mall, whatever. Sometimes all it'll take is a flashback - a similar looking lipstick, perfume, someone who even looks like her, the lights, a careless joke now and again. And when it happens, Clark, don't you da-don't you _fucking_ dare apologise, Clark, not to anyone. I don't how embarrassing it looks, you go right on ahead and let it out."

Clark let the tears roll. Jason let his too. He'd kept his own past in for so long, and though he'd let some of it out to Talia, it wasn't enough, and the Pit had feasted on his rage. 

"After the numbness, the breakdowns, comes the anger. Rage, in fact. You'll berate yourself that it happened to you, of all people, that you couldn't protect yourself, that you let yourself be used like this, and, lemme tell you Clark - your mind is your own worst enemy, fact. It'll tell you things that aren't true, twist thoughts in your head, make up stories, and _that's_ why, when you get to this stage, where your mind's taunting you, get out. Get out of _you_ , your thoughts, your way of thinking - get out and surround yourself with your friends, those you love and trust, your family. If you don't, then your mind will consume you in the space of your home, your _library_ , whereever that's safe and warm and comforting for you, and you'll believe its true, that its real, - its not. Heck, you don't even have to tell those around what happened if you're not ready to at that point, but just... _being_ next to them, getting involved in their activities, spending time with them - that takes away the power from your mind as you stop focusing inwards. Whatever your mind _thinks_ is what you'll speak _out_ , so do me a favour, Clark: don't shut yourself in. I told you before, didn't I?"

Clark nodded a little and Jason smiled at the action.

"Don't do a Jason and think you can handle it all by your handsome self, you can't." Jason heard a little chuckle and he allowed himself a small smile before continuing. 

"The rage and lashing out bit will also take a while, but it will lessen, gradually. And as time goes on, you'll find yourself beginning to get...stronger. Now and again, old memories, triggers will come up, but they won't take over you as before, or like now. Nightmares, flashbacks, all that sort of thing - they'll leave you trapped, screaming in terror at first, but if you follow what I said today, then give it time, and they'll lose their power over you."

Jason paused. He was talking to himself too, and they both knew it.

"I don't know how long it'll take. It's taken me...time, to get to this stage in my life, Clark, and I couldn't have done it alone. You know about Tim, but there are others that have helped. They don't know everything, but the important bit was that they were _there_ , Clark, at my lowest, when there was nothing they _could_ have done but watch, listen, even hold me back sometimes from killing myself."

Jason felt Clark still and he chuckled a little, shaking their hands slightly.

"It was bad, I can't lie. There were many, _many_ nights I wanted to give up, to give in to the darkness completely. I'm still fighting that battle, I still have days where I take steps, hell, leaps backwards, but the most important thing is to keep going. Two steps forwards, three steps back-it'll happen, Clark, its normal, and when it does, shake your head free of blame and chastisement, and you keep putting one foot right in front of the other. And-"

Jason took a small breath. Their...relationship, if one could call it that - the way it had come to this-was unexpected, new. Jason was still figuring out how it came to be. Two complete opposites and here they were, in the midst of unimaginable hurt, and opening up old wounds.

"-And, I-I..if you..if you ever wanna talk, or just want someone there while you lose it, then I'm here for ya. Enemies in public, sort-of friends behind closed doors, you know, how you and Bats used to be like."

That caused a chuckle from Clark, and Jason smiled now.

"I mean it, Boy Scout. I'm not expecting an invite to birthdays and get-togethers, but for this? I...I know what its like, and I remembered wishing to have someone who knew what shit was actually _like_. So, if you ever want that, apart from your friends and family - someone who just _gets it_ , then I'm ready to do that. Payment is in the form of chili dogs and ice-cream, of course. Tryna watch my figure but you know how it is - a couple of cheat days now and again is fine. Throw in a couple of books and you've got yourself a done deal."

The two laughed quietly at that.

They remained like that for a while, Clark calm now, Jason just there, sitting, until Clark spoke. Voice barely above a whisper.

"Thank you, Jason.....tha-thank you."

Jason squeezed his hands. 

"No need to thank me, Clark. Knowing you, you'd have probably done the same for me too, despite our differences."

Clark looked up in surprise, breaking away from Jason, who simply sat, a small smirk on his face. Clark smiled, red eyes meeting sad ones, before he looked down, blushing slightly.

Jason followed his gaze. "Yeah, no offence C, you're great-looking and all, but you're not the kinda gyal I'm into. Unless, of course, you're looking to transition, could probably make an exception there-"

Clark burst out laughing now, and Jason chuckled, but they still hadn't parted hands. Clark seemed reluctant to let go, and Jason could understand. He spoke quietly now.

"Hey, look at me." Clark did so for a few seconds before looking away, shy.

"This-" Jason shook their hands before continuing. "-all this isn't gonna melt away the moment we let go, alright? I'm still gonna be here, trust me. Nothing will change, I won't go back to all cocky-distant knock-off Bruce."

Clark laughed aloud now - he'd been afraid of _exactly_ that, that the one person who'd seen him like this, who seemed to just _understand_ , would distance themselves, and he'd be left alone, fighting to stay afloat. He brought a shaky hand up to wipe away the tears that had spilled out before quickly placing it back into Jason's grasp. Jason said nothing but smiled, squeezing his hands tightly.

"I give you my word, Clark. I'll be here, by your side, I'll be the one to take you to safety. You'll stay in my place - help yourself to whatever you want, there are a couple of fantastic reads I've got in the living room bookcase, and the library upstairs. And then, when this is over, you can choose to stay in contact. I'll admit, I may not be able to _physically_ be around, but call, email if you want, and I'll make sure to get back to ya, alright? Like I said before, frenemies. Mean girls, one hell of a movie, I'll tell ya."

Clark smiled, looking at him a little confused. It was Jason's turn to laugh loudly now. "You ain't seen it? Well, shit, we'll catch up one day, pinkie swear."

They chuckled, a little silence dawning. Jason made no effort to remove his hands - it was Clark who would need to do it, to take the first step and trust that in doing so, nothing would fall apart, that he wouldn't be sucked back into his nightmare. A little faith, that was all, Jason thought. He waited, patiently. Clark seemed to stare at the hands, grip still tight, before little bit little, his grip loosened. One finger, slowly, then three fingers, then a whole hand, though it hovered lightly, before the process was started again to remove his other hand. Clark clasped hands his together, and Jason had done so with his, not moving them away, so that both pairs of clasped hands were now touching, knuckle facing knuckle.

Clark smiled a little, before looking up at Jason, who was looking back at him, proud of the effort. "Told ya nothing would happen." Jason grinned, and Clark looked away, blushing a little.

"Want something to eat? The food's shit but at least its edible shit."

Clark laughed quietly before nodding. Jason smiled, placing his hands on Clark's knees and patting them a little before getting up. He made his way back to the Ghosts, who were eating, pouring over the maps. They looked up at his approach, greeting him in low voices, asking about S. Jason was touched by it all, and he accepted the two large helpings of porridge and bread, along with flasks of water, with a slight bow. Making eye contact with them all, he raised his flask to them, grateful, and chuckled as they lifted their bowls to his. Jason made his way back to Clark, and now sat side by side, comfortable, as they began to eat.

As it turned out, they had spent three hours resting in this place, and despite everything, Jason couldn't bring himself to fault the delay. The rest had been necessary, and now as they stood to leave, just after eight am, the change was noticeable. Far more refreshed and energerised, the group continued on their journey towards Lo'et.

 

 

"Dofe'jce, jdui nemie, moolpe w'ei loeke."

The woman warmly pressed the treats into her hand.

Shayera smiled, bowing a little. The League had been the centre of attention the entire morning, but the interest was respectful. The people allowed them their space and had treated them kindly, ushering them around, pressing bowls of cream and honey, bread, meats and cheese into their hands, all with kindness and warm voices. Little children had followed them everywhere, and though they had kept their distance initially, they eventually grew bold enough to approach the League, folding their little hands into capes, walking between them, tugging at legs to point, and gazing at them with that childlike curiosity and fascination. People had bowed, patted shoulders, steered a little, and Klose had laughed through it all as he stopped to chat many times, introducing the League as best he could. Klose was right; the town was _massive_. It could even pass for a city. It had taken them all morning and yet, they'd remained only in the East of the market square, eyes drawn to stall after stall, trees that grew strawberries, a doughnut wheel, little rosebushes that sprouted edible teacups filled with molten chocolate. Merged with the stalls were actual shops, everything from bread making to a whole wine distillery, antiques, repair shops, jewellery, restaurants - and they hadn't even covered half the area. Klose clearly read the disbelief in their eyes and he'd chuckled, thoroughly amused, before he'd called time to take them to the restaurant he'd arranged in advanced.

The owner, Dainei, was a cheerful man, early sixties, handsome with a white beard, and his two sons, Rewo, a young twenty something year old who reminded Bruce too much of Tim, and Vaish, thirteen, a little more talkative, made them feel right at home at their storefront restaurant. The back had been closed for the League's privacy, and the view was nothing short of breath-taking. They were seated just a few steps away from the grassbank, overlooking the stream, watching ducks quack and swans mind their business. The sun bared down on the water, giving off that beautiful glint which catches one in the light, and as the League sat there, eating, enjoying the peace and calm, one could be mistaken that they were simply a group of friends enjoying a wonderful lunch, instead of the League trying to recover from a heavy work load, capture and torture. Their strength was returning, and powers beginning to brim at a meagre superficial level, but they were still very weak. Bruce had been in the midst of eating when he'd happened to catch sight of Diana, seated at the far end of the table. Skin still marred with heavy bruising, a black eye, swollen lip, hair plaited back loosely - and yet, she'd never looked more beautiful in the light. She had noticed his stare and blushed slightly, with Shayera quirking an eyebrow at her, remaining quiet but to simply smirk into her wineglass.

The two had gotten closer - last night, Diana had visited her room, and the two had sat down. Awkward at first, the two had gradually opened up, before the hurts came tumbling out. The pain of betrayal, of lies, that their friendship could have been so _damaged_ \- the two had bravely held back tears before it was too much, weeping quietly, holding each other. _Sorrys_ were passed back and forth, and the two cried themselves dry, poking fun at each other at their appearances by the end. They'd held hands, tightly, apologising - their conversation was long over due. Neither promised to go back to being best friends straightaway, doing all they used to do. That would take time, patience, and a lot of trust to get to that level of friendship again. But they _had_ agreed to take it step by step, spending time here and there. Shayera had blurted out how much she'd missed her best friend, and Diana had done the same, hugging her fiercely. "Best friends" was the end goal, and for now, admitting it aloud had been the first step. Diana had slept over, too tired to walk to the door and cross the hallway, and Shayera had teased her endlessly, before the two had curled up in bed, side by side, talking into their pillows as they reminisced about some of their more lighthearted memories; the time Shayera been followed around Paris, hit on constantly, or the time Diana had ripped open the front of a dress she was trying on, unaccounting for her bust. The two had giggled and snorted ungainly late into the early morning, and they'd gossiped like mother hens at breakfast, shooting looks now and again at the table, laughing at the uncomfortableness of the men.

They were coming to the end of lunch now, hugging Daineni and his family warmly, bowing, when the news came. Klose had stepped out for a minute, and returned only a few moments later, beckoning to the League, face pale.

They'd left then, hurried, hearts already clenched. Before they arrived outside, the League already knew what had happened.

 

 

"C, we're here."

It was just after eleven am, and finally, the Ghosts had reached Lo'et. A little behind schedule, but they were here now, and that was the important thing. Jason had checked a little on Clark; he seemed better, and though in pain, the dazed, blank look was no longer present, and for that, Jason was relieved. Clark had caught him looking on one occasion, and Jason had offered a brief smile, grinning when he saw how Clark blushed when he returned a small one in return. The Ghosts had taken him in a little, careful not to overwhelm him, but had engaged him a little in their joking, ribbing, and Jason noted how Clark relaxed, a little less tense. Good - that was how it was meant to be. 

And now they were here, back at the ship. The Ghosts had approached the area in disbelief - where had the ship gone? They stalked the area, guns raised, and Jason had let them, holding in his laughter before activating the ship's cloaking device in a strange, foreign language. The ship appeared then, much to his amusement and Clarks, who'd stood by chuckling. Clark's laughter turned to clear surprise, however, on seeing the ship. A large, streamlined beauty, and he'd turned to look at Jason, his face a mixture on confusion and fascination. Jason had simply smirked in response, beckoning him to follow. Clark did, and he took his time inside, running a hand over the smooth, elegant paneling, taking in the space, the ease, the quietness of it all. Jason had his back to him for a moment, bent over a desk, before looking over at him. They made eye contact then, Clark properly smiling, and Jason had laughed, picking up a large box and leading them out with a knowingly look.

The Ghosts were curious, watching Jason's movements at the sidelines. No questions, and never to be mentioned again.

Jason cleared his throat, turning to them all. "Gents, and lady-" he dipped his head at Eheto who blushed a little. "I believe the time has come for us to bid our goodbyes to young Han Solo here." 

The group tittered at that, and Jason could practically feel the anticipation.

"If you could stand back a little, that's it. Yena, could you- yep, that's perfect, thanks."

Yena had positioned Clark perfectly, near Jason's side, and squeezed his shoulder a little before moving away to join the rest of the Ghosts, who were right behind them. Clark had looked at them, on edge slightly, before he looked at Jason, confused. What was going on? Jason however paid no attention to him - he was now pulling out of the box some sort of device, similar to a battery pack, Clark wasn't sure.

The group watched as Jason set up the device. He stood still, eyes closed, and summoned his necklace, mind focusing on Gerebeta. His back towards them, the group couldn't tell what happened next until a sudden wind blew in the midst, and with a loud ripping sound, a large purple-white hole appeared in the air, slowly growing bigger. Jason turned to them all now, smirking at the faces drenched in shock, mouths agape in awe. 

What the fuck indeed. 

Jason strode over to Clark now, coming close to him, but careful not to touch him. The man was still staring at the phenomenon in wonder. They stood side by side, gazing at the at the portal filling the air now, before Jason took out a little folded piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Clark. Clark looked at it a little before looking at Jason, whose face was firm. 

"Repeat after me: _**Red skywalker. Lielr y Hershur odwie, casata'd'Red**_."

Clark shook himself out of his confusion and repeated the words, voice tight.

"Again, Clark. _**Red skywalker. Lielr y Hershur odwie, casata'd'Red**_."

Clark repeated it again, a little more firmly this time. Jason smiled a little

"Good man. Here, take this letter, and keep it safe. Don't lose it. You're going to a town called Pepo, in Gerebeta. When you go through this portal, look for a big golden clock tower, you can't miss it. Keep walking towards it; don't stop, don't deviate from it. When you get to the town, repeat those _exact_ words to the first adult you meet; they're also written on the front of this paper in case you forget. The two guys you'll be meeting are called Lielr and Hershur, whose an elder. They'll know what to do."

Clark was stiff beside him, a little afraid. Jason knew why. He moved a little closer, enough that their shoulders touched lightly.

"Clark, listen to me. You'll be fine. The League are there already, safe, and you'll be too. Don't worry about them knowing - whether they know or not, they'll respect your distance, though it might take a little while for them to understand. They're your friends, Clark, and I believe they'll give you the time and space you need. Like I said before, you'll be in my house, all to yourself, and well taken care of. You can choose when and how you want to see everyone else, alright, no pressure on you at all. So don't worry, Big Blue, you'll be safe."

Jason wasn't sure whether his little speech had made any difference, but he noticed Clark's shoulders slumping a little, less tense. It had. 

"What about you?" Clark stared ahead a little before turning to him, eyes full of worry. Jason smiled, nudging the man by the shoulder just a touch.

"Don't worry about me. There are other things that we need to take care of out here. For now, your focus is to get to Pepo, and rest. Your top three priorities are to eat, sleep, and rest. Be patiet as your body gets used to your powers once again- it'll take several hours to days to to get back to normal levels. If you're up for it, chill with the League, and explore the town, there's _loads_ to do, but only when you're ready. But for now, those three things are most important."

Jason paused looking at the portal before speaking again. "When I'm finished out here, and these guys are back home, then I'll come and get you guys, you have my word. Use the opportunity to enjoy being away from Earth and all her responsibilities. Oh and don't forget - the djuti bars, save a little for me."

Clark chuckles and Jason held his hands up in a mock surrender. "What? I'm not joking man, seriously, once you try them you'll _know_ what I'm talking about."

The chuckles continued for a few more moments before subsiding, and now the two men turned to look at each other. 

Clark didn't know what to day. Jason Todd, despite their past hostility, had taken it upon himself to break him out of his captivity and torture, and instead of degrading him, mocking or even taking advantage of the knowledge of his rape, right in his presence, the man had astounded him by his concern, his compassion, and most touching of all, his understanding. 

Clark was humbled, and now he lowered his head, unable to meet Jason's eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but the word couldn't come out, choked. His throat felt tight and his eyes stung a little.

"Jason, tha-"

"Uh-huh, no more of that. You've got nothing to thank me for, alright? You just get in there, head to the Clock tower, and you're safe. That's all I want from you. And to save me a couple of djuti bars."

The two chuckled, and Clark brought a hand to wipe his tears. He turned now to look at the group, nodding, smiling at them. They'd done this for him, included him in their little ribs, given him space, gave him food, their materials, put their very _lives_ at risk for him, and he barely knew their names.

"Thank you, all. So.. _so_ much, thank you."

The group smiled before the ribbing began.

"Geeeet outta here."

"The nerve of this guy, eh?"

A few light pats, smiles - knowing that he could only tolerate so much, and then Eheto stepped forward, and the group stood back even further, allowing the two some privacy.

Eheto took a moment to wipe away her tears, hands clasped. Clark stretched out his hands now and took hers, squeezing them, ignoring the way his body and mind screamed at the contact. His voice was hoarse, and already, the tears had started, but these were tears of gratitude. This woman, though she'd been part of the team that had experimented on him, showed love and respect towards him, right from the first time she'd walked in on Magdaia abusing him. Instead of walking away, or pretending she hadn't seen anything, Eheto had put her own life at risk by speaking kindly towards him and treating him with dignity. She'd been forced to watch his rape, and had sat, tears streaming, horrified on his behalf, and yet, even after all that, she'd remained next to him. By his side, she'd cleaned him, as much as he could tolerate; she'd stayed with him, helped feed him, covered him when he could no longer stand to be awake, and had done all of it as respectfully as possible.

Clark simply held onto her now, wishing that his thanks and gratitude could be passed on like this. But Eheto had understood, nodding, even as their tears continued to fall.

"Eheto...thank-thank you." Clark shook her hands, voice hitching as a sob broke through, even as Eheto reached up to wipe away his cries, finger ghosting on his cheek.

"Thank you, for being with me."

Eheto simply nodded, smiling as she spoke. "I am..from the bottom of my heart, truly sorry, for all that has happened to you. But, look, it is time to go. Rest, and take _very_ good care of yourself."

"And the same to you, Eheto."

They looked at each other once more, Eheto squeezing his hands for the last time, before Clark let go. He turned now and walked to the portal. Taking one last look at them all, eyes resting on Jason who grinned, and nodded, comically angling his head towards the display to his amusement, Clark stepped into the portal.

And into a field.

It would take Clark a few minutes to allow his slight disorientation pass before his mind cleared. A big golden clock tower in the distance, though his vision was a little blurry. Clark repeated the words Jason had instructed to himself. One foot in front of the other - ignoring the pain, his headache, the way his hands shook and the slight anxiety that kept growing at the thought of the League meeting him like this, wanting to crowd around and hug him, touch him- Clark moved forwards. With every step, he pushed back at his thoughts, the shame of it all, holding onto what Jason had said, the little stories he'd told. Come what may, for himself, and for Jason, Clark pushed himself, eyes hardened with determination. It would take another two hours before he finally made it to Pepo close to collapse.

 

 

The League rushed out of the restaurant, beginning to run now, the people quickly parting way for them.

A lone figure stood in the near distance, walking slowly, before stopping right at the entrance, looking at them all. Dirty, disheveled, eyes grimaced in pain, and despite swaying on the spot, he remained standing.

Clark.

The League rushed towards him, but the man held up a hand, turning his face away from them. They halted in their tracks, hearts anxious.

"Clark?" Diana called to him. She stepped forward, but Clark took another step back. He didn't want them to see him like this, not now. The touching would drive him mad. Instead, in a shaky voice, he called out:

_**Red skywalker. Lielr y Hershur odwie, casata'd'Red.** _

Voices raised, hurried, as they called for the two. Clark remained where he was, waiting, eyes closed.

After a couple of minutes, the two men, Hershur and Lielr arrived, and throwing sympathetic looks to the League, they approached Clark, palms raised. Pointing at each other as they introduced their names, Clark reached into his pocket and pulled out a little note. Hershur accepted the note, eyes sad, as he began to read it out to Lielr, quietly, in their language.

" _Hershur, Lielr, my friends, if you are reading this note on time, then I thank you for your kindness, and your generosity. I believe my friends have reached you already, and I trust that you are taking care of them, as you have done for me many times over. Hershur, I thank you and the town elders for your supplements, your resources, and your understanding, but please my friend, I must ask you to stop reading here, and give this letter to Lielr only. Only _ **he**_ is to read further, and I trust that you will comply with my wishes, good Sir._ "

Hershur nodded and gave the note to Lielr, who read the rest to himself, before moving towards the man, helping him to stand gently. The man flinched, and Hershur withdrew slightly, not wanting to cause the man any more pain. The man himself offered an apologetic smile, and Hershur nodded, understanding.

Lielr carried on reading.

 _"Lielr, my friend, I hope you are well, as is your wife and your two children. My friend that you see before you has been subject to torture and abuse, specifically sexual abuse._ "

Lielr closed his eyes. It wasn't fair, and he felt himself grow angry on behalf of this poor man, though he allowed his face to remain neutral, not giving anything away. After a few moments, Lielr carried on reading.

" _As you have probably realised by now, my friend does not tolerate much physical contact, not in his present state. I am therefore asking that you, you _alone_ be the one to carry out a thorough health assessment, cleaning his wounds, and carrying out genital inspection and screening for any sexually transmitted diseases. If he needs to go to the city hospital for more specialised assessment, please, arrange for his transport to the city and private care as soon as possible, and if you can, please go along with him. I understand that the others will want to see him, but if you can discretely emphasise that my friend will prefer his personal space for now, then I will be extremely grateful. It is _not_ , for the others I have placed in your care, to know about this man's condition, so please, I believe that you will limit all confidential records and materials between the three of us, no matter how "insistent" the others may be. It is for this reason that I have asked that he be placed in my house, to be cared for separately until he is ready to see the League, whenever he chooses, and at a time of his pleasing. Lielr, I ask you, and Ishiboth to make him as comfortable as possible - food, laundry, privacy, everything. If and/or when he is ready, then please ask Klsoe to take him around the town, a little at a time, so as not to overwhelm him. Do not worry about remuneration, or how to cover all these expenses - _I_ will take care of them all; it is the least I can do for you and the town's hospitality_."

" _My friend, thank you once again. Pass on my love and thanks to Ishiboth, Klsoe and the people. I hope to join you shortly, when I am finished with my mission_."

" _Kind regards_ ,"

 _Red Skywalker_.

Lielr looked at Hershur, before looking at the man. Nodding at Hershur, who stepped away from them, Lielr made his way to Clark, speaking quietly.

"My friend, welcome to Pepo, Gerebeta. Thank you for the letter sent by our mutual friend, Red. I am Lielr, one of the senior medical officers here, and also down in the city. Red has asked me specifically, and me alone, to look after you, and get you checked out thoroughly, and I will do that, most certainly. All I want you to know is that you are here, and you are safe. Red has entrusted you and your friends to us to look after, and we are more than happy to do it."

Lielr paused here, seeing the man close his eyes. The man opened them again, and his eyes were full of tears. Lielr swallowed, moved.

"My friend, please, do not worry. We will take care of you. I, personally, vow to look after you, and all assessments and the results of any will be held in the strictest of all confidence, between me and you alone. I have a little of what we need here, but more specialised testing is required down at the hospital, which is a short flight away. With your permission, I would like to take you there now, to do everything at once, in private. If you wish, we can invite one or two of your friends-"

Clark shook is head, a little panicked by the thought. Lielr held his hand up. "We won't; I am sorry for causing you such distress. If you are willing, then I will make the arrangements right away, and we will be escorted to a private suite set up for your needs upon our arrival. Is that something you would like?"

Clark found it difficult to speak. He didn't want _anyone_ touching him.

Lielr, sensing his distress, spoke again.

"I can't imagine how foreign touch must be like to you, at the moment, and I will not push you into doing anything you are not comfortable with. One thing I would like to point out is, the sooner you can go for testing, the better. It would mean we would have fresher samples- I'm sorry to describe it like that-, results earlier, and formulate a plan of action quicker. Best of all, I think, for you - it would mean that we get all this done and over with, so that you can spend the remainder of your time here not having to think about going for testing midway in your stay-"

"Yes." Clark brokenly hoarsed out. The sooner, the better. He would just have to grin and bear it, and then, it would all be over.

Lielr nodded, bowing his head. "If you are happy with that, then I will proceed with the arrangements. I will be right by your side. If at any point you wish to take a break, or stop altogether, do not hesitate to let me know. You are the one in control here. The assessments themselves should take between one to two hours, no more than that, and then, we are free to either stay in the suite for as long as you want, for some privacy, or we come back here to Pepo, to Red's house, where Ishiboth and a few select others will take care of food, clothing, and make you as comfortable as possible. After that, any subsequent care you require will be carried out by solely myself in Pepo. How does that sound?."

Clark's voice was barely a whisper this time. "Thank you."

Lielr moved a little closer to him, not quite touching him. He had come across victims of sexual trauma and those with PTSD during his training, and he knew that many detested contact for a while afterwards. "There is no need to thank me, my friend. We are all here to help. If you don't mind, let me talk to the League first, and then we'll make our move, alright?"

Clark nodded, and Lielr smiled at him warmly before beckoning to Hershur to stay with him. Already he could see that a few women and children had brought out clothing, water, and he thanked them, bowing, before directing them towards Hershur.

Lielr made his way to the League who were already straining forwards, eyes wide with worry and concern. He beckoned them over to the side, away from everyone else.

"I have received word from Red." The group fell hushed at that, and Lielr continued. "Your friend requires some care, care that Red has _specifically_ requested that I carry out, and I am more than happy to do it. As you can see, he is not quite tolerant of visitors just yet-"

"We're his friends, we're not leaving him!" Barry burst out, frustrated, but Bruce touched his arm.

Lielr dipped his head in acknowledgement before speaking again. "I understand young man, that he is your friend, and that you all wish to see him. None of us here would ever dream of holding any of you back in that regards, but for his personal well-being and state of mind at the moment, Red, and your friend himself, prefers a little more privacy, for now, and I am _not_ willing to push him. When he is ready, and when he is comfortable, then I have told him, clearly, not to hesitate in letting me and all of us know. For now, however, I will be taking care of him, and he will stay in Red's house."

The League began to raise their voices, unhappy with the situation, and Lielr let them, understanding their sentiment. He spoke gently.

"My friends, please understand. I know that this is not what you had hoped for, like this, but this is for his own good. He will need time, space but more importantly, he will need for you to be patient with him. Remain calm, understand that he is the one having to go through this. Give him a little privacy, and when he is ready, you can see him. For now, my friends, focus on your own recovery. You may leave him books, letters, small notes, even phone calls or messages should you wish - that is not a problem. So long as such communication is not too overwhelming, and you do not push him, then I'm sure the gesture will be appreciated."

The League were silent now. Lielr could see that they were still a little upset, but now that the likely gravity of the situation had dawned on them, they understood, and were now ashamed at their outburst.

Diana began to speak but Flash beat her to it. "Lielr, man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so rude, especially to you, for all you've done for us. We were just worried, that's all."

Lielr smiled a little, understanding. The League now bowed, apologising, thanking him, Ishiboth, Klose, and he laughed deeply now, moving a little closer. The man reminded him of a teddy bear, or Santa Claus, warm and cuddly and ever so kind, and their rudeness stood out even more in contrast.

"My friends, not a single offence has been taken. Your reactions are perfectly normal in this difficult time, and I expect that this recovery period will be testing, for all of you. But keep the faith, remain strong, support one another, and be patient. Do not give up when things are taking too long, give your friend, and yourselves times, time, space and understanding, and I believe that you will _all_ make it through this, stronger than ever."

 _Thank yous_ and _I'm sorrys_ were thrown his way but Lielr waved it off. "For now friends, continue as you are. Carry on with your day; I know that will be difficult to do, but at least your friend is here, with you, safe. I will bring him in now, be careful not to reach out to him, but you can extend your greetings as we walk by."

The League nodded. They wouldn't be able to embrace their friend, but at least they'd be able to tell him that they loved him, and that they were proud of him. And so they did, waiting patiently as Clark and Lielr moved slowly, step by step, the rest of the crowd respectfully absent to allow the man a little more privacy. Clark passed by them, clearly in pain, but his head turned towards them as he heard their voices, telling him to be strong, that he was here and safe, that they would see him soon, and that they loved him. Clark had nodded a little before bringing up a hand to wipe away his tears, and if not for Lielr's warning, they would have moved to embrace him without question. In the end, they watched him leave with Lielr, hearts heavy, yet at the same time, glad that their friend and brother was now safe, in their midst.

They were altogether, and that counted for something.

 

 

Now to wait for Jason.


	28. Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ghosts make plans to attack the coup, Clark finds himself in Jason's house, and the League attempt to reach out to their friend. The coup reveal themselves to the realm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also added in an extra room in Jason's house. Also go back to chapter 26; little Red, or Tim is mentioned visiting Gerebeta, but I've also briefly added in someone else, referenced as this:
> 
> "Don't forget about that woman, she came with Red one or two visits. Her name escapes me, but she was quiet, kind, very beautiful; they seemed close. He seemed to be very comfortable with her, in a slightly different way to his brother." Klose smiled into his glass, winking at them all."

The portal closed, and all returned to normal.

Well, normal for Jason, that is.

As for the rest, the gasps, and shocked silence that followed gave it all away. The Ghosts knew the drill, knew of their Vegas code, but that didn't stop the _what the fucks_ and _how the hells_ from filling the air. They crowded around Jason, voices talking on top of another, gesturing, some in laughing in amazement. Jason watched them, chuckling, before he held up his hand for silence.

"No question-"

"Never to be mentioned again, _we know_." The Ghosts chorused, and they laughed, excited, talking to one another.

Their awe gradually subsided, and now Jason clapped his hands, ushering them together. Eheto had been put to sleep inside the ship, tucked in warmly. Jason vowed to get her to safety soon, away from this madness.

"Right men." He looked round at each one of them before continuing. "That's the first of two tasks done. The second will involve stopping this military coup, and prevent the massacre of millions as a result. According to reports on the news today-" Jason brought up his apiliwe, showing numerous news alerts about the coup takeover, news stations reporting the events and most troubling of all, the nuclear strikes. It was sickening, what was being reported; that this new "coup" wanted as little trouble as possible, with their false promises that they all knew would attract the people. It was clear that this coup had done their research well, unlike the previous coups the Ghosts had had to face - disorganised groups of men, not soldiers, either conscripted into the forces or forced to join out of starvation and desperation. They were in unknown territory, planning an attack on a coup who were adequately supported - dissenters and those opposing the move would be rooted out, effectively. The Ghosts knew what this meant for them - none of this would be easy, not at all. 

Jason walked around for a little bit, hands clasped behind his head, looking up to the sky, whilst the others crowded around maps, reading articles and plotting points on the apiliwe. Taking out the coup was actually rather simple. Using the ship's cloaking device, the Ghosts could enter Elima, infiltrate the IGC, take out whomever was there and get a hold on the coup, imprisoning them. But that was only the beginning. Should they now take the coup, would they yield? Agree to step down, to acknowledge the illegitimacy of their grab for power? And then there was the army to think about, those who were in support of the coup takeover.The Ghosts knew they wouldn't be able to coax the soldiers into turning their backs on the coup so easily - they couldn't buy them out, nor did they have anything tangible to offer them, not like the coup, with their promises of higher earnings, child benefits, food provisions and so on. Yes, the army were loyal to the coup, but at the end of the day, these were men too. Men with families, children, who relied on their earnings and provisions to survive. Even if the Ghosts did manage to take out the coup, was there any guarantee that the army loyalists wouldn't retaliate, if it meant getting a hold on those benefits the coup promised? The unrest was present for a reason - none of this; the demonstrations, the upset, were imagined. And the IGC weren't exactly "accessible" to the people far away in their glass house, so it wasn't a stretch to assume that the news of this coup, and their promises, would be quite welcome amongst the people, especially if this same coup were in control of the media narrative. 

For this to work, whomever was elected to Council couldn't be _just_ the Elders. Yes, they had countless years of knowledge and experience, but it was becoming clear that they were a little out of touch. The power, wealth, and resources these positions offered would also have to be regulated. Turning to Yena now, Jason asked him to explain a little of the IGC's history, and their positions, and Yena did so dutifully, pulling up various articles on the apiliwe, and drawing out the current power structure. The IGC held the final say on all matters, and were unlimited in terms of power, wealth, and the status such a position afforded them. As the Ghosts listened, it became clear to all that the current set up had played a large role in breeding discontent and apathy. What they needed was something a little more representative of all the realm at large, maybe two or so representatives from each planet _elected_ onto the Council (chosen by the people), and a couple more elected officials in a larger setting, a little like Congress. Power needed to be kept in check, regulated, financial committees set up to monitor the new governments spending, things like that. Purple was good at that shit, Jason thought.

Which meant of course, that _elections_ of some sort, would need to take place.

Those things usually took weeks, and this wasn't South America, or Botswana, nor all the other places they'd helped dismantle coups, where opposition groups were around, ready to mount a countercoup. Out here was the IGC, and that was it. If they played this right, then the Ghosts could be looking at holding elections throughout the realm in the next couple of days, weeks even; the sooner the better. As for the military - they would need to think about additional help, and Jason began to think. The military here were loyal, and unlikely to be swayed much. Orchestrating "countercoup" troops was usually one measure the Ghosts employed in a few past missions, to bring down those loyal to the military coup. How about the other planets, their armed forces? If they could somehow combine forces, that might work to provide countercoups, provided they work together and follow orders. Jason called over to Yena now.

"Yena mate, can you bring up a scale of the other planets in comparison to Xan and Gol?" 

Yena complied, and the _other_ planets in the realm: Demish, Hunio, Elek, Plaei, Meitu and Leirsa, came into view. Jason studied them a little before turning abruptly to his friend. 

"In terms of numbers, if we were somehow able to help combine the armed forces of all these planets, would they be sufficient enough against the military here, and at the IGC?"

Yena studied the display, thinking. "Yes, they would, and they might even exceed what we have here. But there are a few issues, Red: one, how are we going to get across to them, and in time? I have my contacts, but best believe the IGC will have theirs, people who are far higher in ranking than I, who will overrule anything that isn't to their liking. Secondly, what if these planets don't agree to help us? They have stayed out of this entire conflict so far, and with the threat of nuclear strikes, they might easily be intimidated into standing down at the threat of millions of lives. Thirdly, even _if_ we managed to convince them to help, how would they get over here, to the IGC, when all air travel is either heavily prohibited at most borders, or shut down? Remember our militaries will be working in accordance with air traffic control, and they _will_ know, right from afar, what is going on, if they catch sight of hundreds, if not thousands of military aircrafts heading here, and to the IGC. Fourth, my friend, is the single biggest reason as to why they will not help us: the threat of nuclear attack means that these planets will want to protect their own _peoples_ as much as possible, and we taking away their men, their best soldiers, leaves them vulnerable to attack. No, my friend, I'm afraid getting help from the other planets will not be successful; relying on them to intervene is dangerous."

The group was silent, thinking now.

And then a voice spoke, low and thoughtful.

"Confusion." Purple spoke, eyes in the distance, before looking at them all. "A type of distraction, but it will work well enough. Think about it, men. These soldiers on the ground are men, aren't they? Men with kids, families to feed, just trying to do their jobs, pay their bills, and get by, right?"

The group nodded. Jason knew where Purple was going with this.

"These guys want the same thing as the people, cause guess what? At the end of every working day, the uniform comes off, and what you're left with is just another ordinary man. A man who feels the pinch when his wages doesn't rise to match with increasing household living and expenses, taxes. They feel it too, when food stuffs are more expensive, harder to come by, when rent increases, and they have to pay for gas, fuel, whatever you use here to power your vehicles. They want what everybody else wants: _stability_ , and _that's_ why they're loyal to the coup. If the coup can reel out all those "promises" tackling the heart of social and wealth inequality, then of _course_ they'll stay loyal. What we need to do is this: create confusion, and expose the coup's lies to the nation. It doesn't matter whom the leaders are in place, whether that's with the Elders, or with the military coup, or even those elected by the people - so long as those promises are blared left right and centre, people will vote for whoever shouts them the loudest, coup or no coup."

The group were murmuring now - Purple was exactly right.

Fuschia nodded, pacing back and forth. "That's right, my man. If we can get to the coup, get in control of military communications -Yellow, that's on you-, orders; mix them up a little bit, give one set of instructions to a couple of units there, and entirely different orders to another, we'll create confusion."

"They'll be disorganised. They won't know what to do." Purple broke in.

"No clear communication, no direction - they'll disperse. Without a leader, they're just sheep." Grey spoke, voice hard.

"No troops means no fear of countercoups arising." Blue added.

The men were stood straight now, expressions fierce. They knew what they needed to do. Jason looked at them all before speaking, a plan in mind.

"Men, listen up. The basic plan is as follows: get to Elima. Infiltrate the IGC. We need early control of military communications as soon as possible, _then_ we attack the coup. Send out a series of differing and opposing commands, orders, instructions, to forces on the ground, in the air, at the ISSA bridge - everywhere. Not all at once, but enough so that confusion sets in among the men - disorgansation, chaos, a lack of communication, and they'll disperse. Once they're dispersed, we need control of the narrative and push for elections. Help set up the new Council and other committees. We're looking at days to weeks, but luckily out here, time moves _fast_. One day on Earth is a week out here, so hopefully if we gives ourselves about six to eight weeks out here, then that's roughly a week on Earth - you guys know how important it is to make sure elections are held as soon after a coup is overthrown, so we need to act fast."

"So, in summary: Infiltrate. Military control. Media narrative. Elections." 

Jason paused, making eye contact with all of them before continuing. He pulled up a display of Elima and her Pantheto. 

"Yena, the Elders - where are they most likely to be held?"

Yena looked at Elima, and within a few moments, brought up a floorplan of the facility. "The map does not show it, for security reasons, but there is another level, a sub-basement of sorts, that was used centuries ago to hold prisoners who were awaiting sentencing imminently, instead of having to be ferried to and from Elima. Since the IGC is on lockdown, and guards are stationed at the ISSA borders, then I believe the Elders are still within the Pantheto, held under temporary imprisonment in the building. Expect there to be substantial armed presence."

Black spoke now. "So, we need to get past the ISSA borders, break into the IGC, fight our way enough to wherever the coup leaders are based-"

"They'll be in the Arena-" Jason interrupted. "These guys are ego driven, proud asses who think they've won, so far. They would want to rub their new positions in the Elder's faces, and so they would have taken their seats in the council Arena. Sorry for cutting you off there, Black."

Yena nodded."And then we must watch out for any in the military who will try and take up the coup's positions."

"No doubt." Orange smirked.

Jason went back to the maps again before speaking.

"Green, I want you and Black to start planning how we're gonna break into the Pantheto. My ship will get us to Elima undetected, its just a matter of infiltrating the place. Orange, Brown, you guys and I will need to go over our inventory, and strategise our routes of attack. Taupe, Yellow, I want you guys to look into intercepting any networks the IGC uses, and for you Yellow, we need to get complete control of military communications as _quickly_ as possible. White, Blue, start putting together military commands, orders - once we get to the IGC, we won't have time to start making up shit on the spot, liaise with Yena on this. We break in, get control of military, and start sending out commands, straight away. Use the maps - work with Green and Black to look at where military units are likely to be heaviest, and plan out orders that will help lead them away from their posts; it will make dispersing them easier. Purple, Yena, I need you guys to start looking at setting up positions, looking for suitable people already in politics, finance, - Yena will help you select the right people, the good honest kind - the ones who aren't as high up maybe, those in the local communities or at regional level. They will know the people, and the people will trust them. Grey, Fuchsia, help us by complying the real truth about what's going on, and with Yellow's help, start leaking the stories out to the media. I'll follow up with each group in about an hour to see what you've got."

"Capiche?"

The men looked back, eyes hard, determined. Jason looked at them all before nodding. 

"Get to work, men."

 

 

"That's it, my friend, two more steps. We're almost there."

Clark closed his eyes, concentrating. 

One step.

Another step.

Take a little breath, then repeat.

A few more moments, and then-

"We're here, my friend. Welcome to _casata'd'Red_ , the skywalker's house, which is known to us as _Rete_."

Clark looked at Lielr a little before turning his attention to the house in front of him.

A little graveled driveway, a moderately sized house, quiet, with two rosebushes at the side. Clark stopped to listen. The sound of running water could be heard, tinkling lightly in the distance and as he took a deep breath - ah, warm, fresh bread, absolutely heavenly- Clark let out a small smile. Beside him, Lielr chuckled.

"Red told you, didn't he?" At Clark's blush, Lielr chuckled again. "Don't worry, there is plenty more to come. Honey, iosi - that's flour, fedele- biscuits, soeku- salted caramel, all manner of fruits, even freshly made doughnuts - the smells never stop. If you're feeling up to it later during your stay, then you can think about exploring a little of a town. Its a _big_ place, with much to discover. But for now, let's get you inside, hmm?"

Clark nodded. "That sounds..nice, thank you." 

"And I'm sure you would like a shower, or if you can't handle that for now, we can leave a bowel of water and towels for you. Ishiboth and the cooks have prepared a little something for you to eat, just enough to get your stomach used to eating. And after you've eaten, then it is time for you to rest , my friend."

Clark stiffened slightly. As tired as he was, sleep was _not_ something he was looking forward to. Just thinking about having nightmares made him break out in a cold sweat. Lielr noticed his anxiety and stopped now, speaking gently.

"My friend, the hardest part is over. Now, it is time for you to rest. Yes, sleep will not come easily for a while, but it will take time, and patience. You are not alone - there will usually be one or two helpers in the house-Meir and Jae- during most times, in the kitchen or helping with laundry and folding; you will _not_ be alone. I will be checking on you at least once, maybe even twice a day to help change your dressings and monitor your progress. And if you can't sleep, then there's plenty to read, especially in Red's garden, which is quite lovely. Behind his garden is a meadow which leads up to a golden leaf tree, Yamao, on a small hilltop, about a ten minute walk through the gate at the back of the garden. Red and I have spent one or two times there, eating, reading - it is very peaceful, and quiet. If you ever feel like the house is too...enclosed, overwhelming even, then feel free to make your way there, and the cook will give you a little something to take with you."

Clark nodded, throat tight. That all sounded lovely; he really needed some space, but at the same time, he'd been afraid of being left completely alone. Seeing the League would be...too much right now. Lielr seemed to know what he was thinking when he next spoke.

"As for your friends, my friend - do not worry. Do _not_ feel under pressure to meet them. I believe they will send you little messages through your door, maybe a few baskets of treats from their market hunts, but they will not push. They love you dearly, and though it hurts them to see you in such pain, their will respect your distance. Of course, when you feel up to seeing the town, and/or your friends, as I have said before: all you have to do is say the word, and we'll take it slowly from there."

Clark didn't know what to say. The man's kindness had been too touching for words; he'd conducted all the assessments and testing himself at the city hospital, giving Clark a false name for anonymity, with _gentleness_ , patience, even when they'd had to stop multiple times at Clark's request. His private areas were dirty, extremely sore, and Clark had been so ashamed of his filthy state, he'd turned his head away in embarrassment. It had been tricky to allow any contact _down there_ , and yet Lielr had never pushed, nor berated. Didn't hurry him, or brush his distress aside. The man simply waited, covering Clark with a cloth until he was ready to continue. Finally, two hours later, they were finished, and Clark lay on the examining table, exhausted. Lielr had given him a little space then to compose himself before helping him to get dressed a little, and then taking him home. Apparently the results would be available in two, three days at the most, and though Clark felt anxious at the thought, he was too tired to care, not after that ordeal. And so they'd made their way back to Pepo, entering secretly, undisturbed, back to Red's house, and Clark was relieved it was over.

He turned to Lielr now, bowing as much as he could, even as Lielr waved away the gesture, helping him to stand. "There's no need, my friend. In terms of communication, the people here speak Gemrele, our native language, and the reason I speak yours and Red's language is the use of this little thing here-" Lielr pointed to his ear, where a little communicator lay snug "-which does the translation for me; it is the same for Ishiboth and Klose. As for Meir and Jae, you will get along with them well enough, despite the language barrier I believe, and if you decide to go into the town later, people will be too happy to accommodate you, with food, treats, and much more. So please, relax."

They entered Jason's house now, and Clark, after been greeted warmly by Meir and Jae,- who seemed to understand him perfectly with knowing smiles and twinkling eyes-, took his time to look around. Spacious, modern and yet so cozy at the same time. White walls, with paintings, books in the living room, snug dark couches, a little window bench in the dining room. A washer and dryer room through another door. A large kitchen - did Jason cook? Making his way outside to the patio, Clark's breath caught in his throat. It was so _beautiful_ , a patio, with a small table at one end and a comfortable seating area at the other, and steps leading to a garden, lush green on either side, which a white marbled path leading to a-a _stream_. And not just a stream, a little shallow rock pool too, and as Clark bent closer, tiny fishes seemed mesmerised by his presence, following his movements. He walked further. Two benches, little trees planted at the sides, and now, coming to the back - a gate. Clark leaned out, marveling at the view before him. Warm sunny, the light reflecting off the meadow softly, reminding him a little of Kansas, and he could easily make out the tree Lielr had been talking about, Yamao, glinting in the distance. If he listened more intently, Clark could just about make out the laughter of children, care-free, and it made him smile. 

Some feet away, Lielr had remained on the patio, watching how the man seemed to relax out here, taking in the sights. He smiled to himself - Red had reacted in a similar way the first time he'd seen the area. The man would recover; Lielr was sure of it. He had been through much, but he was strong, and Lielr did not doubt that his friends would be of great support in his recovery.

Clark turned back to Lielr now, an actual smile on his face. It was beautiful, just as Jason had said.

Despite loving the place, however, Clark felt himself withdraw slightly as he remembered Jason. Compassionate and funny, the one who'd stayed with him, and talked to him when he'd been numb, dazed, moving without purpose, and had served as an anchor as he'd broken down in tears, trapped in a flashback. Clark's smile fell from his face, and now Lielr moved towards him, coming to stand by his side. "Guilt does not suit you, my friend." Clark looked up in surprise - Lielr seemed to understand the problem perfectly- before he looked away, ashamed. "You are here because Red wanted you to be, and because we want to take care of you. If he didn't want any of you to know about the place, about our town, this planet, you wouldn't have. He trusts that you all will be safe here, and none of us would like to fail him now, not when he has done so much for us. Red is not an easy man to kill; he doesn't know how to give up. Whatever he is up to, he will come out successful, I believe it, truly." Lielr smiled at him.

Clark had turned back to look at Lielr - What Jason had done for them? But Lielr seemed to read him easily and laughed, patting his shoulder slightly before beckoning him to the house. "Not today, my friend. For now, you are to eat and rest. When you're a little better, I'll tell you more about how we have come to know Red. I might even invite two of our friends, Ishiboth and Klose, to help tell the story, or stories rather. They seemed to left your other friends shocked, and I have no doubt you will be left surprised too. Come, let us go inside."

The two proceeded to go in. Lielr waited downstairs, talking with Meir and Jae whilst Clark went upstairs, exploring. Five doors. A small spiral staircase leading to another floor, probably the attic. At the far end of the floor, a window bench, overlooking the garden.

First door opened. A large bathroom, clean, well spaced with a walk in shower and a bath tub at the other end. Clark closed the door and opened the next one.

A bedroom. Large, well-lit. A small bookcase in the corner, near to an opening in the wall - a walk in closet most likely. A little painting on the wall, hues of white, gold pink. It was all very spacious, modern, fitting. Clark stepped in closer - there were two frames on a small stand next to the bed. He took the bigger of the two now, sitting down.

It was Jason, smiling, and next to him, Tim. It looked as though they were in the midst of laughing, judging by their wide smiles and eyes that were closed a little. They looked...happy, carefree, and Clark was glad. He remembered what Jason had said, about Tim being one of the few who'd been there for him, and Clark was relieved that Jason had people in his life like that. He picked up another. It was Jason, with an arm around a woman. He was grinning widely, curls hanging a little over his forehead, eyes bright and green. The woman was what drew his attention. Early thirties, dark hair, emerald green eyes. Absolutely _beautiful_ , and her smile seemed to be a cross between sly and amused, as if she were twitching _not_ to give her away her joy, but her eyes betrayed her - they were full of delight. She looked familiar, somehow, but he couldn't place her face. They looked good together, handsome. Clark held the frame a little longer, and was a little taken back to see that the photo changed - now Jason's face was close to the woman's cheek, probably to kiss her, and she was in the full throes of laughter, head tossed back, mouth wide, with her hand at the corner, almost shy, cheeks a little flushed. They were close, clearly, and Clark was curious. A girlfriend perhaps? In the background was the sky too blue for words. The photo changed once more, and now the two heads were pressed together at the sides, both of their eyes closed, mouths open in smiles, and the woman had her hand clasped in Jason's around her shoulder. Clark put the photo down now, cheeks a little hot at the way he'd intruded on such a private memory. 

Behind the frames was a little book. Dark, worn out spine, pages clearly thumbed through - something treasured then. He turned to the inside only to read the title softly to himself: _Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen._ " There was a little note written at the bottom in neat handwriting, almost the type one could find in old history books.

" _My dear boy, on your special day, I give to you my own copy of Pride and Prejudice, a book my mother used to read to me many a night, her favourite. I pray your love of literature will continue to abound, and that one day, you too will be able to read this to your child_.

" _My boy, my grandson, now and forever_."

 _Alfred E. Pennyworth_.

Clark held the book a little longer. He cast his mind back to the time the League had first met Jason, and he smiled as he remembered the boy's glee at the "A" he'd received on a piece of work. It was a little surprising; Clark didn't think that Jason would be one so keen on literature, not with his history, especially his death, but as he thought back to the times he and the man had spent reading in the library, late into the night, their cease-fire zone, Clark was glad Jason had proved him wrong. He wasn't a mindless, senseless, killing machine. Yes, he killed, but he was also intelligent, efficient, and very level-headed, the complete opposite to the Red Hood. Had that been a front then? Or had Jason's time away from Gotham, dropping off the face of the Earth, produced such a change? Jason was...an enigma. Just when you _thought_ you knew they guy, something else came along. Unpredictable, Bruce had said once, and Clark agreed, but not entirely. Jason was too clever to act and plan and move all on "unpredictable". Tim knew him clearly, and the two were close, that was obvious to all of them. Clark had spent only a short amount of time with Jason, and yet, he'd never had someone who... _understood_ like that, not even Bruce. He and Bruce had had to work hard at their relationship, to go from strangers to best friends, brothers even, but with Jason, it seemed as if all of that didn't matter, that here was someone who could very well fight him in public, yet show up for tea an hour later at his house with a couple of books in tow. Clark put the book down now, sighing. It would be...nice, he thought, to spend a little more time with the man, outside all this if that could ever be possible. They were Superman and Red, previously the Hood, with different lives, different responsibilities - but once in a while, if they could perhaps stay in touch?

 _That_ would be nice. Interesting, even. 

Clark stood and made his way out. He paused by the next door before opening it. 

A second bedroom.

It was similar to Jason's room, but not for the fact that one of the walls were _covered_ in photographs. Black and white, sepia, ones that were a little out of focus, and those that were up close. Tim's room, for sure - Clark knew instantly; the boy had a fondness for photography, and he himself had a couple of the boy's photos at home in Metropolis and at his parent's house in Kansas. He stepped closer to look at the photos. Different landscapes, some probably not of Earth, of this world even. Clark recalled Tim mentioning how he didn't know _why_ Jason could travel to Xan or Gol. So he knew, but he didn't know why, and the boy had channeled his inner Bruce, telling the truth, and yet keeping them in the dark. Truthful without being explicit, Clark chuckled to himself. He noted a couple of photos of Tim and Jason, happy, smiling, laughing - some funny faces, and one or two of that woman again, smiling, dark hair tossed over her shoulders. Many of the town they were in, presumably - children running after the camera, photos of the sky, of food, stalls, of adults sitting round a table - it was all intriguing, the simple and the complex, and Clark took his time, looking over everything. 

Clark opened another door. 

Another similar sized bedroom, like the others. Apart from a painting on the wall, the room was lightly furnished, but two things caught his attention.

One was the smell. A mixture of vanilla with a hint of spice, something foreign, unusual, and unforgettable. It mixed in well with the freshness of the room.

A woman's room? Maybe the woman he saw in the photo.

The second was the little line up of bottles at the window sill, along with a book placed in the corner. Clark moved closer, picking up a bottle. The smell was pleasant but subtle. Ah, perfume then. He did the same for the rest, and the blends were _tantalising_. Clark took a look at the book - overall pristine condition, though a little frayed slightly at the bottom. He couldn't read the title, Farsi, Turkish possibly? He wasn't sure.

Eventually, he left the room and opened a fifth one, the last on this floor. 

A study, elegant furnishings, lightly decorated with a few antiques here and there; vases, keys, even a few instruments now and again. Wonders of the world? More like wonders of the universe, Clark thought. A map was on the far wall, and Clark approached it, reading the inscriptions. Ospeke, Yaiete, Moeir, Kaoeo, the list went on and old. Jason's travels. Clark stopped reading then - this was private, all of it. He backed away from the room now - he really shouldn't have invaded Jason's privacy like this, and Clark left the room now, ignoring the curiosity within to get to know a little more about Jason. No. All this, the house, the photos, the books - all of it was Jason's, personal, things that were _his_ , and Clark knew he had no right to be here. He turned now, ignoring the spiral staircase that led up to yet another floor, and hurried down to Lielr now.

"Lielr, I can't stay here. This is...too much, its _his_ space, his house, I'm sorry, is there anywhere el-"

"My friend, please do not be anxious. If Red didn't want you here, in his house, then he wouldn't have asked you to be placed here specifically. He has asked that you stay here for privacy's sake - _yours_ , to be exact, since he knows I have more than enough rooms in my own home. No, my friend, anything that you see here, Red is not worried about you knowing. If you truly do not feel comfortable with the arrangement then of course, you can stay with your friends or we can find someplace-"

"No...no, Lielr, I cannot ask you to do that. You've been too kind already. I'm sorry, I don't mean to appear ungrateful. It will take a little getting used to, being here."

Clark flushed a little, embarrassed that he might have offended Lielr who'd been so good to him, but the man laughed now, shaking his head. "I understand. It might seem unusual, but Red is clearly comfortable with it, and you can be too, if you accept the gesture for what is is: a friend lending a helping hand. So, my friend, do not over complicate matters. Go upstairs, get yourself ready, and come, let us eat together; I might even tell you a few stories about Red and his brother if you would like."

Clark nodded, smiling a little, before turning, intending to go back upstairs. One of the ladies appeared from the washer room and pressed a set of clean clothes, fresh out of the dryer, into his hands. Red's clothes. Clark took the items with a slight bow and a blush, and the woman smiled kindly in return before disappearing again. Slowly, he climbed the stairs, thinking a little. His good little Kansas upbringing had taught him to be polite, respectful, and mindful of what wasn't his, and Jason opening up his home to him like this was a touching gesture. He resolved to thank the man once he arrived here. 

Clark went into the bathroom, and carefully placed his clean clothes on top of the toilet seat. He stripped off, mindful of his injuries, and dropped the stained clothing into the dirty wastebasket at the far corner of the room. He didn't want to look into the mirror, not just yet - a mess, he was sure, and instead, stepped into the shower, closing his eyes as the hot water pounded onto his skin. He took his time, breathing deeply - to his left was a little sill holding various bottles of shampoo, conditioner, fancy liquid soaps. He tried reading the names - was that _Arabic_? He took a sniff: jasmine and vanilla; it smelled gorgeous, scents similar to the ones he'd smelled in the woman's room. He proceeded to wash his hair now before starting with the rest of his body, scrubbing the grime and stink away. Clark forced himself to focus elsewhere as he washed his private parts, not wanting to dwell on wandering hands and hot bites, not the violation that had taken place. He quickened his pace - he wanted to get dressed as soon as possible. 

Eventually, after toweling off to dry, Clark made his way to the toilet seat, putting on the clean clothes. Finally, he looked at himself in the mirror. Worn out, haggard, but cheeks pink, and though pale, and muscles aching, Clark felt better than he had in a _long_ time. He made his way downstairs - he could choose where to sleep later- to meet Lielr, who stood up from where he'd reclined, reading, face brightened at the sight of him, voice warm, and helping him outside to the patio. It was just after six in the evening now, and the two spent the next few hours eating, drinking, taking their time. Lielr regaled Clark with a little of the history of their realm, Gerebeta, the town, and Clark found himself rapt with interest. He couldn't each much, not just yet, but that was fine - the peace of his surroundings, the air, the warmth of it all, seemed to calm him, and as time went by, Clark found himself laughing, a lot, too, as Lielr fondly recounted some of Jason's antics here with a chuckle. Eventually, the sky had turned from a light pink to darkness, though it was more of an intense charcoal colour than the midnight navy Clark was used to back home. It wasn't an issue however, not with Jason's rosebushes that twinkled white in the darkness, or the stars that appeared in the sky, so clear. It was all lovely, and Clark felt himself sinking back into his chair, eyes beginning to shut. 

Lielr had called it a night then, helping Clark up the stairs. After some deliberation, Clark chose to sleep in Tim's room- Jason's would be too much, after everything that had happened, and the other room, whilst almost bare of personal items, was too intrusive, too personal to invade the woman's privacy like that. Clark had half a mind to ask Lielr about the woman but he kept it within, not wanting to push. Lielr had simply smiled knowingly, before ushering him in. A quick check up of his injuries, and Clark was already hitting the pillow, eyes closed. Sleep had come, heavy and welcoming, and Clark didn't have the strength to fight back any more. Lielr left the room, shutting the door quietly, and waited for Meir and Jae to finish with their duties. Laundry clean, food well stocked, they would be back tomorrow to cook and prepare meals, to clean the house, and the next day, and the day after that, until Red arrived. The man had helped them on countless occasions, repairing all sorts, playing with their children, and it was nothing for the two women to be able to take care of Red's friend like this. Finally, a little past ten pm, the trio had called it a night, and they walked back towards town together, before bidding each other quiet farewells as they left for their respective houses.

 

 

The League were now in bed, each casting their mind back to the events of the day, particularly Clark's arrival.

Seeing Clark had been quite a shock for all of them, but the relief was there too. He was safe, with them, and that was all that mattered. It was clear that Clark had been abused - physical, at least, but Bruce suspected more. The way Clark held himself, curled in at waist, the small steps the man took, as if holding himself together, the way he _flinched_ from anyone and anything that might touch him, even accidentally. Jason's request at Clark's private lodging. Remembering the _sounds_ the League had heard during their captivity, the man's pleas, his cries, and that horrible, harsh voice, that demon of a woman.

He'd seen similar signs before, in a young boy too cheeky for his own good.

Clark had been abused.

Sexually.

Bruce felt sick.

Clark Kent, good and kind, warm and wholesome, best friend, brother, leader. Someone who cared, and kept caring.

The League were beginning to put it altogether, Bruce could tell, but he didn't want to spell it out to them, not so openly - it would be too harsh, for them and for Clark. Jason had requested Clark be housed separately, and it all made sense now. Bruce cast his mind back a little, to when he'd first taken Jason in, how he'd sat down with Gordon a few days later to look at the boy's history. Absentee, alcoholic father, heavily abusive, drug-addled mother. A child with a rap sheet already longer than most low-life criminals and here Jason was, barely thirteen but looking more like eight due to his malnourishment and poor living conditions. He had casted a critical eye down the list of offences: _petty theft, aggravated assault, attempted robbery_ \- the list went on and on, until one caught his eye.

 _Child prostitution_.

Bruce had felt his breath catch in his throat. 

Across from him, Gordon had remained silent, and had removed his glasses, wiping them. Bruce looked at the man, who'd simply angled his head towards the screen without making eye contact, and without saying a word. 

And so Bruce kept reading.

 _sex trafficking_.

 _..rape_.

It had all become too much, horrors blurring into the other, and Bruce had stood from his chair abruptly, chair falling to the floor with a loud clatter, drawing looks from across the room. He had walked out of Gordon's office, right through the officer's area, who were all staring at him now, down the hall, down the front steps, and into the night, where he'd kept walking.

And walking.

Bruce didn't know how far he'd walked, only by the end of it, as he stood, lamp overhead flickering, fists tightly clenched, heart hammering, eyes stinging - his mind was racing, and Bruce had felt like he would burst.

_Why?_

Why did it have to be Jason? A _child_ , for God's sake? 

Bruce had taken a shaky inhale then, bringing up one hand to wipe away his tears that now fallen. He'd remained there for a couple more minutes, struggling to regain a little composure, but he couldn't. In the end, he'd phoned Gordon to ask him to send the details across to his lawyers. Bruce would hack in later to retrieve the files later, to look over them as Batman, but for now, he had to get home.

 _Jason_.

He had so wanted to see the boy, and yet, a large part of him couldn't look at him either. That an adult could take such advantage over a child, a vulnerable one at that, was beyond sickening. Bruce hadn't read all of it, but he'd seen enough. Mentions of prostitution, being caught with men who moved in the same circles as Bruce Wayne, of drugs, and alcohol in the boys system, no doubt to numb the pain - no wonder Jason had stayed away from him. Bruce had caught the boy staring at him, at times, a mix between fear and... _want_ , _lust_ even, and it had made Bruce's skin crawl. Jason must have come to a horrible conclusion, that he, as a young rich bachelor, living alone in a big house, had taken up residence with a young boy in order to fulfil certain _needs_ \- God, the whole thing had made Bruce sick to his stomach. That night, hours later, after Batman had released his rage at the injustice of life, the unfairness of it all, onto Gotham's worst, he came home, Bruce, to go upstairs, past his room, and stopped at Jason's, light peeping through the door. After a few moments of hesitation, Bruce had finally plucked up enough courage to knock, and a tiny "enter" had been emitted. He'd opened the door, only to see a young Jason Todd in the corner of the room, bed untouched, as if it would punish him, wide eyes staring at him. 

His heart seemed to break at the sight; one that Bruce would remember for a years afterwards.

They had stared at each other like that, from across he room, for a _long_ time. Jason's stare, cold and blank, had gradually morphed into horror, then shame, before anger, and Bruce could hear the rage that laced the young voice, even from the way he sat, curled tightly to himself.

" _You know_."

That was all he said, and Bruce had nodded a little, throat tight.

It seemed to dawn on young Jason then, and as the horror melted into downright fury, the boy had lashed across the room, pounding Bruce in his stomach, has hard as he could. Tiny fists of lightening struck at Bruce with such a _rage_ that he had momentarily stumbled, trying to reach for the boy, who kept hitting, screaming unintelligibly, crying. Alfred had entered, running, and Bruce had turned to look at him, shaking his head a little, before focusing on Jason. Alfred had understood, and had left quietly, heart heavy, as he listened to Jason's muffled cries, held against Bruce's chest.

Bruce would never forget that night. 

The little crass quips, Jason's sexual innuendos, his looks straying as he glanced down _below_ at Bruce, almost admiring, and one or two occasions, Bruce waking up in the night, in his room to find Jason standing at the side of his bed, wearing nothing but his underwear, telling him to let him know what he wanted, that he could do _anything_ \- _God_ , it was sickening. It had taken Bruce every fibre of his being to resist running up to Jason and shaking him by the shoulders, hard, that what he was doing _wasn't_ right, it _wasn't_ normal, it was so very _wrong_. Bruce could see how hard it was for Jason, too, to go from _wanting_ him, to recoiling in repulsion, disgusted, confused, shutting down any attempts at broaching the matter.

The memories were too painful now, and Bruce stood, opting to stand apart from the League for a little while. He'd failed with Jason; so many things that he _should_ have done, _could_ have done - insisting the boy have more intensive therapy would have been a good place to start, but Jason could barely tolerate the fortnightly shrink lessons Bruce had enforced as part of the whole "Robin" deal, and the boy _loved_ being Robin, so very much. It made him feel free, like he could actually fly, Jason had confided in him once, and Bruce couldn't bear to take that away from him.

And in fear, fear of not wanting to drive his boy away from him, or to be shut out, Bruce had lost Jason anyway.

Bruce took a few moments to himself before thinking again. He and Jason were....but he could help Clark. Give him time, space, patience, but not too much, not all alone. Bruce knew he wasn't the best with words or offering comfort, but one thing he was good at was listening. He was a good listener, a soundboard, and whatever Clark wanted-no, _needed_ from him, he would do it. For his best friend, and his brother, he would.

The League had continued with the rest of the afternoon, buying clothes and other necessities, before returning to Pepo. Dinner was a quiet affair despite the joys of their morning activities. Klose had spoken to them at the end, reminding them that though Clark was hurt, he would be looked after here, and that he was safe. The words were a kind reminder, but it was still difficult. Guilt, regret, hurt at seeing their friend, but in the midst of all that, relief. Clark was safe, and that counted for something. The League had sat around the living room, quiet, before Barry had spoken. _Let's all write him something_ , he'd suggested - _notes, letters, record a message or two, maybe a fruit basket_. Klose had thought the idea a good one, and he'd excused himself to the kitchen, talking with Ishiboth, as the League, Bruce included, spent the next forty minutes of so writing out little bits of love and encouragement, before carefully placing it all into the fruit basket, with some of the little things they'd been gifted with in the market earlier on. Along with Klose, they'd all taken a short stroll through the market square despite the late hour, a glow with tiny lanterns, all the way to Red's house, the path lighting up with each of their steps. A beautiful quiet house, though the lights were not on, and Diana had taken it upon herself to walk on the white graveled drive, admiring the scenery, before placing the basket in the little porch at the corner of the door. She'd pressed little kiss to her hand before placing it on the door, praying that her best friend, her brother would return to them soon.

The group waited for a few more minutes, hoping a light would come on, or signs of movement, anything, but there was nothing. Sighing, they made their way back to Cata. Time, space and patience, both Lielr and Klose had said it, and the League knew they were right.

They would wait, for however long, as they bid each other goodnight.

 

 

Semeticai'a' looked at the rest of the coup leaders in the background before sitting back, smiling. She was currently being prepped for the coup's first national address. The message would be brief, detailing who they were, and why they had taken hold of power. The other leaders were seated at the back, scripts in hand, as assistants tended back and forth, catering to their every whim.They had all prepared well for this moment, and as leader, Semeticai'a' would be given the honor of speaking , before briefly introducing each of the other members. They would not appear on television with her; all had been agreed that they were to stay more in the background, as planned, running things behind the scenes. The peoples knew of Semeticai'a' - a kind, compassionate woman, a familiar face, and they would trust her, and her promises. She checked her watch: six thirty seven pm. They had planned to put out a live broadcast by six, but had delayed it in order to wrap up a few loose ends.

Semeticai'a' allowed the powdering and pampering to go on a little longer before shooing her assistants away, who bowed, before hurrying to take their leave. Bright lights on her now, cameras on, the screen prompter ready, the room was hushed to silence as the lead assistant held up his marker.

 _Three_.

 _Two_.

 _One_.

Her time had come.

__

 

 

It was a little after six thirty now, in the evening, when the Ghosts took their next break. They'd need to start preparing for dinner in a few hours, Jason surmised, but before he could dream the things he would cook, a thought suddenly popped into his head, and he turned to Taupe, who was currently closest to the apiliwe.

"Taupe, are there any news suggesting his involved in all this? The leaders of the coup, I mean, any announcements or speeches of "taking back power and giving it to the people" sort of thing?"

A pause, and then a muffled voice spoke - Taupe had a pen in his mouth as he scrolled through the apiliwe. "Yeah mate, a video was uploaded not long ago, about ten minutes or so. Playing it now."

The groups stopped what they were doing to listen, looking at the holographic display set up from the apiliwe.

Jason and Yena heard the voice before seeing her, and they looked at each other, shocked.

Elder Semeticai'a', _the_ Honorable Semeticai'a, resplendent in red and gold robes, sat in a chair, hands clasped, looking perfectly in charge.

" _People of the realms, good evening_."

__

" _I am elder Semeticai'a', of the House Targeya, and I thank you this evening for listening to this message. I understand that there has been a lot of ...confusion, anxiety, fear even, at the events over the last few days, starting with the riots, and now the restrictions on travel. My people, do not be afraid. I, along with a few others, have taken power now from the Elders, and now, as we sit in the Council Arena, we the Dunamis, will explain why_."

____

A slight pause, and then-

____

" _Over the years, the peoples have been growing increasingly dissatisfied with the IGC, specifically, the Elders. Their rulings have often had great impact on the peoples, who have unduly suffered as a result of the mistake of others.The last few years have become even more alarming, in terms of penalties, rulings and now, with the sanctions the Elders issued on Xan and Gol, their peoples have been crying out for the past year, suffering economic downtown, and struggling to provide for their families. I have tried, over and over, to voice such concerns, but to no avail, since I am only one member out of ten. The Elders also thought it best to distance themselves away from the people they _serve_ , and their positions on the Council has afforded them every king of luxury unimaginable, as well as unlimited wealth, and power of the greatest command. The Elders made themselves the final authority on all matters, disregarding the opinions o others, and have made themselves untouchable for the last few centuries_."

____

" _Brethren, I tell you today, as you are my witness: No more_."

____

Another pause.

____

" _No more hardship. No more suffering. No more horrible penalties that devastate your livelihoods, your families, your welfare, your community. No more unchecked power, looking down on all of you, ignoring your cries. We, the coup, are starting a new beginning. A new government which promotes fairness, equality, and representation for **all**_."

____

Pause.

____

" _Better job prospects. A increase in the minimum wages, enforced safeguards for working hours, better working conditions. Longer child benefits, education up to the first university degree, fully funded. More extensive health insurance, dental care, to look after our families, young people, retirees and our senior citizens. And best of all_ -"

____

A slight pause before "- _no more penalties. No more! No more IGC rulings that fail to punish the perpetrators and impact the peoples_!"

____

" _We, the Dunamis, are here today, and we vow to serve you. From this point onwards, we are here to advocate for your needs, your benefit, to increase your peoples, and unite the realm as one. On behalf of Dunamis, myself, Semeticai'a', head of State, Commander General Lierna of Cersei of the Xanderian Miliary, Executive Lieutenant Buri of Stark, Director of the Sicai'ari, Minister of Trade relations, Mehibosh of Efrege, Minister of Ethics and civil law, Junio, Minister of Finance and Equity, Thempre, we ask that you join us tonight, in marking the first step of a new age in our realm, for the years to come_."

____

" _Goodnight_."

____


	29. A moment in time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magdaia is taken to safety. Its Clark's first day in Gerebeta, the League have a little fun for once, and the Ghosts get ready to attack the coup.

"We've arrived, madam. Please, allow me."

The young officer bowed and held out his hand, hoping to impress the woman. Magdaia ignored him and flounced past, mind was far away. 

She knew she was somewhere in the South, judging by the wealth of the area. The officer had refused to tell her where exactly, for safety, and the armed presence outside the mansion was very reassuring. It had taken several hours, and now Magdaia was here, a little after nine in the evening, tired. Her family had many residences across the realm, and Madgaia herself hadn't even spent time in up to half of them in her entire life. She held her head high as she walked into the house, despite her dirty clothing, paying no attention to the household staff that had gathered out front, ready to welcome her. Magdaia was the first and only child of _the_ Honorable Semeticai'a', House of Targeya, old Elekian money and power, and Petre'e of House Damaes, another old and extremely powerful family - Xan was practically built on her father's money- these people had nothing, knew nothing, and in the end, meant nothing. Madaia smirked a little as she walked past the help, screwing her nose in disgust, approving of the guards that bowed at her presence, and made her way into the house. Uemiet, or whatever he called himself, the house manager, took her around, tone haughty as he led her through the vast luxury, all at her beck and call. She watched him interact with the servants, chin jutted, voice cold, as if _he_ was the one that owned the property, and Magdaia smiled to herself. The man needed a little reminder as to who was _really_ in charge here; clearly his position as house manager made him think he was untouchable. Ridiculous. All this was nothing new to her - Magdaia had been surrounded by great wealth since they day she was born, having servants to attend her every whim, indulged to the fullest by her doting parents, and nothing had changed, even as an adult. 

Magdaia swallowed a lump as she studied her father's portrait on the wall. Daddy had passed a few years back, devastating her, but a minor inconvenience to her mother, and the realm had grovelled their respects to the family, not wanting to lose Father's "charity." Magdaia had been a daddy's girl from the word go, and could recall days spent buying horses, shopping in the all exclusive Jaue d' Chatepe, an entire resort open to only the very rich, shut _just_ for her, rooms full dresses and cake, large houses and private cars, holidays every few weeks or so and with all the time in the world, sat on her father's knee, the apple of his eye. Magdaia and her mother were not as close at first; Mother was far more ambitious than father, always pushing her to do better, _more_ , and Magdaia had resented her for a while - Mother had expressed it many a time that she and Father had married for money and power, nothing more. But as she grew, Magdaia came to appreciate her mother's...tenacity. Father himself was a man of the realm, of order, stature, but the lack of war and its urgency had softened him, and he'd preferred a more traditional lifestyle with a dutiful slave of a wife, and a daughter married off young to give him male grandchildren, securing the family lineage.

Mother had been very different; an ambitious woman with dreams of rising to the top, where _real_ power lay, going against her own father's wishes, a high ranking official himself - apparently politics was no place for a lady, but she was determined to make it,-sights set on the IGC, and used her family's wealth and connections successfully, eventually becoming her father's pride and joy. Mother had been the one to teach her the art of _man_ , of ways to soften, manipulate, subdue, before delivering the final blow. Beauty is no substitute for brains, Mother had said once, and Magdaia knew now that she was right. Being pretty was simply a front; sex, a tool - it took a sharp mind and pure determination to get ahead, to achieve what one wanted, what was rightfully _deserved_ , and both women had made that happen for themselves. Mother had spent her youth and early years working her way around men, creating a name for herself in their industry and now that she was much older, Mother had built up enough of a reputation, an empire on _top_ of the House of Targeya, that having to rely on _sex_ was a thing of the past. Magdaia's rise had been similar - despite her brains, breaking into the male-dominant world of academia and science had been tough, and though she'd met her fair share of ridicule and resistance, Magdaia had taken it all with a smile, whilst planning her next moves. All men, irrespective of position, class and status, were the same in the end, empty up top, and thinking with their _thing_ down below; another of Mother's sayings, and the woman couldn't be more right even if she'd tried. Father wouldn't approve as much, but he was a man, and men didn't understand such things. In any case, Father wouldn't argue with the results - with all they'd achieved, he'd be delighted, in fact. 

And now, as Magdaia looked down at her belly, stroking it gently, smiling - soon, she would know, and Magdaia couldn't wait. Closing her eyes a little, she let her mind drift, core temperature rising as she thought of _him_ , him inside her; now, eyes fluttering as it came back to her - the sweating, her panting, the pain and utter delight at his pathetic mews, the way her breath caught in her throat as the Superman penetrated fully, his groans, the stubble of his cheek coarse against her skin, oh - Magdaia became a little wet inside, just remembering how _hard_ , and _big_ and _firm_ he'd been - she arched her back a little, skin warm now, -his reaching, hips grinding into hers, thrusting _deeply_ into her, his scent, the saltiness of his taste, thick, delicious - she _hmmed_ , low and sensual, feeling how wet she was below her clothing, his musk, all of it, raw and wanting-

"Ma-ma'am? Is-is ev-everything alright, madam? I can call for Dr Ghersha, or-"

All thoughts halted to a stop as Magdaia came back to reality. She snapped her eyes wide open, irritated, to Uemiet who stood before her, face red, a little bowed, clearly embarrassed. They were in one of the living rooms, the rest of the help dismissed to continue with their duties. Magdaia smiled, curling a little of her hair around her finger as she shifted, labia slick with wetness. She couldn't waste the memory, no - she missed her specimen already. Magdaia focused her gaze on Uemiet; middle aged, though with a good head of hair still remaining, average face, average build, undeserving of his inflated ego. She kept her eyes on him, slipping one hand beneath her clothes and began to finger herself, hard, back arching as she imagined the Superman once more, his heat, giving himself to her, hard. Her back arched properly now, and the other hand slipped through her shirt to her chest, cupping her breasts, pulling, squeezing. Magdaia knew she was coming, and her moans increased in frequency till she became breathless, skin hot and wet, hips arched as she kept going, fingering herself with one, then, two fingers, harder, more, till she came, gushing, the pain spilling over as the high of the climax was reached, all while her eyes never left the man. Uemiet was now completely red, hands clasped in front of his hips, presumably to hide his hardness, and Magdaia smiled. Climax attained, she lay back a little against the couch, taking a few moments to herself. A few more seconds, and then Magdaia stood abruptly, smirking at the flinch of the man in front of her. She walked slowly towards him, hips swaying, till she was in front of him, and moved in _close_ , enough that his hands were right in front of her pelvis. 

"Uemiet." Magdaia breathed into his ear, voice husky. The man shuddered, and Magdaia let her lips glide across his ear, down to the angle of his mandible, pressing herself against him, his hands fisting into her below. It wasn't _him_ , no-one was, but she would have to make do, for now at least. Magdaia pressed in harder, hips rocking a little, emitting little groan as his knuckles brushed into her private parts through her clothing.

"Arrange for Dr Ghersha attend to me first thing in the morning. For now, have the maids bring up something to eat."

She moved her head back, just a bit, before emitting a little "oh", as if she'd forgotten something, and moved in again, right into his ear. 

Gaze still on him, Magdaia shifted, one hand slipping into her clothing again to loosen her undergarment. A little wiggle, and the thing slid down her legs, hitting the floor with a wet _smack_. Eyes on him, she bent, lower, her head brushing his hands as she picked up her soiled underwear. Coming up between his legs, Magdaia rose to her full height, and tucked the slick garment into the man's breast pocket, patting it a little with a _squish_. Her smell lingered in the air between them.

"I'm afraid I've had a little... _accident_. Make sure the help has my bathwater nice and hot, I'll need a _thorough_ deep cleaning."

The man's ears were cherry tomato red at this point, his "yes ma'am, of course." barely more than a whisper. Good. Uemiet now knew his place.

Magdaia smirked, before abruptly turning and walking out of the room.

Men, she thought. Always so easy.

 

 

Clark opened his eyes.

And froze.

For a moment, his breath was caught in his throat. He sat up, sheets pooling around his waist.

Images raced past him, sounds mocking in his ears, and Clark began to panic a little-

 _coo_.

 _coo-coo_.

The sound, soft and gentle, broke though his thoughts, and Clark turned his head towards it.

There, at the window, was a little bird perched on the outside, staring at him. It _cooed_ once more before flying off, as if it had been welcoming him.

Where the hell was h-

 _Oh_.

Clark remembered now.

Gerebeta, Pepo to be exact.

He breathed a sign of relief before flopping back down onto his bed.

Tim's bed, in Tim's room, Clark reminded himself. 

He closed his eyes a little, tired. His sleep had been broken, voices and smells taunting him awake, and the longest stretch of sleep he'd had was four hours in total. Clark yawned, feeling the tiredness weigh down his bones. His powers would take a while to be restored, Eheto had explained, and he didn't have enough strength to summon them now. Clark turned to the window, listening. One or two little coos, as if the birds were conversing with one another, and if he focused, the tinkling of the stream, faint in the distance. It was quiet, peaceful, and Clark could feel himself relaxing already. Jason had mentioned the nightmares, the flashbacks, but their power over him would subside as he improved. Clark turned to look at the clock on the wall: ten past ten. Back on Earth, he'd have been at work already, coffee steaming, going back and forth with Lois as he typed away, shoes clacking and Perry shouting in the background. He missed home, just a little, but out here was something else. 

When was the last time he'd had a break?

Clark couldn't remember. He was _always_ on the go. If it wasn't the Daily Planet, with her writings, meetings, reporting, then it was Superman, constantly, with his help required here, his presence there, meeting advisors, national figures, and wanted Watch-tower. Always something to do, and somewhere to be.

And now?

Nothing.

Clark crossed hims arms over his chest.

As far as Earth and the Watch-tower were concerned, the League were off-world on a mission, and they weren't expected back for a while. Now that they were here, well-well nothing. No appointments, nothing to schedule, no followups. His time was his, and Clark let out a small smile, relieved. Yes, he knew he'd have much to work through, but he couldn't rush it. Time and patience. 

Clark dozed off for another hour before his belly rumbled. He got up, only to realise that more clothes had been left out for him, including a dressing gown. Though Jason was almost as big as him, Clark was still bigger, taller, broader in the chest, and so the clothes were a tight fit. He'd made his way downstairs to the kitchen, greeting Meir and Jae as best he could through bowing. "Ga'dieme" they'd helped him to pronounce - Good morning, clearly, and they went from smiling at his efforts, to chuckling a little at the tight fit of his clothes. Jae had smiled gently, and beckoned him over to the table, where she took a piece of paper and drew out a line of squares and pointed to his clothes, before picking up the clock, pointing at the number two. Ah, clothes shopping at two o'clock; Clark interpreted easily, and he'd thanked the woman, cheeks a little pink, as she laughed quietly. Calamity over, Jae patted his arm and gestured to the patio, where Meir was already setting out food. Breakfast was ready, and Clark bowed, grateful. Lielr had explained that breakfast would be between eight to ten, lunch was usually around one or two, and dinner from seven onwards, unless he wasn't hungry, or preferred to eat anywhere in town. Lielr himself would come round sometime in the day to check on him. Clark made his way out to the patio, only to be ushered a little to sit by Meir, who fussed over him, reminding him a little of his Ma. A little basket was in front of him, and Meir gestured to it, smiling knowingly, before introducing some of the food on the table.

The food.

My _God_ , the food, Clark took a mouthful of something Meir had called Caeshpe, a type of egg and sausage tortilla, lightly toasted with a side of Moeirst, a light stew. It was incredible, and Clark would gladly eat this forever if he could. His groan of pleasure had Meir and Jae laughing, and they'd left him to enjoy breakfast, their voices heard at times from the kitchen. Clark ate a little more, sipping his tea, shemluit, before bringing the basket closer to him, looking inside with interest.

Letters. Notes. Small trinkets, little treats - Clark paused from eating now, taking out each item one by one.

It was from the League, every one of them.

Tears sprang a little as he began to read - they were wishing him well, telling him that they loved him, that they were proud of him, and that they wanted to see him, but only when he was ready. That they were _here_ for him, and that all he had to do was give the word. That they hoped to see him sometime, especially to explore the town, which was apparently massive, and full of incredible things.

Clark placed one note aside to wipe his tears, smiling a little.

They probably knew what had happened, Bruce for sure, and here they were, giving him time, and space, just like Jason said they would. He'd been so afraid of facing them, like this, weak and vulnerable, and yet they told him that he was strong, that he would make it, and that he could count on them. 

Clark was lost for words. 

He couldn't have asked for better friends, a _family_ more like, and he brought his palms to his face, tears streaming silently. He _did_ want to see them but not yet, for a little while at least. At some point, Meir and Jae had entered, wrapping his shoulders with a shawl, lightly hugging him, whispering words in kind, soft tones. They understood, and Clark, despite not being able to tolerate much contact, leanedin a little into their embrace. Eventually he nodded, wiping his face dry, a little red, but the two women waved his embarrassment away, patting his arm, pouring a fresh pot of shemluit, and encouraged him to eat, before returning to the kitchen.

And so Clark ate, reading the rest of the notes, chuckling a little at a few jokes here and there. Bruce had written in Kryptonese, that he was there for him, whatever he needed, and Clark found himself determined not to give up. Breakfast over, he tried to help clear the plates, only to be shooed away by Meir. Thanking the two women as best he could, Clark made his way upstairs, only to stop, staring at the end of the hall where the spiral staircase lay.

What was up there?

He'd been far too tired last night to do anymore but sleep, but now, feeling a little better, Clark approached the stairs, making his way up slowly. The stairs let to an attic, as predicted, but the large space left him a little speechless. Bright, airy, and completely _full_ of books. Shelves full of fictional worlds, classic literary works; it went on and on. To his left, the wall held two big arched windows, overlooking the garden, bathing the room in light. Directly next to the windows was large open seating area, white fur, pillows on a window bench, and two large armchairs, just _waiting_ for him. It was so glorious, and Clark felt himself drift to the area, feeling welcomed by it all. Perfect for reading - in fact, Jason's house seemed to be built _just_ for that, the garden especially. Clark could imagine this place in the winter, if they even _had_ winter out here- snow falling soft and crisp, the garden a thick blanket of snow, the tree like one of those pictured on Christmas cards with lights in them, and one would be in here, snuggled with a large comforter, hot chocolate or a glass of milk, warm cookies, and a damn good book to read. Clark looked around, wistful. He vowed to spend some time here later. He browsed the shelves, smiling at many of the books he came across. After a while, he finally decided on a copy of _The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas_ , and book firmly in hand, Clark made his way to the bathroom. A shower later, clean and fresh, he made his way to the garden, walking along the white path. Clark sat down on the bench, near the tree, feeling the sunlight warm his back, and began to read, mind finally at peace.

He would spend the next couple of hours out here, reading, before taking a nap.

 

Meanwhile, the day had already started for the League. Klose would be coming over after lunch, and they'd all opted for a lie in before breakfast. Bruce had caught Diana on the way down, saying only "Tomorrow" into her ear before moving past her. Diana had watched him go, cheeks a little pink at how close he'd been, lips brushing her ear. Tomorrow they would talk, probably, and Diana felt a little anxious all of a sudden - would it be so, finally? After years of denying themselves, their true feelings- was their time truly here, at night? Last night had been hard for all of them, but now that Clark was here, she hoped that things would start to look up significantly. She was both happy and sad, but as Klose had reminded them, Clark was here now, and he was safe. Lielr had dropped by briefly, informing them that their mutual friend had settled in now. He received a phone call from Jae during breakfast, one of the ladies looking after Clark. Apparently, the League's gift had been very well-received and their friend was now in the garden, reading in the sun, looking very much at peace. The news had had left all of them smiling, and breakfast continued on a happier note. As long as Clark knew that they loved him and they were only a few minutes away, then giving him space wouldn't be too difficult. 

Klose detailed the plan for the day. They would start in the North of the market square this time, before having a little break, and would visit some of the attractions out in the fields - apparently the theme park was having a multitude of special offers and other treats. The theme park sounded thrilling, and Klose had laughed a little, saying they hadn't seen anything yet. Afterwards, they would take a short evening stroll a little through the west side of the square before coming home - Klose had winked at them, a little excited for he knew how lively the evenings were, the food especially, and the League could feel themselves growing excited too in anticipation, but Clark wasn't here to experience it with them, and his absence put a little dampener on things. Klose took it upon himself then to remind them that there was _plenty_ to see, and do, that they wouldn't even get round to half of what the town had on offer, most likely. The theme park itself would be here for the next three weeks, more than enough time for Clark to join in, and they still hadn't even considered the festivals, theatre plays, sport days, patisserie competitions and much more. Clark wouldn't miss anything, Klose reassured them, for there was too much. In the end, the League left Cata, looking forward to the day ahead.

 

 

Wednesday, three am.

The Ghosts had stayed up late into the evening last night, discussing their plans. The second air strike had been announced around ten pm, and the media outcry had been nothing short of furious, but _not_ at the coup - the anger had been directed at the Elders, the stubborn old gits who were refusing to step down, selfishly thinking of themselves. The coup had spun their narrative well, for sure. And now, with all the millions dead, and more at risk, the Ghosts knew the time for action was now.

The plan had been set:

First, get Eheto to safety. They would need to move under the cover of darkness, for all their sakes.

Then straight to Elima.

Get hold of military communications, disperse the troops. 

Take the coup hostage. Force them to stand down, by _any_ means necessary if it came to it, but preferably the less bloodshed, the better.

Free the Elders, _but_ have the realm recognise the need for fair representations, and call for Elections.

It sounded simple enough, but the men knew they would have to act _fast_. The key to all this was getting control of the military - without that, they were dead, for sure. The Ghosts knew they didn't physically have the numbers to station themselves at all the military bases on the ground, nor was time on their side, and so the goal was to gain control from the very top, and that meant the military leaders, Commander General Lierna, and Executive Lieutenant Buri. They wouldn't be easy to break, Yena was clear, and so interrogation or otherwise, Yellow would need to infiltrate the IGC networks, and piggyback his way into military HQ, overriding all commands by General Ishiov and Superintendent Commander Djutio. Xanderian airspace control was directly managed by the military, so control the military, control airspace, and therefore, control movement.

Jason checked his watch now: three fifteen am. He turned to face his men, armed, strapped and ready to go.

"Men, this is it. We can't wait any longer, not with everyone's lives at stake. We _know_ what we need to do, especially now. The coup think they've won; they're comfortable enough to get on camera, with an army loyal to their cause, despite not even being recognised as legitimate by the rest of the realm. All that's gotta change. The moment the realm acknowledge these guys as the real deal, its game over, and they'll have our heads. So, we need to move _now_. We all know the plan. If anything goes wrong, you take my ship, and get out of here, the controls will already be set-"

The Ghosts began to voice their dissent, angry. 

"No buts. No nothing, if shit goes sideways, get out. If they capture us and find out we're from Earth, then we'll be dragging our people into this mess."

"No _fucking_ way Red, that's not the way we do things." Black spoke, fists clenched, and the rest of the Ghosts stared back at him, eyes hard.

Jason looked at them, not willing to bend on the matter.

"I got you into this mess-"

"Fuck off, we chose to come here." Grey's tone was biting.

"You have people who depend on you back home."

"So do you, so try a-fucking-gain." Purple folded his arms, staring down at Jason.

"For fuck's sake, I can't let you die on my account!" Jason swore, furious now that these guys weren't budging.

"So we don't fuck up, then." Blue spoke calmly, looking at them all, and they nodded back at them.

Jason threw his hands in the air, frustrated, at them, at himself. These were good men, men who were kind, solid, who he'd laughed with, joked aside, wept with, comforted, shouted at in the midst of gunfire, men who'd covered each others lives, taking bullets and all manner of injuries for each other. He shook his head. He'd asked them here, to help, away from Ghost protocol. If things went well, then it was likely their efforts wouldn't be recognised. If things went to pot and they ended up dead, then no-one would know, and their families would never hear back from them again. On Earth it was similar thing - Ghosts weren't supposed to exist after all, but at least they were paid well for their work, provided with equipment, bases, all free for their use, and should they die, their families would be taken care of handsomely for the rest of their lives, and that meant everything, from education, to health, the best of housing.and more. Out here though, in alien utopia? Zilch. Jason had brought them out here knowing all this, of course, but still, now that they were about to go up against this coup, he couldn't but feel a little anxious.

He breathed out a long sigh.

"Listen, Red." A hand was on his shoulder. It was Green. "We're here to help. We know the risks, especially now that we're _not_ on Earth; if any of us weren't comfortable with it, then we'd have asked you to take us back after we got the target to safety. You can't do this alone, so _for crying out loud_ , let us help you. We're trained to deal with this sort of thing, we've done it before, and we'll do it again. Alright?"

Jason bent his head, his throat tight. They knew what he was asking of him, and without them, he and Yena had nothing.

A few seconds of silence passed.

"Alright." Jason turned back to meet grinning faces, smirking. Cocky fuckers, he thought.

He swore to himself that he would protect his team, no matter the cost.

"Alright, we're doing this. All or nothing, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, boss."

"We hear ya."

"Ready when you are."

The group chorused their agreements, and Yena met his Jason's eye, nodding silently.

"Right then. Let's get our gear on the plane, we're moving in twenty."

And with that, the Ghosts prepared for action.

 

 

The League were nearing the end of their evening stroll late, but giddy. Excited voices reminisced about the past events of the day.

The North of the market square had been busy, filled with all sorts of treasures, attractions, just like the East. Once again, the League had had all manner of treats pressed into their hands, and they'd arrived at the West side meadow, the theme park in swing. It was wonderful, and the League felt themselves loosen for the first time, cameras already snapping away. Klose's wife, Mera, had joined them, along with their three year old son, Jacu, and they made for a beautiful family, lovely and kind. Barry had taken a delight to the little one immediately, and soon the boy could be seen hoisted atop of Barry's shoulders, face bright as he laughed. Rollercoaster after wave rider, rides with claw hands that spun its occupants high into the air, rides that were dark and scary, those that were light hearted - there were so many, and the League tried as many as they could. They had started off as a group, but had soon split apart, with Diana and Shayera running off hand in hand, cackling wildly, as they ate popcorn, hotdogs, marshmellow delights and other assortments that reminded Bruce very much of a little someone obsessed with chilidogs and icecream. Interspersed in the rides were all sorts of stalls, with strange but _delicious_ foods, games - halfway into their visit, Bruce had rolled up his sleeves, his shirt unbuttoned at the top as he laughed with Barry, sent quips back and forth with John, and bet J'onn he couldn't crack the all time SuperSmash weight Bros's record, to which J'onn had simply given him a _look_ , defeating the record to cheers and whooping of the people around them. 

Later, Shayera and Barry had walked off, arms linked over shoulders as they drank fizzy pop, teasing one another, whilst the two J's had inconspicuously disappeared, apparently drawn to a "ride" appropriately named Space Mountain. Bruce had been suspicious then; the group had split off a _little_ too convenient for his liking, and that had left him and Diana in the middle, holding treats.

Diana had laughed a little, certain of the group's intentions, and had stepped forward to boldly link arms with Bruce, whose ears had turned pink by now. Their linked arms turned to hand holding after a little while as they slowly made their way around the grounds, having given up on the large map. At one point, Bruce thought he'd imagined Barry looking over at them above Shayera's head, his arm around her waist, and he'd winked before giving them a thumbs up. Diana had gasped a little before giggling, and Bruce had tried to remain stern but failed, smirking instead. A little while longer; Diana had moved a little closer to him until her chest was dangerously close to his arm, her hair spilling onto his shoulders - at one point, she'd given him a _look_ , and under the golden glow of the bulbs decorating the ground, Bruce had been lost for words, staring at her lovely form in her cotton dress, eyes twinkling. Time seemed to slow to a standstill, and Bruce swore that it was only him and this wonderful woman for miles around, under these lights, in their own little world. Diana had let him stare, basking in his adoration, smiling, and without warning, Bruce suddenly leaned in, kissing her at the corner of her mouth, before before placing a light brush of a kiss over her lips. Diana had inhaled softly, eyes fluttering shut as Bruce's hand reached up to trace the side of her face, stroking her cheek. The two looked at each other then, wanting this more than _anything_ , understanding one another wordlessly- Diana's, eyes wide and full of love, and Bruce simply gazing at her, a small smile on his face and so _deeply_ in love, before they met as one, kissing properly this time.

And, _oh_ , what a kiss it was. Bruce was in heaven, he just _had_ to be. But before they could go any further - and they had already moved in close by now, his arms around her waist, pulling her close, Diana lost in Bruce's clean shaven scent, a little voice came out of nowhere.

"Dueje, Mami, Jueyr ' Oieek!"

 _Translation: Look, Mummy, they're kissing_!"

The young high pitched voice startled them back to awareness, and Diana and Bruce broke apart, only to find that a little girl had appeared right beside them, a big wide smile, pointing at their faces. 

"Oieek!"

_Translation: Kissing!_

A woman had run up to them, seemingly apologising as she dragged the young girl away. The two of them, now red faced, said nothing for a few seconds before bursting into laughter, Diana smoothing back her hair, giggling at Bruce, who by now had his head in his hands, utterly embarrassed. Even with the language barrier, it was obvious as to what the little girl was referring to, if her mother's apologies were anything to go by, and Diana laughed even more, wrapping her arms around him. Eventually Diana pried his hands away from his face, and the two had stood for a few moments, holding hands, looking at each other, smiling, before Bruce spoke, voice warm.

"I _swear_ to you, and to us, that this will work. I'll _make_ it work- whatever needs to be done, I'll do it. I am _not_ losing you, never."

Diana's smile seem to grow even bigger, and she wasted no time in kissing Bruce, over and over, till she broke away, their foreheads touching. 

" _I am yours_."

That was all she said, voice all breathy and lips tantalisingly sweet.

Bruce had looked up, a little stunned, before he'd smiled and took her hands, kissing them, kissing her lightly on her hair, and finally, a little one on her nose. Satisfied they were on the same page, the two resumed their hand holding and continued on their tour of the fair.

The rest of the evening consisted of the League taking an evening stroll through the West part of the market square, and the town seemed to come alive, with people singing and linking arms in the street, dancing merrily, little puppet plays, spoken poetry, people freely helping themselves to all sorts of strange delights - ice cream that turned one's skin into an array of colours, sweets that seemed to dance in the mouth, crackers and little meat rolls, small pots of noodles, curries, even a kebab stand where one could slice off the meat themselves, a sushi bar in the middle at one point, a rotating table that seemed to replace every item plucked off as if by magic. It was _all_ magical, and the group had taken their time, enjoying the scene. Though they didn't hold hands this time, Diana and Bruce had stayed close, hands brushing each other now and then. The rest of the League seemed to give them space, as if they _knew_ already, but not one mentioned the obvious, and the new couple were thankful for the privacy. Eventually, the group had made it back to Cata, dropping off Mera and Jacu along the way, who by now was asleep in J'onn's arms, the boy comforted by the Martian's soothing voice. It had been a wonderful day, and though the group missed Clark, they were sure that he would join them very soon.

The group made their way upstairs after thanking Klose repeatedly and bidding him farewell. Barry had to be helped to his room by Lantern and J'onn, coming down from a sugar high. Shayera had cheekily opted for a little nightcap, and had caught sight of Bruce and Diana holding hands before the man reluctantly let go, Diana's chest pink and heaving. The Amazonian had watched him go before turning, caching sight of Shayera, blushing properly now. Shayera had simply raised her glass, smirking, and Diana had joined her before the two retreated to the living room, voices a little giddy as they sat close, Diana trying and failing to keep a straight face in the midst of Shayera's teasing. Eventually, the two had called it a night, and the household had gone to bed, happy.

 

 

_Roughly ninety-six hours later..._

The lights were too fucking bright, Jason thought to himself, as he brought his hand up to his face. A voice somewhere apologised.

He put his hand down now, staring at the screen to his right, and a few of the Ghosts to his far left. Most had received some degree of injury; Jason's was probably the worst, with two bullet holes, one in the leg, one just above his hip, and a couple of nasty burn marks from a few lasers that had taken him by surprise.

They were tired, hungry, and now Jason had to do _this_ , in this weird ass chair, fucking makeup on his face. To his right, Yena sat calmly, enduring the torture of the makeup lady, but Jason could hear the man muttering in Futian, and he nudged him a little, grinning. Jason swore that his friends were laughing at him - their postures were ramrod straight, arms folded across their chests, but he could just about detect their lips twitching. He groaned a little into his palms. Was-was that Blue, and where had the fucker got a _camera_ from? Jason swore to kill the man, who simply gave him a thumbs up, as if that made it any better.

Jason cursed quietly and stared at the ceiling. How the fuck had it come to this? That he was sat here about to-

 _Three_.

 _Two_.

 _One_.

Jason cleared his throat.

Time to shine, baby.


	30. Coup d'etat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ghosts attack the coup. Jason is dropped with a bombshell.
> 
> Day one and two of the ninety six hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late. Heads up: this is a _long_ chapter!

_Roughly ninety six hours earlier_...

Wednesday, four past four am.

Jason looked at the young woman, who was faced away from him, wiping back tears. Behind them were the Ghosts, giving them a little privacy.

"Eheto, you're sure this is the safest place for you? Nowhere else?" They were somewhere a little East, not far from the city. Eheto would be staying in her mother's hometown, Lecrae, at least until all this was over. A quiet, peaceful place by the looks of it.

"I am certain, Red. I cannot ask for anymore; thank you."

Eheto turned to Jason now, face sad. "I have made many mistakes, and I...thank you, for sparing my life."

Jason studied her for a moment longer before speaking. "You have, but I'm not too sure that you were entirely to blame. In any case, you helped us at Ikisi, you helped me with Superman; you didn't have to but you did. You were kind, patient and compassionate, and I can't fault that."

Jason sighed a little, closing his eyes. "I was a little harsh on you, and I don't regret that. Listen, Eheto. You have chance to start afresh. If all you've said is correct, then the programs ran in Feuwity and Ikisi were to be done in secret. And since they're now gone, then there shouldn't be anything tying you back to that to those places, no records, nothing. I know that your future career is important to you, but its not the end of the world. You still have an opportunity to go elsewhere, to do other things. For now, keep your head down, until all this is over. Here-"

Jason brought out an envelope, which contained a couple hundred of notes, enough to last Eheto for a long while. The money was part of that which he'd earned out here in Xan, several trips worth, where he would do odd jobs for cash, like helping to move things, or other manual labour, since anything more required identity cards, insurance numbers and social security information. Jason gave the envelope to Eheto now, who tried to refuse it, pushing it back into his hands, but Jason stood resolute. 

"-No use arguing with me. Take it, alright? It's not much, but it will cover you for a couple of months at least, til you can find ya feet. Like I said, staying low is important for now until this shit blows over. Use your time here to rest and clear your head a bit. I'm telling you now, things might be a little confusing for a while, up in the air, and so I'd rather you have a little something to support yourself. And look, the next time you get offered a top secret contract which claims to give you everything you've ever wanted and _more_ , take a good step back and think, hard. Ask a _lot_ of questions, and if they can't answer or refuse to do so in the name of "confidentiality", then walk away, 'cause its not worth it."

Eheto accepted the envelope now, staring down at it. Jason could see how her hands trembled and he took them, squeezing them gently. 

"You'll be fine, miss, trust me. Here."

Jason pulled out a card which on he'd written his contact details, and gave her a spare apilio. "If things ever get rough for ya, or someone's after you and you've got nowhere to run, or you're out of money, drop me a bell, and I'll get back to you. I've saved your contact details already. For now, I'm afraid its end of the road for us."

Eheto nodded, trying to speak, her throat tight. She held onto Jason's hands, and simply shook them, eyes filled with tears. Eheto was grateful; she could have easily ended up like all the others, like Magdaia even, had it not been for these men. She turned to them now, bowing, smiling, and they did the same. Yena made his way to them, placing an arm around her shoulder and nodded to Jason, who stepped back to join the rest.

"Come, Eheto. I'll see you off."

They took their leave then, and Jason switched his attention back to the Ghosts.

"Green, how far are we from Elima?"

The man pulled up his apiliwe, studying the map of Pantheto. "Not far, Red; less than an hour for sure."

"Good." Jason beckoned to the men now, and they moved towards the map, just as Yena stepped back into their midst.

"Gather round, men. We'll be landing above the rear entrance; a set of stairs will get us to the ground. Once we're on land, the ship will be cloaked from view, and we'll need to move fast. According to the map, there should be an underground entrance that will lead us up to the basement levels where the Elders will most likely be held. Yena will be taking charge of this; follow his orders - we'll be going right up; the Elders will remain as they are for now. If the IGC lockdown and air travel restrictions are anything to go by, then the coup leaders will _still_ be in the Pantheto; its their headquarters after all. It's just a matter of determining _where_ they'll be at this present time, whether that's in the Council Arena, or in their own separate living quarters on the upper floors. Remember-"

Jason pointed to various points on the map. Drone sites.

"- these are where we'll set up our drones to canvas the halls, Green you'll give me the directions and I'll feed it in. If they're in the Council Arena, then great - we'll storm the castle. If not, then we'll need to draw them out from wherever they're hiding and force them all into one place. The first choice for their security will naturally be the Emergency Operations Centre; it's an underground bunker, pretty damn secure and keeps them out of danger. Great for them, not so much for us - I'll have to blow the bitch to get through to them and it'll draw too much attention above ground, blocking our way out, thought it almost certainly guarantees they'll all be there. The best thing for us, therefore, is to force them to stay _overground_ , where they're out in the open. More options for us. Ideally, I want them forced into the Council Arena, which is the focal point of the building. Lots of windows, nice ground to access - obviously not great for them. To _do_ that though, we'll need to force them into that room from _both_ the left and the . In other words, we'll need to attack them from every point available, from every side, till they have no choice but to retreat inwards."

Jason paused, making sure the men were on board, before continuing.

"I've got a couple of small explosives and other manner of hell lined up. Not enough to cause serious damage, of course, but enough to get those attacking to back the fuck off. Well have to split up, take out as many patrols as possible, and then start drawing away their attention. A distraction, simply put. That'll leave a group of armed security in charge of getting the coup leaders to safety. Whatever it is, bear in mind we want them above ground."

"As long as we cover our bases, we should have them trapped." Black murmured in appreciation.

"That's right. There are thirteen of us, and since the Council Arena is here, first floor, our aim is therefore to block their exits, if they are up there already, or if not, force them _up_ by orchestrating chaos in the floors _below_. Green, I'll need you to keep oversight of each of our positions, we'll need to know if a particular route is too heavy, you know the drill; Yellow - military communications - get us a lockdown, block all other access, the quicker the better; we'll need those military commands sent out, pronto. Black, Fuschia and White: East. Me, Grey and Orange: South. Black and Yena, North, and White, Purple: West, along with Green and Yellow. I've supplied each of you with your own set of explosives, and the drones will implant a couple to distract the forces, and get us inside under the chaos. We all clear?"

"Clear." the group chorused.

Jason checked his watch: four fourteen am.

"Let's go. We've got a coup to overthrow."

 

 

They had been flying for a while, more than halfway in fact. The Ghosts were in the body of the ship, a few taking a short nap, some looking over their inventory, and Black, who was eating Jason's cereal bars one after the other, smirking whilst he did so; Jason swore to kill the man once all this shit was over. In the cockpit sat Jason and Yena. The plane was on autopilot, and Jason spent the time reading a book, _The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy by Douglas Adams_ , a new favourite of his. He spared a glance over to Yena who'd been sitting quietly, staring outside the window. They hadn't spoken much, and Jason was touched that a man he'd only known for less than three weeks had risked his life several times over to help the League, and himself, and now, the Ghosts. Jason bookmarked the page with his finger and stared out of the window a little to his right, keeping Yena in the corner of his eye.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Yena swivelled round after a few seconds of silence, evidently confused. Jason chuckled a little at the expression on his friend's face.

"It's a saying on Earth. Basically asking you what's up, what's troubling ya, what's on ya mind, that sorta thing." He grinned, and Yena smiled, a little embarrassed.

"It is nothing, my friend." He sighed, and now Jason put the book down, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at the man, smirking.

"Spill the beans, princess, we ain't got all day."

The two laughed at that, and Jason waited, patient. Eventually Yena spoke, hands clasped.

"I am just thinking...about my family, my boy."

Jason swore a little, pissed that the man hadn't mentioned anything about a family - _fuck_ , he thought. This guy was out here risking his life and he had a family, a fucking _kid_ , well shi-

"There is no need to be angry, Red." Yena spoke calmly, smiling a little, but Jason wasn't happy.

"You coulda _mentioned_ that fact a while back." Jason muttered angrily.

"I very well could have done, but that would not have changed any outcome involving me wanting to help."

Jason turned away slightly, jaw clenched, and Yena could see that his friend was pissed. He waited, allowing the man to speak first.

"Wife, kids?"

"Hele, and our little boy, Kaprech."

"How old?" Jason's tone was clipped.

Yena stared out the window as he spoke quietly. "Five years old."

Jason bowed his head. Orange had a little one that was about two years old, if he remembered correctly. Cute kid, he'd visited the Ghosts once out in Brooklyn and had spent half the time running amok, and the other half spent on Purple's shoulders, giggling wildly at his new found height. Jason said nothing for a long while, drumming his fingers on his chair. Eventually he cocked his head towards Yena, whom he could feel watching him.

"Are they safe?"

"Not until this coup is over."

Jason nodded. He let silence reign for a while before speaking again. "I can't thank you enough,Yena, for all you've done. No-" Jason cut off Yena, who tried to downplay his heroism.

"Nope, Yena, don't even start with that. You've risked a hell of a lot to get here, and now you're about to go even further. Shit, there's nothing I can do...or _say_ that is enough, so thank you, Yena. I can't promise you that you won't get hurt, but I swear to you, I've got your back, and I'm getting you, _all_ of us through this, alright?"

The two men looked at each other, Jason's eyes hard, and Yena assessing his friend. Eventually Yena nodded, a small smile on his face, and held out a hand. They shook firmly. 

"Tell me about the little one, I bet he's a right handful eh?"

Yena chuckled, and for the next twenty minutes, Jason learned a little about Yena and his family. Yena had grown up with dreams of being a Sicai'ari, a special forces equivalent on Earth, and had achieved his dream, starting at the tender age of seventeen, but gradually, the dream turned into gradual nightmare. He had met his wife, Hele, one rainy afternoon when he'd been stationed far up North. Kind, generous, and determined, Hele had great plans to study and become a solicitor, but the lack of funds had put a hold on her plans, and she'd decided to go for being a teacher, following Yena back to the city. Somehow, the two had made it work, and Hele found that she loved teaching. Years later, tired of constantly being on the move, Yena applied for medicine, being inspired to study it after many stints spent in the military infirmary, helping to care for a few colleagues. Thankfully, the military had been keen to keep him on and had generously offered to pay for his training, so long as he could serve in some capacity. Yena had therefore graduated, and transferred to the medical department, starting as a junior medical officer before making his way up the ranks. During this period, the couple had put delayed having children to their unstable lifestyle, despite wanting to have a child. Hele had fallen pregnant during their early years of marriage but the stress of work and moving had resulted in a miscarriage, devastating the couple. Medicine had provided Yena with a stable career, and now that the two had were well settled, they had began trying for a baby, only to find the process difficult. Multiple unsuccessful attempts, tears, arguments, and broken hearts - but one day, out of the blue, Hele had found out that she was with child, and the couple's life changed forever. After almost two years of heartache, they were now having a child, and now that Kaprech was here, their beautiful, bright and inquisitive son, their joy was complete.

And now Yena was risking it all, his own life, his family, just so that they, along millions of others out there in the realm, could have a better future.

Jason listened to Yena intently, laughing at times, and asking a few questions. Part of him felt a little something at the prospect of having children - was that a future open to him? He knew he loved kids; he'd stepped in as caretaker for his mother, provider for most of his life as an orphan on the streets of Gotham, protecting children even younger than him from those preying on the weak, scavenging for meagre scraps here and there, huddling with threadbare blankets and piss-soaked clothing. He'd sacrificed his well-being and safety many times.

Could _he_ be a father? A husband, even?

The more Jason thought about it, the more he found himself liking the idea. Now was _not_ the best time obviously, for many reasons, but sometime in the future, if he were to ever quit being a Ghost and live and work in Danver permanently, something ordinary and domestic, with frequent visits from uncle Tim, his abuelo, Alfred, Talia, who would claim to hate being referred to as "grandma" - youth was all the rage with that woman, but would not-so-secretly relish being such a close, important part of Jason's life as his Mother -

Could it be so?

Their conversation drew to a close as they approached the Pantheto, noting the various military aircrafts stationed at the ISSA borders and at Elima. 

"Ten minutes guys, gear the fuck up."

The men complied, strapping on equipment, masks on, positions ready.

 _Five minutes ETA_.

 _Three minutes ETA_.

 _One minute ETA_.

A little while longer and then-

"We're here."

Jason waited for the ship to ground to a halt. Yellow had already gained access to the IGC mainframe, in order to help disable the security manning the underground entrance to the rear of the Pantheto. Outside, Jason counted four guards that would need taking out. He loaded his sniper rifle, silencer attached, with the rest of the men stationed by the door, waiting for his signal. Opening a small latch, Jason let the nose of the rife poke out slightly as he took the guards out in quick succession, before they knew what was even happening.

"Coast clear: get going."

And with that, the first step of the plan was in motion.

 

 

Signal given, the Ghosts moved quickly on the ground, keeping low.

"Brown, you're up."

Brown fished out an access controller, and after a few moments, security override was achieved. "Done."

"Yena, take the lead."

Yena moved to the front of the group, listening to Green's directions. All of them had the floorplan up on their screens, and they moved quickly, rifles up.

"Approaching the rear entrance door, Brown, Yellow."

The two Ghosts moved seamlessly, working together to achieve access. A couple of seconds, and they were in.

"Night-vision!" Yena called out.

Night-vision on, the Ghosts adapted quickly to the darkness, with Grey taking out the few cameras plotted in the nooks of the walls of the tunnels. They moved as one solid unit, barely making any sounds. A few more minutes, and then Green's voice came cracking in their ears.

"We should be approaching the sub-basement levels about fifty yards ahead. Keep your eyes and ears open for the Elders, but they're not the priority."

Yellow spoke now, voice slightly raspy. "Getting heat signatures on infra-red; about ten or so; most likely guarding the Elders."

Yena nodded to himself. They were right outside a door which, after a couple of steps, would lead to the basement levels above. Halting to the group, he listened for a few moments. Faint voices, laughter? Probably the guards chatting amongst themselves. Good - they weren't aware of what had happened at the rear end, and so the Ghosts would take them by surprise.

"Red, Blue, Black, you're with me in front. The rest of you: directly behind us, we'll need the cover. Ready?"

The group had re-positioned themselves, rifles up, postures braced. "On my count. Three...two, one-"

The Ghosts burst through the door. Swift, methodical, they took down the guards with practiced ease, not a single word passed between them. To the other sides, the Elders sat in their jail cells, straining to look at them. Jason made his way over to them. Crouching, he flipped his visor open, watching their faces turn from baffled confusion to familiar as they recognised him.

"Red?" Yamatao's voice was croaky, head bowed.

Jason ran a quick eye over them all. A couple clearly beaten - likely resisted the coup at some point, chained to the floor, dirty, a little gaunt. The coup would probably have them cleaned up and looking presentable should they want to parade them in front of the realm, acknowledging the transfer of power. He shook his head.This shit wasn't right, but right now, they didn't have time. He glanced at the Ghosts briefly, who'd already helped themselves to the solider's handsets and communicators - it would give the Ghosts a good idea of how many men they should prepare to expect above ground. Jason caught sight of White lifting his arm to him and tapping twice on the watch - they had to leave, now. Jason turned back to the Elders.

"Listen, I don't have time. I need you all to stay as quiet as possible. We'll get you out of here, but not until we've got control of the situation. So sit tight, and hang in there."

He made eye contact with them all, their eyes weary and old. 

Nodding, he stood up and made his way straight back to the Ghosts, feeling the stare on his retreating back.

"They'll be alright. Continue, Yena."

The Ghosts continued to the end of the tunnel, meeting another door which would open up to a set of stairs, which would _then_ lead them directly onto the ground floor of Pantheto. Jason checked his watch: five thirteen am. 

"On it." Yellow and Brown moved into action, not waiting to be told what to do. They needed that door open.

"Red, we'll need an idea of what to expect. It's time time for the drones. Green, are you set?"

"Yeah, gimme a sec."

Jason took out a few drones from his bag and passed them to a couple of his men, who helped him set them up. Job done, Jason put the controller handset on his head and turned to his display of the floorplan. Activating the controls, the drones lifted into the air silently, ready to obey their master. He turned to Green now.

"Green, whenever you're ready."

"Ready. Okay: through this door, up the stairs and you'll be out in the open, so try to get as high as you can and stay outta sight. Get us a good view of the ground first before we move."

Jason obeyed. The Ghosts crowded round another of Yellow's laptops to look at the live feed the drones broadcast. Up the stairs, and into the ground floor, which was large, and Jason spent a couple of seconds getting a drone into each corner of the room, before compiling the display. It wasn't busy, with various armed guards on patrol- no more than twelve, Jason counted-, and a few officials here and there, but the fact that these were _civilians_ caused the Ghosts to look at each other. None of them liked having civilian causalities; in most cases, the deaths were to be expected. There was nothing that could be done but hope that whatever distraction the Ghosts caused, the people would have enough sense to get out of the way, fast. 

"Boys, we happy with what we've got so far?" Jason spoke without looking at the rest, his gaze focused on the screen.

"Yeah, its not bad."

"Right you lot, any chatter as to where the coup are? Yellow, how we doing on the communications side?"

"Apparently there's a meeting taking place nearby, they're probably all there." Taupe spoke, with Fuschia nodding, his eyes closed in concentration.

Jason turned to Yena, who was studying the map. The man scrolled across the screen a few times before speaking. 

"Ground floor, most likely the breakfast area, which is in the West wing of the building."

Jason glanced at the time: Five twenty seven am. Yena was right; they were probably having a breakfast meeting. Coup's took a lot of planning, and it would make sense to have an early start to the day.

"Ok, good. I'm sending two drones up the first floor; get us a good view there. The breakfast area has too many exits; the Council Arena is best, as planned, on the first floor. We'll need to force them up there, but not any further that that. So, here's what we're gonna do: we'll need to make the ground floor inaccessible to them, but we'll need to make anything other than the first floor a _bad_ idea. Therefore, I want on this floor: South wing men, East wing men. Distract, lots of noise, hurry any civilians out of the area if you can. Force the coup to retreat upwards since access to their underground bunker is a complete no go. North, West, I want you to follow the coup, keeping as far back as possible. We wanna box them in, so North, take one set of stairs to the first floor, West, take the other set. We want to keep the group central, so that the only feasible option left for safety is the Council Arena, the focal point of the building. You get a clear shot, you take it. Pick them off one by one so that it'll be just the coup and one or two armed men inside that Council Arena. _As the coup enter the Arena, you go in after them_ , you hear me? I don't care what's going on, to us or anyone else or anything outside, once they're in, clear off the remaining security and stand the coup down. The two military bitches, Buri and Lierna, might try something so disarm them first, and be sure to keep a good distance apart, no excuses. Once you've got them hostage, let us know. That's our signal to come up and help you guys. We all clear on that?

The Ghosts nodded, stance hard.

"Green, I'll need you to direct me through the drones to the outside. If we're gonna force them up to the first floor, then we need to make sure they _stay_ on the first floor. So I'll need to create one hell of a racket on the second floors and above. Again, lots of noise, lots of commotion. The point is everyone: get the coup to the first floor. Military offices are down the hall in the opposite direction, so Yellow, Green, you'll go with the North and West groups. The moment you two reach the first floor, your priority is military command. Leave the coup to the others."

"And what happens when the forces try to retaliate?"

"Let them, we're expecting that. Gas masks on, use your smoke bombs and night vision to move under the disguise of smoke. The forces won't be expecting that, cause they haven't prepared to be attacked like this. It'll throw them into chaos, so use the opportunity well to cover as much ground as you can. Once the coup is in the Arena, and our men have successfully taken them hostage, then the armed forces will essentially be "forced" to stand down, not risking the lives of their leaders. They will have called for more reinforcements already, but that's where Yellow will come. You've got the military commands already; work with Green to disperse the incoming units. Remember: confusion, disorgansation, chaos and confusion- then, disperse, as the ultimate goal."

"Are we all clear on that?"

"Yes boss." the Ghosts spoke as one.

"Great." Jason turned to the Yellow's laptop. Five thirty-three am. They needed to get moving. 

"Green, I'm droning up to the first floor now; another two are going outside. Once the coup have reached the first floor, I'll create noise on the upper floors, forcing them to stay on the first. Right - first floor watch-"

The Ghosts looked at the screen. Little activity; two cleaners mopping the floor, what looked like a secretary of sorts walking into an office. Very good.

"Time to go men. We all know where we're going?"

Nods all round.

And with that, the Ghosts sprang into action.

 

 

Seven fifty four am.

Jason leaned against the wall, catching his breath. God, his chest hurt like _fuck_. He brought up a hand to wipe away the sweat lining his forehead, and stared at his hand, clearly trembling. Beside him, the Ghosts were also slumped against the wall, a few bowed over, catching their breath. It had taken them more than **two** hours to break through, but they'd finally had done it.

They had the coup.

Jason closed his eyes, smiling a little to himself. 

He couldn't believe it.

They had used a ridiculous amount of ammunition, and at many times, had to resort to hand to hand combat to physically get past some of these armed men.Smoke had been pretty much everywhere, but now that the haze was clearing, the Ghosts could see the damage they'd inflicted. It was a pitiful sight, if they were honest. These armed men were, at the end of the day, men. Men who hadn't much of a choice with regards to this military coup takeover; it was play along, or lose your job, and Jason couldn't blame them. Coups were almost always messy, they all knew that, but that fact didn't make the sight before them any harder to swallow. 

Jason turned to the door now. Already, Yena, the North and Wing teams were inside, coup taken hostage. Jason would have loved to have seen their faces first, Semeticai'a' especially, but he'd been too preoccupied with controlling the drones outside with one hand, shooting with another, and trying to shield himself and his men against the hail of bullets heading their way. The attack had been heavy, and for a long, horrible moment, Jason thought they were going to lose. Communication with Green had gone down by one point, which left their blind spots open. Yellow had had to viciously block out access that were attempting to override his own, and the Ghosts had reverted to plain old guerrilla warfare, sticking close by, shouting out familiar code names - it had been _that_ bad. Most of them had been hit, one way or another, and the exhaustion was evident through their ripped clothing, sensitive eardrums, and flushed faces. Jason had heard Yena cry out at one point, hit by a stray bullet, and Jason had powered through his fatigue, determined to get to his friend. Thankfully, the shot had been non lethal, but still, Jason's chest hammered painfully. Knowing all he knew about Yena now, his friends - he wasn't about to lose any of them. Several had come close to being shot dead- a few centimeters this way, up a bit, left - yet somehow, they had escaped death, and Jason didn't know how it happened. Call it fate, luck, the fucking universe - he didn't care; they had done it. Made it.

They had _actually_ done it, and Jason's face broke into a real smile now as the Ghosts hugged each other, patting one another on the back, some laughing out of sheer relief. Taking a deep breath, they made their way into the Council Arena-

The coup, on their knees, hands behind their heads. The Dunamis, or whatever the fuck they called themselves, captured.

The Ghosts surrounding them, rifles pointed.

If not for dignity, Jason would have wept right there and then. He didn't have any words to describe how he felt on seeing his friends, all accounted for at least, holding down the fort. Fucking murderers, traitors, and Jason felt his anger rise. Approaching the remaining Ghosts now, Jason could see that they too looked exhausted; he could detect tiny tremors running through their frames, trying to maintain their cool facades in standing upright. The Ghosts remained facing the coup, rifles ready, even as the other Ghosts met up with them. 

The room was silent.

Jason stepped forward, just once, staring at Semeticai'a', who stared straight back at him, eyes ablaze with fury, lips thinned.

"Honorable Semeticai'a'." Jason bowed mockingly, voice deadly.

The woman remained silent.

"I have to admit, this has been _quite_ a surprise. And if _we_ were taken by surprise-" Jason gestured to himself and Yena before continuing, "-then I can't imagine how the rest of the Elders must have felt, hell, even the realm."

"You fool! You know nothing!" Semeticai'a' spat at his feet glaring. 

"Did you know, Red, that she tried to have me killed?" Yena's voice sounded odd, flat. 

Jason quirked an eyebrow as he turned to his friend, whose finger was a little too close to the trigger for his liking. Yena had a strange look on his face; a cross between a tinge of madness and rage, and Jason knew that if he didn't step in now, Semeticai'a' would be dead before she hit the floor. The other Ghosts kept their attention on their new hostages, though their heads were angled towards Yena. Jason cast a glance at all of them: _no sudden moves_ and the blinks he received were in receipt of the message.

"Yes, its true - her little piggy, Pertre, gave the gist away, right before he met his _timely_ end. Apparently she gave the order. Checkov and his men ambushed me in my own home, with my _wife_ and _child_ sleeping upstairs, and took me far outside the city, ready to put a bullet through my head. But _Semeticai'a'_ here apparently "saved my life" - instead of me dying that Friday night, I was to be stationed front line in the riots, and killed _then_ , a cover for my "absence." Can you believe it, Red? How _considerate_ of her, so very thoughtful. Tell me, Red - how should I repay the favour?"

 _Not now, Yena_ , Jason thought. _Don't lose your cool_.

He took a tiny step towards his friend, palms raised, ignoring the way the man readied himself to fire, rifle slightly raised to meet Semeticai'a' in the forehead, his eye narrowed. 

"Yena." Jason started in a a low voice, keeping himself calm. "Don't do this. You have _every_ right to be mad-"

Yena braced himself, jaw clenched. 

"-none of us here are gonna deny that, but Yena, we need her _alive_ , and relatively unharmed if we can. I don't like her anymore than you do, believe me, but putting her to death now, without the rest of the people, the _realm_ knowing the truth? We'll be called murders, Yena. They'll call for our heads, the people will form mobs in the street trying to get to us. Remember what we discussed last night, all of us? The need to get the truth out there, for fair representation amongst the council, for regulation of power?"

Yena didn't move.

"You kill her now, its as easy as pie. But once you do, there's no going back, not when the bitch has plastered her fucking face across the realms. So I'm asking you, Yena, for the sake of your family's future, as well as that of the _millions_ whose lives and histories also depend on what we do here, right now - Yena, don't kill her. I'm sure she'll mock you, rile you up to do just that, cause if she can't have power, no-one else can. But, you're better than her, than _that_. Right now, we're looking at years, centuries even, of probably corruption, lies, bribery, money laundering, illegal and underhand dealings, treason, the murder of millions - all of them in front of you: their reward will come, definitely. But not now, not when everyone out there has no idea of the real truth."

Jason was now standing by the side of the gun, his focus on Yena. His friend seemed a little frozen, and Jason didn't know whether he'd-

"Fine."

Yena lowered his gun, and stepped back a little, head bowed. Jason approached his friend and with his back to the rest of the room, spoke into Yena's ear, his hand on his shoulder.

"I promise, you'll get your chance, I'll give you that. But not till all has been accounted for."

Yena looked up at Jason, and Jason looked back, face open. He wasn't lying. Yena nodded.

"Good man. I need you to get me updates on Yellow and his control of military command, go on."

Yena moved away now, to the other side of the room. Jason watched him go a little before turning to the coup.

"Weakling, fool, such a _waste_ -" Semeticai'a' began after Yena.

In one swift motion, Jason backhanded the woman, hard, not even sparing a glance at the way Semeticai'a's head reeled back. The rest of the coup flinched at the impact, the sound bouncing off the walls. Semeticai'a' slumped to the floor, a little dazed.

That was nowhere near what the bitch deserved, and they all knew it.

Jason addressed the rest of them, calm, hands clasped behind his back. "Honestly dunno how you guys can stand her, truly. Anyway, this is how its going to go down. We need your men to stand down-"

Lierna and Buri looked each other before looking at Jason, scoffing.

"We have more men, more resources - we outnumber you in every way, shape and form. Over my dead body will we give you even a fraction of out control.!" Her tone was acidic, biting, and Buri jutted his chin out, proud.

"Our men are loyal. There is nothing you can offer them that will turn them." His voice was so sure, so certain, that Jason pitied the man, just a little bit.

"We know that. We ain't got jack on you in that regard, but you've forgotten rule 101. A successful coup requires order, and without _that_? Well..." Jason let his voice trail off, wondering if they'd get the message.

Lierna and Buri's faces fell. They'd understood. 

Good.

"But anyway, back to the point. We'll be spending the next couple of hours in here."

Lierna began to struggle, Buri too, but the rest of the coup kneeled silently.

Jason walked over to them, just a little. He tutted. "You two, I don't want to do this, not yet at least, but if you keep struggling, I'm gonna have to ask these lovely fine gentlemen here to put a solid into each kneecap - then you'll _really_ have something to really struggle about. So if you'd like to at least retain your ability to walk, instead of us dragging your half crippled asses outta here, I suggest that you play ball."

He turned to Taupe now. "Purple, my man, help me secure this lot."

"About damn time, Red."

Jason pulled out several zip ties and together, he and Taupe had the coup leaders sat on chairs around a table, tied up, wrists and ankles in pairs. They needed the coup to look as comfortable as possible, though restricted. 

"We'll all be taking watch, so don't you try anything now." Jason's voice was a little mocking, but he was deadly serious. Leaving a couple of the Ghosts to keep watch, Jason went to the far side of the room, where Yena stood, waiting.

"You okay?"Jason asked in a low voice.

Yena stared out of the window, sighing. "I...will be. I'm sorry, Red. I did not mean to cause trouble back there-"

"No worries, I get why you reacted in that way, and none of us blame you, alright? To be honest, you're better than me, that woman would have been dead the second I laid eyes on her, but you're doing really well. Keep your cool, no matter what she or the other bitches say to ya."

Yena smiled at the name-calling. It was a fairly accurate assessment, in fact.

Jason grinned. "Yellow, where are we?"

A few seconds of nothing, and then Yellow's voice came onto the line, and Jason could detect the tremor in his friend's voice. "I've centered sole access into military command, practically had to re-write the whole damn system. I've sent out various commands to units across the city, and to the military aircraft on their way. Confusion, then disperse the lot. How are you guy's holding up? Any more gunfire?"

The Ghosts originally in this room had previously alerted the rest of team, over half an hour ago, that the coup had been taken hostage, and Jason had almost jumped in the air. He'd settled for a thumbs up to rest of his men, who were still covering each other in the midst of gunfire instead. At the time, Yellow was still struggling with gaining military access however, and without that, they all knew that even if they took the coup hostage, they'd all be be boxed in the Arena together, with armed men right on the other side. If they wanted to at least step outside the room, then they needed the military to back the fuck down, or preferably, be nowhere in the vicinity altogether. Yellow's new status was therefore an improvement, but that didn't mean reinforcements weren't on their way, and stepping outside the Arena now was a risky move. Until the military was dispersed, they'd be stuck inside the Arena, and that could mean hours.

Jason ran a hand through his hair. "How long d'ya think it would take, Yellow?"

"Honestly? Anywhere between couple of hours to a day. Word has to reach all the main areas, the ISSA border patrol, air traffic yadaya, and it'll take time for the forces to realise how disorganised its all become, enough to decide that it's not worth it anymore and disperse."

Jason and Yena looked at each other. Taking the coup hostage was one thing, but _keeping_ them was something else altogether. They'd be here for a while, at least, and that meant food, a change of clothes, both for themselves, and their prisoners. There was still the Elders downstairs to think about, too.

"Yellow, about the nuclear armoury, have you-"

"Taken care of, Red. Disabled the commands; we don't have anyone sending anything unless I say so."

"Good man. Stay put Yellow, Green-do ya hear me? Stay there. I know you guys are tired, but don't worry, I'll sort something out for ya."

"Alright, man."

"Sure thing, boss."

Jason turned to Yena now. "Its better to venture out now than later, whilst there are few of them out there. I wanna get a good idea of how many are on the ground, and those that are approaching. Help me get those drones out?"

Yena nodded. "Of course my friend."

Three of the drones had been destroyed in the strike, but the rest had remained relatively unscathed. Jason handed another controller handset to Yena and the two began to direct the drones over the area. There was a little silence for a while before Jason spoke in a low, thoughtful voice.

"Yena, these guys will need supplies. I'm going out there-"

"No, Red."

"And the the prisoners, both the ones here and the ones in the basement? Not that I give two shits about these scum bags-" Jason angled his head towards the coup. "-but if we want people to take us seriously, especially if we're a countercoup, overthrowing _another_ coup, then we need to at least keep them alive."

Yena whirled round to face him now. "If you go out there, and there's men pointing guns at you, there's no guarantee you won't make it back in."

"That's why we're sending out the drones, I'll need an estimate of the numbers. I thought about taking a hostage with me, but I can't risk them getting caught in the crossfire. I've got an idea, but I'll need a live feed of this room broadcast to the rest of the men inside the Pantheto. If the forces see the coup are unharmed and being taken care of, then they'll be reluctant to shoot me. I'll see if Yellow can hook me up."

Yena crossed his arms across his chairs and gave Jason a _look_. 

"C'mon, you got any better ideas?"

"Unfortunately, I do not, but does _not_ mean I am on board with the idea." His voice was clipped.

Jason sighed. "You don't have to like it, princess, you just gotta acknowledge that its the best idea we've got at the moment. If we make it so that keeping _me_ alive keeps the _coup_ alive, then we'll be alright."

Yena nodded a little. "Make it seem like hearing from you, within a certain time frame, is directly linked to the coup remaining alive. Nothing from you therefore means a dead coup, and for the forces, it means losing everything the coup ever promised. They can't risk losing all those promises, not especially since Semeticai'a's broadcast last night....fine, Red, just fine."

Jason grinned, clapping his friend on the back. Yena simply shook his head, chuckling a little at what the Bat had said about him. Unpredictable? More like a penchant for impossible situations.

"I'll inform the rest. For now, help me with the windows."

 

 

Hushed angry voices, a few glares thrown his way, and with Yellow hooking them up, Jason made his way out of the room, arms raised in surrender. Pointing rifles and high tech lasers right at him were armed forces, faces unreadable. Clearly they hadn't received their new commands. Jason sighed. At least their interaction was being broadcasted to the military, Yellow had connected a live feed and the Ghosts were able to see themselves on various apiliwe, including the screens inside the Arena. For all intents and purposes, it all looked rather...normal. Fine, the coup were tied at the wrists to their armrests, but apart from that? Nothing unusual. It was just a pity that he had to be making history looking like shit, Jason chuckled to himself, before straightening up, voice firm.

"My name is Red. In this room behind me are the leaders of your coup, Dunamis. As you can see from the screens-" Jason gestured to the walls before continuing. "- this a live feed, unfiltered, and more importantly, your coup leaders are unharmed. As long as my team receives word from me at _all_ times, with no loss of communication, then your coup will remain as they are, and we will provide them with clothing, and nourishment. Should anything happen to me, _anything_ at all, then I'm afraid its game over for your coup. And that means game over for all the things you were promised, all the benefits, payments, your job security, the future and welfare of your families - all that goes up in flames. No coup means a power vacuum, and with all that is at stake, the realm will be looking at all-out war between the planets as they struggle for power, which means millions of people will die. So before you make any sudden moves, think hard. Forget trying to snipe us through the windows, if your military get close enough, you'll see that I've lined the windows with explosives. Shoot us, and the whole place goes up, and that includes your coup, and your livelihoods."

Jason paused, making sure that those listening understood the gravity of the situation.

"I'm going back inside now. When you've made your decision, knock on this door, once for your agreement, and twice if you cannot agree."

Jason looked at them all before making his way slowly back into the room.

Now they just had to wait.

 

 

It was nearly five hours later, at eleven fifty five am, before the Ghosts received word.

Or rather, a knock.

 _Knock_.

The Ghosts held their breaths, with a few men trained on the door, rifles at the door. They waited.

 _Five seconds_.

 _Ten seconds_.

 _Thirty seconds_.

A minute.

And nothing else.

The relief was palpable. 

"Right men." Jason spoke to Yena privately before speaking Spanish into the communicators. Couldn't take any risk in being overheard by the coup, he mused. "We'll need food, water and clothing. I also wanna check up on Green and Yellow, get two of us guarding them as well. Any food recommendations, boys?"

"Got any pizza?"

"Could do with some Italian to be honest."

"Nah, I'm actually craving Chinese right about now."

"Thai?"

Jason could hear Black muttering broken Russian into the communicators, something about how stupid they all were, ordering Earth food on a fucking alien planet. Jason chuckled to himself, correcting Black as he spoke.

"You know what? How about I order, alright? I'm familiar with the food here, its good."

"And they won't try and drug us?" Fuschia looked a little skeptical.

"No, mom, not if they don't want to explain why there are six of the realms most recognisable leaders with bullet holes in their foreheads." Jason didn't miss a beat.

"If ya say so. Could really do with a bit of vodka." Fuschia looked wistful, and the Ghosts rolled their eyes at him, a few smirking.

"And the Elders?" Purple spoke, voice quiet.

"Don't worry about them, big guy." Jason patted his friend's shoulder and steered him to side, speaking in French now. "As soon as I've given our order, I'll have the army escort the Elders here also. We need their input if we wanna set up the Elections and a new government for the realm. The army won't harm them, not if they want their coup to remain as they are. Notice I've not mentioned anything about us overthrowing the coup or anything like that, so for now, the coup stays in place- at least, that's what the military will think. We'll keep the coup and the Elders on opposite sides of the room, we have more than enough space."

"Good." Purple nodded at Jason and walked him to the door. Jason beckoned Grey over to join them.

Once again, Jason slowly approached the military, his two friends remaining silent by his side. 

"Whose in charge here?"

"I am."

A tallish medium ranking official appeared, a commander, Jason deduced. No way would anyone higher be caught in the middle of this mess, and so publicly too.

"Red."

"Esse."

"Thank you for meeting me, Esse. We've got a only a few things to ask from you, nothing special alright, so don't worry about finding a damn helicopter or something." Jason chuckled but Esse's face stayed as blank as a stone. Jason soldiered on, undeterred. "A bit of food, something to drink, clothes for twelve plus six and six, and some bedding, blankets should be fine." He listed out the food items. It wasn't over the top, but he wasn't about to scrimp on good food, all fully paid for. "No funny business with the food, or the water, clothing- nothing at all. For your own sakes, do exactly as we say. My men and I take our word seriously, and as military men, we expect the same from you. We'll know if there's been tampering of any kind, chemicals, listening devices, you name it, we'll recognise it, and should we even _suspect_ a thing, I'll have the coup slaughtered on the spot, clear?"

"Clear. The food will be delivered in unsealed boxes."

"Good man. The second thing is a little something else. I want you and three of your men to head down to the lower basement, where you'll find the Elders in the old cells. Release them, and bring them to us."

Esse looked at Jason, furious, but remained silent.

"No, they are _not_ being restored, but I can't very well leave them to starve down there, can I? None of us are about to force the coup to transfer power back to the Elders, that isn't my concern. Just bring them here and we'll take care of the rest. Understood?"

"Understood." Esse's voice was gritted but Jason ignored it.

"One more thing. I need to check on something down the hall, and I'm going to bring two of my men with me to check it out. We have several men guarding the coup, so, as I've said to you before, and now again: should anything happen to us, or any loss of contact for any reason, the coup is finished. Clear?"

"Clear." The man couldn't sound more pissed even if he tried.

"Good job Esse. Go on and get the Elders, we'll be inside. Once you've got them, knock on the door, once, and someone will open for you. Meanwhile, myself and my two colleagues will be heading down the hall. Like I said, follow my instructions, and all will go well for you."

Jason turned to leave when Esse spoke, his voice failing to hide his anger. "What's in this for you? What do _you_ get out of all this? You're not from any of our planets, from this realm even, so how are _you_ benefiting from all this?"

He took a step towards Jason, and the Grey and Purple moved a little in front of him, ready to fuck shit up if it came to it. 

"Stand down, men." Jason spoke in German now. The men complied, taking a tiny step backwards. Jason moved a little closer to Esse.

"I understand your anger, truly." He ignored Esse's scoff and carried on. "We're foreigners, and honestly, we don't need to be anywhere near this. We don't even want to be, if I'm truly honest. There's nothing we want, personally; nothing to gain, no benefits, because as you've rightly said, _we're not from this realm_. But, dear Esse, your coup here messed up when they decided to gamble with the millions of innocent lives in this place, and we can't just sit by and watch it all burn down. If we wanted power for ourselves, then we would have taken it. Announced it, just like Semeticai'a' did. But we haven't. You're coup still remain in place, it's just that they're not able to come to the phone right now."

Jason paused, moving in even closer. He switched dialects to Xari'an now, one of the old native dialects of Xanderian origin, a little like Futian, Irkika even. It was a deliberate move to keep Grey and Purple from understanding, but it was for a good reason.

"A little part of this is _also_ a result of the way the League were treated out here. Now, I have no idea where they are, or what you've done with them, and I'll find out eventually. And when I do, Esse...understand that those responsible for pay. Listen to what I've just said, carefully-" Jason repeated himself to Esse, who looked alarmed. "I'm not attacking innocent people; that's what some of your leaders, your precious coup did, involving Xan and Gol in a war, in order that the IGC might lay down sanctions, create economic hardship, and give the people something to riot against and your coup leverage in making their bid for power."

Esse stared at Jason, the realisation dawning on him. Jason simply nodded.

"That's right, you're putting two and two together, aren't you? It's not your fault, I'm afraid neither of us were high enough on the chain to figure shit out. But _unlike_ "Dunamis", I'm not about to start using the peoples in some nefarious world-ending agenda. Your realm needs peace, stability, and _we're_ here to make that happen. So, Esse, play your part, and we'll play ours."

Esse looked at Jason but remained silent for a few seconds.

"How...how can I help?"

Jason assessed the man. He didn't trust him, not one bit.

"For now, just do as we say. Remember that the coup are overall still in charge, we have no interest in assuming such power; we're here to help centre the peace. Follow whatever orders you've been given and this should all be over soon, alright?"

The man nodded. Good. Yellow had already planted the seeds of differing commands, orders- sent out by gaining sole military command, and now it was only a matter of time before they took full effect, creating confusion, and breaking up the troops. Until then, they had to be patient.

"Good man." 

Jason beckoned to Grey and Purple with a slight nod, and the three of them made their way down the hall, to check on Green and Yellow at the command centre. He was glad to see the two men relatively well, and had a look at some of the work Yellow had been up to. Already, things were looking up. Some of the units at a few of the ISSA border patrols had already dispersed, and soon the news of their abandonment would spread, discouraging the other troops stationed elsewhere. Yellow pulled up a map of the troops and their current postings, but Jason noted something unusual, though he kept his face neutral. He tasked Grey, Purple and Green to trace the movement of the troops, and they were doing so now, speaking over one another. Yellow was busy talking Jason through the commands, and though he listened, he kept one eye on the anomaly he noticed. 

Somewhere in Xan, outside Eain a little. A number of troops concentrated to that area.

Odd.

Jason racked his brain. Special border patrols? They were usually in the heart of the city, or at the ISSA borders. 

Military base? Perhaps a secret one.

No, it was unlikely. Yellow's access allowed him full privy into all the shit the military had up their sleeves, and he and Green had spent the past two hours making out locations of bases, artillery, calculating routes and distances. The anomaly Jason had noticed _wasn't_ marked as some sort of base, facility even. A house maybe? A General, possibly, but then why would they require such security. Jason folded his arms now, and turned to Yellow.

"Yellow, whats th-"

"Food's here!" White's voice suddenly crackled through their communicators.

"Copy that." Jason once again turned his focus to Yellow and opened his mouth."Yellow, about tha-"

"We've got loads of blankets and some pillows too!" Orange sounded gleeful, and the Ghosts rolled their eyes, smiling at the antics of colleague.

"The-" Jason tried once more, attention now split.

"Elders are here." Brown popped up, voice smooth.

Jason immediately straightened, readying himself to leave. The Elders would want a familiar face, but more importantly, he couldn't have them blurting out details regarding the League, or asking for their whereabouts. He'd need to speak in another native dialect - it would make his friends curious, but it was better than them finding out about the League's mission here.

"That's my cue, men. The Elders will want a familiar face. I'll have food, water, clothing, bedding -the works, sent to you very shorty. Hang in there. Any problems, I'm just a communicator away."

"Sure thing Red."

"Catch up in a bit."

Yellow said his goodbyes, face already back to his screens and other equipment, fingers flurrying over his keyboard.

Jason wouldn't remember what he'd been concerned about until several hours later.

 

 

Seven pm.

The Ghosts were now settled in. Well fed, warm, appropriately changed, the group had set the two opposing parties nicely, making sure they too were cared for, despite spitting tongues and curses thrown across the room. The Ghosts were taking turns to guard the coup leaders, while the others had set up a makeshift town meeting, discussing what was to happen next. 

Jason had pulled the Ghosts to one side, at the start. None of them were here to "change" anything, heck no. This realm had been long in existence for _thousands_ of years, for centuries, with people far older than they'd ever live to be, even in peak condition. They as human beings had no real right, or claim to anything out here, and trying to overstep such boundaries was an arrogant thing to do. No matter what they felt about the Elders, the coup leaders even, the Ghosts were pretty much children out here. Yes, both sides had their faults, but they also had a few good points, and, stepping into their shoes, it was easy to see just _why_ they behaved as so. The Ghosts were to prevent the deaths of millions. To do so, the peoples needed a little bit of stability, and in light of the unsuitability of the two parties either end of the room, that meant helping to set up elections. A Council, made up of representatives from _every_ planet in the realm, those who were old, respected, with a wealth of experience (the Elders for example), _alongside_ those who were younger, more current, a reflection of the realms advancement. One couldn't exist without the other, Jason was certain of it. Personal feelings aside, they had a job to do, and that meant professionalism, despite wanting to wrangle a few necks.

Therefore, the Ghosts had made it _clear_ to all that things were not going to be the same as before, not for either side. The coup were wrong in their actions, their punishment certainly no less than life-long imprisonment, if they were lucky, but that didn't mean that their bid for power was based on complete lies. As Yena had pointed out, dissent with the IGC had been there long before the riots, League's presence, and many more past events. The IGC had a real problem - the fact that the realm had been ruled for _centuries_ under just a handful of Elders, who had the only and final say, who held great power, and had wealth and resources in great volumes at their disposal, was a problem. Yes, for some reason, the room had been in agreement that the Elders were, on the whole (excluding Semeticai'a), decent people. Hard working, kind, with years of experience - they were a natural choice in terms of leadership, and the Ghosts were keen to have the Elders stay on. What had to change, however, was their unwillingness to _acknowledge_ change, and _that_ was where the coup had a real point to their side, to which the Ghosts had to agree. The Elders had been resistant for a large part of the discussions, which surprised Jason a little. Were these Elders so desperate to hold onto their past, their traditions, the "this is the way we do things and we'll continue to do it this way" line of thinking, even at the expense of their own peoples? Their outcries had left Jason a little disgusted, sorry to say,and he'd taken a few moments to himself, alone, in an effort to calm himself. No wonder the coup seemed welcomed by the people, and with loyal troops too. Sanctions, for example, had been a useful deterrent in the long past, but now that the realm, the peoples had grown, advanced in age, in thinking, in resources, such a thing was now more crippling than ever. The worst part of it all was that those most affected were hardly _ever_ the actual perpetrators, no. Anyone who destabilised the peace by threatening to go to war could probably afford one, and so at the end of the day, when it was time for"justice", the rich were protected, and it was the poor who were left to suffer.

Yes, Jason surmised, as he drank a little water. The Elders appeared to be well meaning men, the one thing the room were in agreement on, but they were also, _a bunch of old, stubborn fucks_. If this realm was to live in peace, in stability, then things needed to change. The coup had made an interesting point - fine, they'd taken power aggressively, but it was _bound_ to have happened. Sooner or later there would have been an uprising, and Jason found himself agreeing with them. He didn't trust them of course - the fact that the coup had ordered the nuclear strike, in an effort to force the Elders to stand down, were enough to show that these people would stop at _nothing_ , lives be damned. So on one side, the Ghosts had seated a group of well intentioned but stubborn leaders, unable to accept change, a few fully unable to embrace the full scale of their past mistakes as a collective. The Ghosts had a sinking feeling that these so called "Elders" were willing to see the realm stagnate, hinder itself, if it meant continuing to do things the same way, those well known to them, and such backwards thinking would almost guarantee a slow, painful death of the people and their livelihoods. The other side held greedy bastards, who _claimed_ to want and do and promise a whole lot, but whose actions had already proved otherwise. Would true leaders, those who truly wanted good, cause the death of millions of lives in an effort to _prove_ to those remaining that things had to change?

Fuck no.

Fine, the coup were worse than than the Elders, morally, but they were still shit in the end, just a slightly different shade. Shit amongst the good, the reasonable, what one felt was right, and another believed in. It was difficult, but Jason had made it clear at the start, and, after rounding up this first session just before eight in the evening, in time for dinner, Jason had re-stated his earlier point again to the Ghosts. Yellow's prediction in terms of how long it would take for the confusion to spread had been spot on. Throughout the discussion, Yellow had been feeling the Ghosts updates: out of the fifteen Issa border patrols, seven had now been abandoned, and the movement didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. Air travel had been lifted, and now the East and North parts of the city were reporting movement, though the South and West's prohibition remained in place valiantly. Even Esse and his men seemed to have lost their steam. All bravado and confidence initially, and now there were around two-thirds remaining outside the door. Those that _were_ there had begun to show less interest in maintaining their hard facades, and as time went on, less of the men were bothered enough to point their rifles any time Jason or his crew stepped outside the door. Esse himself had approached Jason, and the two had had an interesting conversation. It was clear that the coup were not going to be harmed, if the empty food cartons, bottles, and voices were heard were an indication. It had been exactly as Jason had said, and Esse spoke a little more humbly, wanting to know where the realm stood. Jason could see that the man was simply worried for his job, his role as breadwinner, for the well-being of all those out there, and Jason had explained to the man, in brief, that the Ghosts were here to help bring a little stability, and thus, peace. Though the man had not yet ordered his troops to stand down, they certainly did become less hostile, and the Ghosts were able to move a little more freely without a showdown of tense stares at the door, to which Jason had made eye contact with the commander, dipping his head in appreciation. 

But, even despite all this,one person remained resolute. 

Semeticai'a'.

Silent, except to curse, mock and belittle, refusing all nourishment, her stance had first inspired the coup to keep reacting with hostility to the Elders and the Ghosts, refusing to work with either, yet alone hear what they had to say. But, as time went on, as the coup saw how they were treated: the Ghosts making sure they were fed, looked after, taken for toilet breaks, invited to share their opinion, their hard front had wavered, much to Semeticai'a's distaste as she sat in a corner by her lonesome self. Little by little, the coup's hostility waned, and they began to voice a few of their thoughts, not much. Lierna and Buri had held out longer far than their other colleagues save Semeticai'a', though they still hardly spoke. Jason himself was learning. Yes, the coup were horrible, and they had done horrible things, but many of them realised the dire states of the peoples, though their play for power had been out of selfishness rather than anything else; the promises Semeticai'a' broadcast were simply to win favour with the people, and the consideration of the realm, ensuring a good hold on their new found power. Horrible people who still recognised the wrong, and that made Jason think a little.

Those people he'd killed as the Red Hood - he had nearly always taken down the big guys, king pins, those who _ran_ the shit, but that wasn't always the case. Sometimes there were low level drug dealers, those in charge of a certain street. He'd taken them out without any hesitation or doubt, but now, as Jason reflected back on the group's discussions - how many of them were able to recognise what was wrong, and that which was right? Was it a matter of knowing what was bad, and simply continuing? Or where they, like him, felt like they had no other way out, a result of their poverty?

It left a slightly uneasy feeling in Jason's gut. No, he wasn't about to start regretting killing all those men, those that used children as drug mules, sex slaves, who beat women and terrorised the streets. Nope. Their deaths had saved lives, probably in the hundreds, and Jason was satisfied with the outcome.

But, if second chances were something available to all, like him and his Lazarus connection - what would he do differently? If the Red Hood had met _him_ , would he have shown concern? Understanding? Leniency? Was that even possible, to be merciful? 

A strange concept, mercy. Jason thought. Doesn't guarantee a anything, but it sure does know how to assuage guilt.

Jason stared out of the window now. It was just after eleven pm, and most had gone to sleep in various spots, having been freed from their chairs, but still tied at the wrists and ankles. The room's seats had been cleared to one side, leaving most of the space in the middle open. Esse had his men provide a couple more blankets and a few extra pillows, toothbrushes and toiletries, the move surprising Jason a little, since he hadn't requested any extra materials. The commander had said nothing but nodded his head in acknowledgement, and the Ghosts made it a priority to thank him as they took turns escorting themselves and their hostages to the bathrooms, in getting read for bed. Orange, Brown and Yena had just started their first watch for the next three hours. Jason, Blue and Black would take the next three, and finally White,Taupe and Fuschia would take the last three hours. The discussions would begin again tomorrow, and Jason hoped the room would be a little receptive to holding elections by sometime this week. He closed his eyes, trying to sleep, but found the effort fruitless.

After awhile, Jason's eyes snapped awake. He looked at his watch, groaning inwardly at the time. Twelve thirty am. Great he thought, yawning. He sat up a little, staring at the window, and found himself drawn to a small figure near window, wrists and ankles still tied to the chair, in the same place she'd remained throughout most of the day.

Semeticai'a'. 

A truly peculiar woman. After all the good he'd heard about her - in person, she seemed so sweet, kind, petite in stature and now, as it turned out, she was the leader of this mess?

It was jarring. 

He sighed a little. Now that he was awake, he wouldn't fall asleep again for a while, and so, after a few moments, he quietly made made his way over Semeticai'a', picking up a water bottle with one hand and using the other to bring a chair closer, nodding at his friends on guard duty. The woman seemed to be fighting asleep, but on his arrival, her eyes snapped open, glaring.

Jason pulled himself a little closer, his own blanket wrapped around himself. He offered one to the woman, but she turned away, preferring to stare at the window instead. Jason shrugged. He wasn't about to beg the woman.

"Come to gloat, have you?" Semeticai'a' spoke quietly, but her voice was laced with hatred, eyes hard.

Jason looked out the window.

"Don't have the energy for it." He spoke simply. It was the truth - gloating took a lot of energy. He'd have told her to ask Dick about it, but he wasn't here, and Jason doubted the woman could give a shit. 

There was silence for a while. Jason gazed out of the window. He spoke quietly now, the tiredness leaking into his tone.

"You had everything, Semeticai'a'. Truly, everything. The position, wealth, power, respect - the love of the people, and that isn't easy-"

"Why?" The Elder cut him off. Jason turned to her now, waiting for her response. She gazed back at him, studying him, before she clicked her tongue.

"None of you understand what power is. Real power. Not knowledge, not money, not assets. _Power_ is power, Red. it buys access. It governs ability, it _creates_ opportunity, shapes _history_. Few people ever grasp fully the meaning of what it is to have power. They mistake it far too often, until it slaps them in the face, but by then, it is usually too late, and they go to the grave, ignorant and lacking sense."

"And you didn't have that, as an Elder on the Council?" Jason quirked an eyebrow, but the woman simply snorted in response.

"Of course not. Yes, I had a title, but what I _couldn't_ do was evoke change, not really. Everything required a meeting, planning, deliberation, more meetings...you couldn't just _do_. "

Weirdly enough, Jason could understand where the woman was coming from. He'd felt a similar sort of way with Bruce, and his mind was cast back to many nights as Robin where he was ready to go, ready to act, to do, and yet Bruce would always tell him to wait. No. Not yet. One excuse after the other. Still Jason, kept quiet, wanting to hear what Semeticai'a' had to say.

"I....I grew up, with all one could ever want and more, and _still_ , I realised it wasn't enough. Old money was old money, what brought about change, what made _history_ , Red, was opportunity. Access. To _go_ for something, to _make_ it happen, and if I had to do it all by myself, I swore I would." 

Semeticai'a' smiled now, and quietly turned to look at Jason, before looking at the window.

"I grew up with a Father who didn't understand. All that was important to him was the status of having a high born wife at home, dutifully giving him heirs, and carrying on the family lineage. Had I been a boy, well, I'm sure things might have turned out differently. Mother was just...there, accepting, carrying out her duties faithfully, and it made me _sick_. I hated that her day was ordered down to the second, routine the same. She had no _power_ , Red, she never truly lived. Even when my Father died many years later, she remained the same, washing and cleaning and cooking, as if he would one day magically turn up, ready to scold her for not putting away last night's laundry. All that wealth, luxury, every comfort you could ever _dream_ of - she lacked _nothing_ , and yet, at the same time, she _had_ nothing. No desire to be better, to achieve, to go beyond, and _do_ , _see_ , create, _shape_ , mould - just there, in the house, outside to do a little shopping, before repeating all the next day. I couldn't see myself as that, even as a child I knew something was wrong somewhere, and I resolved in my heart to _never_ be like my mother."

Jason kept listening.

"And so, one day, on my father's many visits, he took me to Xan. A beautiful city, big, brash, and full of opportunity. Elek was small, and though we were very wealthy, it seemed as thought all we were counted for nought on Xan. But it didn't stop there, no. After Xan, we went to Elima, to the IGC. The Pantheto wasn't quite as it its today, all modern and shiny. It wasn't as big, or as glorious, but as I walked through the halls, peeping into halls where men debated in court, ready important documents in seats so high off the ground I thought they were floating, with their long, rich, flowing robes, and sonorous voices - I knew from that day onwards, that I wanted to be like them. Wise and clever, shaping the realm, _in_ power _and_ having power. The two are not the same, not at all. One can be in power and not know how to use it, or even know they have it. That day, I sat outside one of the smaller meeting rooms, watching men of various positions in life walk by. There were those that walked in groups, some who walked alone. A couple had secretaries running after them, the shoes squealing like little pigs as they hurried to catch up with their bosses. But out of the many, only one stood out. Not especially tall, or handsome, but when he walked, Red - the hallway _cleared_. _Everyone_ moved aside, big or small, those more important than the other - it didn't matter. You didn't even have to catch sight of him, physically, to know when to move - a few seemed to do it by instinct, led by the environment around them. And that's what I wanted, Red. To have such an effect that even the walls hush as I walked by."

Semeticai'a' paused here. Jason offered her the bottled water and she accepted it wordlessly. He had smiled as e'd listened to Semeticai'a's reminiscing. An evil bitch, for sure, but no-one could deny she was remarkable. It appeared that her tenacity had been fired up from a young age, and _that_ was not to be faulted.

After a few moments, Semeticai'a' began speaking again.

"So, now determined to pursue this so called "power", which I believed lay in the halls of the IGC, I told my father that I was going to Xan to further my studies and enter politics. Naturally, he forbade the thought, thinking it preposterous. All sorts of names were called, threats of disownmen to the family name, the House of Targeya and our great "legacy", as if that means anything. I went, in the end. Middle of the night, I had my bags packed, and off I went, ready to start my new life. Father cut me off financially for a while, I suppose to teach me a lesson, and I worked a variety of jobs to put me through school, but as word came back to him that I was flourishing, a stand out child of the Targeya family, my Father resolved to help me. None of his sons had ever been spoken about or held in such high regards, from so many different disciplines, and I went from a rebellious wench to darling, pride and joy. I wasn't about to complain, of course - I was back living to what I had been accustomed to previously, continuing to excel, but I wasn't doing it to make Father proud. He didn't even come into the picture - no, it was all for _me_ , and me alone."

Jason looked at Semeticai'a' now, but her eyes appeared to be lost in the far distance.

"But even doing well academically couldn't deter Father from marrying me off, and I entered to a state I _swore_ I would never do. My husband, Pertre, again from an old and powerful family, was a man of stature, of principles, and tradition - I married my father, essentially. He tried to put a stop to my plans of further studies, of going to work, but the man was a simple fool, too stupid for his own good. I continued, entering politics and finding myself in the world of men, and there are I learnt, many, many things. Doors weren't always obvious at first time, and it took some degree of forcing it open for it to become an option. I... _learned_ of course, how to navigate such obstacles."

Jason shifted in his chair.

Semeticai'a' laughed.

"You men are always so easy to read, and toy with for that matter. Here, let me break it down for you. Using my "talents" I fucked, whored, slept, licked, bent over, endured, and degraded myself in ways I _never_ thought possible, all for opportunity. Not for jobs, not for men, but for opportunity. The men thought they could blackmail me, threatening to run me out of town if I didn't do this for them, or that, or continue in their solicit ways, but they didn't understand, and few ever will. Sex is simply a tool, dear boy, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. In the right frame of mind, with the right goals, and purposes, it is just a means to an end, a foot in the door, a ticket to the gala. It is _not_ getting in that counts, but _staying_ in. Yes, I had to use my body, but it was only at specific times, and only if I could make sure that it would help get me to the next level. No point in giving it up for free. My colleagues, supervisors, bosses, all thought that they had something to lord over me, to keep me quiet. They mistook what I had offered them as freely given, and wrongly thought that it gave them _power_ over me. Stupid, incompetent, empty-headed fools. I got in there, but I stayed there with what I had in my head, not down below. I was promoted three times in two months, and I kept going up, over my colleagues. Of course, they tried to expose me, but I'd made myself such an asset, with a sharp mind, an ability to reason and think, that those in whose department I was employed in were more than happy to fire any who dared to anatognise me, if it meant me staying on. And when they did just that, I rewarded their behaviour with excellence and loyalty. I made them _shine_ Red, and in return, opened up new doors for myself."

Jason sat, riveted.

"And then, Pertre tried his luck. He was sick of getting outshined by his wife, I suppose, so one night, after a long day at work, he pushed, just a little. I said no, refused outright, but he whined, and meddled, begging and pleading. I was so tired, I gave in eventually, a stupid mistake on my part. I lay there in the sheets like a dead fish, wishing for him to hurry it up so that I could get some sleep. Less than thirty seconds, and it was over. I rolled over as if nothing had happened and fell asleep. It was only a few weeks later, after feeling a little nauseous in the mornings, that I realised what exactly was wrong with me."

Jason felt sick.

"I was enraged, absolutely furious. Petre was smug, the bastard, claiming that "now I could stay at home and be the wife he expected me to be." as if that was all that mattered. But, make no mistake, Red. I wasn't angry at him, oh no. I was angry at _me_ , at _myself_ , how I could have slipped up so badly. I couldn't get rid of it; Petre had spread the news, ensuring that the shame of such an act would prevent me from taking drastic action. So I spend months bidding my time, waiting. I prayed, Red, but it wasn't for a happy baby, or a safe pregnancy, frivolous things. Petre was looking forward to a _boy_ you see; he claimed it was his reward for having to put up with such a rebellious wife. I said nothing of course, but every day, every _bloody_ day, I prayed for a girl. I wanted her as girly as can be, and I wanted to relish the _look_ on Petre's face. He seemed to grow bolder during this period, believing he had won, strutting around the house like a peacock."

"And then the day came, when it was time to give birth. I pushed, and laboured, bled like a gutted pig, and finally, _finally_ , she was born. Magdaia."

Jason closed his eyes. Just hearing her name out loud made his skin crawl.

"Pertre took one look at her, lifted her blankets, and dropped her on the bed, walking straight out the room. I tell you, for the best part of that day, I laughed until tears fell, and my voice grew hoarse. My breasts were dry, my skin chapped, and I was in more pain than I'd been in my entire life, but, out of _all_ the victories, the insults I'd had to endure - Magdaia's birth was my crowning moment."

Semeticai'a' smiled now, lost in the memory, but all Jason could do was to focus on keeping the bile in his throat from rising.

"Pertre soon got over his disappointment, however, when the child displayed preference to him over me. Most times, whenever I held her, she would scream bloody murder, face red and all puckered, and would only be calmed down once her father picked her up. She would lie over his shoulder for hours at a time, perfectly content, and for while, could only sleep positioned on her father's chest. He'd feed her, clothe her, and she'd make nary a sound at it all, usually reaching out her fat little fingers towards his face, smiling and gurgling. But I was overjoyed, Red. Rather than feel disappointed, Magdaia had give me an _opportunity_ once more, instead of holding me back in life. So I went back to work, leaving her with Petre, who was now too besotted with his little girl to care what I was up to. The apple of his eye, she most certainly was. Spoilt, pampered, haughty little princess, I never really managed to connect with her, not for years afterwards. I loved her,of course - I brought her into this world, but I won't pretend that loving her was easy. She took his name, security purposes, you understand; she could have easily been used against me, and so keeping our family connection "secret" was in my best interest, hers too, in a way. Magdaia has done well, I suppose; finally opened her eyes and taken many of my _teachings_ on board towards the end, even if it was late, but still, she was _quite_ the horror show."

Jason gripped the base of his chair to remain calm, and his voice was clipped when he next spoke. "I heard about her death, the facili-"

"Did you, now?" Semeticai'a' turned to smile out Jason, teeth sharp. Her voice was mocking, and Jason felt his his blood run cold. "From my understanding, I hear that you had quite a bit to do in my daughter's passing."

Jason gritted his teeth, hissing. "Your daughter was a sick, perverted, twisted little bitch and trust me, its better for you that I _didn't_ kill her myself."

Semeticai'a' said nothing for a few long moments, hands clasped in her lap. "She was a little twisted, wasn't she? Absolutely brilliant, a leader in her field, but she always did like to push the boundaries when it came to her...research."

"Is that why you built the two torture pens for that rabid creature?" Jason's eyes blazed with fury, and yet Semeticai'a' sat calmly, as if there wasn't a thing wrong in the world. God, Jason regretted not killing the whore, fucking Yena and his bloody morals be damned.

"Yes, mostly. We all need an outlet, Red. Hers was a little different from the rest, that was all. Anyway, let me continued with my sto-"

"I don't want to hear about your _fucking_ story, bitch." Jason was close to tossing Semeticai'a' out the window now.

"And yet, you're going to sit here, till the end, and _fucking_ listen, boy. Semeticai'a' voice dripped with derision.

Jason sat now, eyes closed. He _could_ just get up and leave, it wasn't as if she could stop him anyway. Slice the bitch's neck open, gut her like a fish, skin her bit by bit. On the other hand, he'd let her rile him up, get under his skin. No, he decided. She _wanted_ him to lose control, because in doing so, all bets were off. He'd already given his word to protect the coup; if anything were to happen _now_ , the Ghosts, Yena, the Elders - they were all dead, and Jason wasn't about to live with that guilt. Semeticai'a' would rather die than give up any semblance of power, and getting him of all people would cover all her plans. Semeticai'a' dead meant dead friends, dead Elders, a power vacuum, and millions die in the process as greedy men struggled for power. This bitch would rather see it all go to flames, and Jason straightened up now. He would not give in to her satisfaction. 

Semeticai'a' sat, watching the boy. It was quite an impressive display of control. Mentions of her daughter's research and her tendencies had the man lose his composure for a few moments, but he'd restored it quickly. This one would be hard to break, she thought to herself, but hard was not the same as impossible. She continued with her story, keeping her tone light.

"As I said before, I went straight back to work after Magdaia was born. And I continue to excel, and rise in the ranks. I brokered deals, trade agreements, peace talks, all done successfully, and my results attracted the eye of the IGC, who asked me to join them, clearly impressed. It was a dream come true. Little did they know, those "deal" and successes were bathed in bloodshed, held together by special favours, payments, connections, nuclear materials and weaponry. I could walk into any restaurant in the middle of town and we'd be discussing trade secrets as if we were handmaidens stitching clothes. I thought the IGC would be different - after all, they ruled the _realms_. Surely they had true power, yes? Well, as I soon learnt, it was nothing but a lie. The IGC were the same as all the other people, companies I'd worked with in the past; they simply put good men on the face of it all. Kind men, honest, ready to serve the realm, men who probably had no idea just went on behind the scenes, the truth. They praised me, as if mere kindness and a nice smile brokered deals and stood down threats of war - fools, the damn lot of them. None of them truly understood. It's why whenever a corporation, a government or other large entity wanted laws that favoured them, they came to me, personally. The Council would pay their respects to of course, bowing and fawning, all that nonsense, but it was simply formality. I was the one they came to, in private meetings, with all sorts of offers to sway me into helping. I could make even two sworn enemies work together free of charge if I wanted, and the _all_ knew it." 

"The Elders had never asked, never questioned, as to how I was so successful. I suspect that a few of them knew something wasn't quite right, deep down, but things were going so _well_ , and they didn't want to disrupt the peace. All who know me know me as a woman of action. I get things _done_ , I make it work, I create the opportunity - I don't just sit down and wait for life to come to me, I go to life, upturning every stone, and searching for what may be of benefit. These Elders thought differently.They were slow, constantly debating. Indecisive, never one to take risks, face consequences. Kept themselves away from the masses, out of touch with the people, distant and unrelatable. I'm not a complete idiot, I see things. The Elders have failed time and time again to to embrace change, even acknowledging it was a painful struggle. I _was_ , I am, and as long as I'm alive, I'll continue to do so. I get things done, Red, and if you continue to have these Elders counselling you, the realm is in for a slow decline, and I know you realise it too."

Semeticai'a' paused, gazing at the at the sky through the window. She spoke softly now.

"You may accuse me of all you want; I am it all, _and_ more, but at least I am prepared to admit it loud. Your so called "wise men" - can they do that? Are they willing to do that? If not, then what on Earth are they doing leading a realm?" 

Jason said nothing for a long time. Honestly, he could call this piece of work every name under the sun, and she would admit it, probably bear it with pride. There was nothing left to say, but more worrying than that, the woman was right about the Elders, and Jason turned away from her, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of being right. He reached into his pocket and took out a few zip ties. Jason didn't bother asking for permission, it wasn't like her and her daughter learned to respect people's own anyway. He freed at the wrists, away from her chair, before retying her again, and did the same for her ankles. He stood up now, staring at he as he tossed a blanket in her general vicinity.

"Get some sleep. Tomorrow you'll have another "opportunity" to spew your insanity."

And with that, Jason took himself to sleep.

 

 

Thursday was much of the same. Wake up eat, debate, eat some more, more debate, dinner, then sleep. Jason was getting a crick in his neck from sleeping on the floor at such an awkward angle, and he knew the Ghosts weren't faring any better - the men had become a little cranky, now that they were essentially babysitting the coup and the Elders. The Ghosts had switched positions frequently, from manning to coups, to taking watch outside the door, to guarding Green and Yellow, so that they wouldn't stay in one place for too long. Jason's conversation with Semeticai'a' remained fresh in his mind for a while, as he watched her continue to stay apart from the others, refusing to say anything. It was clear she considered the other coup members a betrayal; though they still said very little, the fact that they were speaking at all was enough for Semeticai'a', and Jason, knowing what he now knew, understood. Esse and his men had also decreased in number, from two thirds to just under half now remained, and now they were helping the Ghosts escort the two warring parties to the bathrooms. Members from both sides had tried to sway the men to let them go, that they would be richly rewarded, but the armed men surprised the Ghosts yet again - they refused. It was obvious that along with the change in military commands, the confusion, troops disbandment from their stations, and the realm at large, the men were becoming disillusioned. They wanted stability, and if stability meant sitting out here whilst the Ghosts forced the coup and the Elders to sort shit out, avoiding the needless bloodshed of innocents, then so be it. It seemed that both sides had forgotten that at the end of the day, these "soldiers" were just ordinary men, who had lives to lead, and wanted more than anything, peace and security.

It was only towards the late evening when Jason remembered the anomaly he'd noticed yesterday. The rest of the Ghosts were getting ready to shower, to eat, but Jason had opted to to spend a little time with Yellow, away from the coup, and they sat down together, sharing a few snacks before dinner. The man had had generally good news to report; troops all over the place were continuing to disband - now nine of the ISSA border patrols were unmanned, though air travel at in the South and West continued to remain prohibited. Yellow had asked whether more commands should be sent out, and Jason agreed he should do so if the situation hadn't improved by tomorrow morning. Yellow had pulled up a map of all the current troops and their stations, and Jason was relieved to find the situation improved from yesterday. It would take a while longer for the disillusionment to set in, but he and Yellow were confident that the troops would prove no resistance by the end of the week at the very latest. The two scanned the map, discussing air traffic, looking at news reports, when Yellow called for his attention. 

"Red, I noticed something. Stuck out as a little odd but I didn't really pay any attention since I was manning a lot of reports and communication logs, sorry."

Jason waved it off. Yellow had been working flat out, and his role in controlling military command had saved their asses many times over. If anyone was going to say sorry here it would be Jason, for not thanking the man sooner.

"Negative, Yellow. You've done a great job out here, you and Green, and we can't thank you enough. If it hadn't been for you, we'd be long past dead by now."

"Yeah, yeah, kiss ass another day. Look, down here. South of Xan, a little outside the city-what's the name, Eain, right? Yeah, not too far out. I hacked into a few radio waves; there are couple of troops still centred in this area, about fifteen give or take, but I don't think they're ours. Private troops most likely"

"Any ideas as to what we're looking at?" Jason felt uneasy.

Yellow keyed in a few commands.

"Too small to be an army base; there aren't any records of the system. Not a facility either, no reports of any chemical transportation, pipeline management or things like that. I had a look at the area, its pretty affluent, old money sorta wealth. I'm thinking a residence of some sorts, private most likely."

"Huh. Any clues as to who we have living there? Are we thinking some sort of General, cause the last thing we need is a little countercoup taking place."

"Hold on, let me see if I can access their communication logs by just piggybacking with router..."

Jason zone out a little as Yellow began his techie talk. He was too tired to play "decipher the nerd" and so he waited until-

"Ah, we've got a little something here. Seems like its some sort of witness protection/house arrest situation going on here. According to the chatter, the men are guarding some person called Magdaia Damaes, an asset possibly..."

Jason froze.

No way. Not fucking possible.

He closed his eyes, struggling to compose himself.

" _Magdaia_?" His voice was a little tight, and suddenly the room felt stuffy.

"Yeah...just doing a little research on her. Nothing on public platforms, let's go digging a little deeper...well....well, shit. Seems like our Damaes girl is one heck of an academic, scientist, top of her league and.....wait, just a - shit, she's the daughter of one Elder Semeticai'a', the same one currently in our midst!" Yellow had been making work of classified information and worming his way through all sorts of red tape. 

Jason tried to control his breathing. The rage of the Pit was rising now, threatening to consume him.

"Red, Red...if what I'm reading is correct, then it looks like Semeticai'a' had commissioned two sorts buildings to be built under private funding. Facility, labs, I dunno, maybe, but there's nothing on here about it exactly, except that one of them is kinda close to where we were. No floorplans, no real details, no photos, No information whatsov-

"Leave it, Yellow."

"No, its alright, I can get-"

" _I said, leave it the **fuck** alone!"_

There was silence for a while.

Yellow swallowed, nervous. The man had barely raised his voice, but the venom was clear to all. He'd only seen Red like this once or twice, and that was when they came faced with the sickest, most evil pieces of shit that ran things like drug cartels and sex rings. Whatever this Magdaia was, or had done, well, it must have been something beyond evil for his friend to react like that. Red was a great guy, funny, a kind man who actually cared about others, but he was also quiet, and quiet could be deadly if pushed the wrong way. Knew a lot of things, connections, and Yellow felt a little fear creep up his spine as he thought about what was his friend was truly into. He wanted to ask specifics, the details, and he opened his mouth to do just that, but the _look_ Red sent him was...something else. His eyes were green, _really_ green, and Yellow was sure his friend's eyes weren't quite so...intense. It all spelled danger, a simmering rage threatening to spill over, a fury too wild to be natural, and Yellow had a feeling that had he not been a friendly, Red would have made quick work of him on the spot. 

Yellow held his palms up in surrender

"Hey man, I kn-know the drill. Vegas, I get it, I-I don't mean to pry, sorry man."

Jason stared at him a moment longer before closing his eyes, shoulders slumping a little, and Yellow felt himself exhale audibly in relief. He watched as Jason pinched his nose, eyes scrunched, before opening them again, back to the colour Yellow was used to. A greeny sort of blue, kind. What the hell had that been? But Yellow felt too afraid to ask now.

Jason had closed his eyes momentarily. He hadn't meant to snap at his friend like that, not one that had been crucial to pulling off a feat of this magnitude. Yellow was a good man, going above and over for the team under intense pressure from them all, goofy, always joking around despite his troubles, and Jason felt a sudden wash of guilt at the way he'd treated the man. He held his own palms out now and opened his eyes, watching the fear melt away from his friend's face. He swallowed, feeling worse.

"Yell, I'm sorry, man. Truly, I am-"

"-Hey, look, its no big deal-"

"-It is to me. You've been fantastic throughout, you always are, and here I am, losing my temper when you've been nothing less than exceptional. You've pulled this altogether man, and...and I'm sorry. It wasn't _you_ I was angry at, alright? It's just..."

Jason shook his head, sighing.

Yellow smiled now, leaning forward to punch Red in the arm. "Go on. I'm young and fabulous, what else?"

The two burst out laughing.

After a while, the silence returned, but it was comfortable now. Yellow nodded at Jason, grinning and Jason smiled back a little, knowing he'd been forgiven. Yellow had a big heart, maybe the biggest of them all, and Jason regretted hurting his friend like that.

"Alright Red." Yellow's tone was soft, and Jason felt even more ashamed of his behaviour. "What do you wanna do Red? From what I can gather, she's under private security, not actual military, probably paid for by Mummy dearest; I guess she wants to keep her daughter safe and out of sight."

Jason said nothing for a while, gazing into the distance. Eventually he spoke, voice low.

"You remember our first task, breaking into that facility, Ikisi? Rescuing the target?"

Yellow nodded, the hairs at the back of his neck already standing. He didn't like where all this was going.

"Magdaia was the lead scientist back there. A "researcher" of sorts, but what she was doing was _far_ from ordinary."

So Jason explained a little about the facilities, the laboratories, what Magdaia and her team were _really_ doing. He left out everything concerning the League, but he did mention how he'd discovered Magdaia torturing the target, thought he left out exactly _what_ he'd seen - that wasn't his tale to share. By the end, Yellow wished that his friend had remained quiet instead. He turned to the screen now, bringing up a map of the two areas the facilities had been built, courtesy of a drone he'd sent to provide an aerial update. Jason turned to his friend, eyebrow a little raised, but Yellow smirked, continuing to work.

"Just making sure that there's nothing left of those hellholes, Red."

Jason said nothing, but he smiled, grateful.

A few minutes later, however, and Yellow was frowning.

"Yell, whats up?"

Yellow mused at the screening for a little longer before showing it to his friend.

"What does that look like to you?"

Jason stared a the screen. Less than a mile out from the facility, underground-

Yellow pulled up an old aerial map, taking almost three hundred years ago. The same area, except the map was full of little tents, vehicl - an army base? Airfield?

Yellow waited for Jason to put it together. Some sort of army base, plus _something_ underground equaled-

"A fucking underground bunker." Jason breathed, sitting up. "That's how she escaped, she must have somehow had access to the bunker!" He swore loudly now. "Fucking bitch, shoulda put two straight in her head." Jason held his head in his hands, furious at himself.

Yellow said nothing for a while, and then he spoke, voice calm.

"What do you want to do, Red?"

The tone was different. Too quiet, too...something, and Jason looked up to see his friend watching him, a strange look on his face.

He understood. Payback time indeed. Jason stood up and walked around the room, thinking.

"Private military eh? We don't have shit to pay them to back the fuck off, nor can we try and freeze Semeticai'a's account, cutting off their money tree; Magdaia herself would pay them. We don't have that kinda access."

"We don't. So if we can't _pay_ them..."

"We get rid of them. I want her, alive. Can't risk her escaping, and I need it done, quietly."

"None to pick her up then?" Yellow asked, voice cool. He wanted this bitch dead, same as Red.

Jason debated with himself. Could he risk going himself?

He looked at Yellow now. "How far away is it from-"

"With your ship? Less than nothing."

Yellow's eyes were glinting a little. "I can cover for you. Say that you've gone to your ship to check om a few things, supplies, equipment, or that I'm helping you run logistics via communicator, that sorta thing. How long will you need?"

Jason thought a little more. It had taken about forty five minutes from the North to Elima, this place. He had travelled slower to accommodate for his friends since this was all new to them; but by himself? He could do the time in half an hour, give or take, and the South was closer to Elima too. Getting in was another thing; he'd need to take out the guards stationed as quickly and as quietly as possible, and isolate Magdaia. Fifteen, Yellow had mentioned? That was child's play. All he had to do was make sure that the exits were covered; one way in, one way out. Destroy any stationed escape vehicles, Timuelan.

"Two to three hours, tops. Can you access a floorplan of the residence? It'll be an old building, kept in the family for years, but anything would be great."

Yellow nodded, smiling, and went about his task. A few minutes later, an old looking plan appeared. "This is pretty damn old, but the residence doesn't appear to have applied for any extension permits, or applied to the council for renovation plans in recent times. I'm sure they'll be a few things here and there that's new, but it should remain quite similar to the plan.

Jason studied the plan. Two exits, one at the rear, into the garden, and behind that was a whole damn forest. Magdaia couldn't be allowed to escape through the back. Getting her out was one thing, but where would he keep her? Who could monitor her, someone who wouldn't be swayed by the shit that spewed from her-

Somewhere who hated her just as much has he did. Someone who had seen first hand what the woman had done, and all that she was capable of.

 _Eheto_.

Jason clapped his hands together.

"Yellow, I need to you find me a safehouse, somewhere I can easily access now and again from this place. Quiet, where she won't be disturbed, and noise won't be investigated."

"On it."

"One more thing." Jason paused, thinking. He would need to collect Eheto. He debated sending someone to collect her, but suspicions would be raised if it were found out he'd sent a young woman to an odd sort of place. No, in order to keep this quiet, Jason knew he would need to do it himself. He fished out his apiliwe, and found Eheto's number.

"Contact Eheto for me. Untraceable, bounce the call, whatever it is you need to do, do it. Tell her that in about two hours time, I want her right where we dropped her off, essentials packed. She's to remain quiet about leaving, no-one must know. Tell her this: I need her help, and she'll _want_ to help when she finds out."

Jason turned to Yellow. "As soon as you've found somewhere suitable, drop me a bell and a location. I'll plug in the co-ordinates into my ship. It shouldn't take long, but if it does-"

"I'll cover for you, don't worry. Got enough gear and shit?"

"Yeah, ship's loaded."

"Good. Red, get the bitch. Do what you need to do. No-one else will know, I've got your back."

Yellow stood now and the two men hugged. "Knew I could count on you, Yell. Thank you."

He turned to leave, but whirled round. How could he forget? "One last thing. That underground bunker? Raze the bitch to the ground. Every last fucking inch of the place, I want it all done, whether that's by drone, airstrike, setting off a couple of the old mines by fancy radio waves or summin', do it."

"Consider it done, Red."

And with that, Jason made his way out.

 

 

Thursday. Nine ten pm.

Magdaia was in the bath, eyes closed.

She'd been here for almost three days now, and had relished the time off, eating and resting. Dr Ghersha had attended to her earlier on, and he'd expressed practiced delight in the possibility of Magdaia being pregnant, claiming that the results would be known in two days, three at most - didn't she know that Xanderian technology was supreme over the rest?. Magdaia had dismissed him them, satisfied. In her mind, the case was closed. She would be having the Superman's baby, come hell or high water. Uemiet had humbled himself significantly, bowing, speaking in hushed, wavering tones, and Magdaia delighted in his new found appreciation of _self_.

She raised a leg, sniffing at her scented bath water, taking a sip of wine, when she heard a noise.

A _thud_.

More noises. More thuds.

The lights flickered, just a little bit.

Then the shouts came.

Magdaia began to panic now, hurrying to get out of the water, but before she could, the door burst open, and she screamed, frightened now.

A man, dressed in all black, face covered, had a gun pointed at her. Very tall, muscular, and clearly, well trained.

As if by instinct, Magdaia she covered her belly, protective. Her breath was caught in her throat as she stared at the gun, aiming for her belly.

The man seemed to freeze on the spot at the movement, not moving, gun still trained on her.

 _Fuuuuuck_ , Jason breathed. _God, no_ , it couldn't be.

For a long time, all that could be heard was the sound of petals floating on the bathwater, and the alarms blaring downstairs.

Eventually the man spoke, his voice hoarse.

" _Get dressed_."

His tone, a little familiar, booked no room for argument, as Magdaia did as she was told, quickly slipping on a pair of bottoms and a sweater, before her shoes. No was _not_ the time for questions.

" _Out_."

The man held his rifle to her lower back and Magdaia complied instantly. She didn't dare try anything, not wanting to risk the baby inside her.

The man led her through the house, and Magdaia felt fear run through her as she passed body after body, the lights still flickering, and the alarms still screaming. She was terrified now.

" _Stop_."

They stopped at the entrance of the house. Magdaia made to turn now, wanting to plead for her life, but the man simply pressed the rifle harder into her back and she froze, eyes welling up with tears.

" _Please_ -" she began, voice strangled, but the man paid her no mind.

" _Put this on_."

A sack of sorts- he was taking her somewhere, and now Magdaia really began to beg, sinking to the floor.

"I beg you, sir, _please_ , don't-don't do this, _please_."

The man watcher her, head cocked to the side as Magdaia lowered herself to the floor, wringing her hands, begging for her life, and by extension, the life of her unborn child.

All of a sudden, the man moved, crouching on his tip toes, and held a something cold to her belly.

Flat. Sharp.

Magdaia felt sick. Her hands shook, her vision became blurry.

" _If you don't get up by the time I count to three, I'll cut out whatever demon spawn you've got growing in there_."

The man's voice was calm, level and deadly.

" _One_."

Magdaia was already scrambling to her feet, words tripping over each other as she pleaded with him to spare her. The man ignored her, holding out the sackcloth.

"On. _**Now**_."

She complied quickly.

" _Move_."

They stepped out of the house, Magdaia full of fear now. She hadn't seen anything in the driveway, at least nothing visible in the darkness - what was he going to do?

"Please, sir, don't-don't kill me, please." Magdaia wept.

" _Kill you_?" The man sounded incredulous, and he laughed, the sound bitter.

" _Walk, woman_."

Madgaia found now that she was climbing steps now, and her heart quickened as she reached out to steady herself. The man steered her to sit down, before her wrists her were held together and tied. Magdaia struggled with all her might, begging, crying, but it was no use. The man was far too strong; she was more like a ragdoll to him. She was chained at the back too, completely fixed to the spot, and in her struggles, Magdaia failed to take note of the small, sharp pinch of something foreign at her neck.

And then a rush of cold liquid, a sluggishness that overpowered the senses, and Magdaia lost conscious.

 

 

Jason looked at the woman from where he stood. This bitch, he thought.

Pregnant?

He had to know for sure. No way was he gonna let this animal fuck up Clark's life.

Fuck no. Jason wasn't going to allow any of this to mess Clark up, the news would drive anyone insane, himself included.

She'd be out for a while, and so Jason took his time inside the house, looking for files, documents, anything pertaining to the woman's health and evidence of recent checkups. Eventually, he struck gold in Magdaia's study. A few notes from one Dr Ghersha, query pregnancy test results. Apparently they would be out within the next three days. Jason took the notes and other information, including the doctor's contact details, with him. Stuffing them into his jacket, he then proceeded to line the house with explosives, and made his way out to his ship, walking past a sleeping Magdaia.

Jason set the ship off high above the ground before setting off the explosives.

 

 

He was going to destroy this woman, and everything she ever held dear. And after all she had was gone, ground to dust, then and only then, would Magdaia be allowed to die.


	31. New beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 and 4 of the ninety six hours: The Ghosts encounter resistance, and a decision is made.
> 
> In Gerebeta, the League begin exploring the town by themselves. A new relationship is formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sensitive stuff ahead!**

_Cont'd from Thursday evening_.

Eheto checked her watch again. Ten pm.

One of Red's men had called a while back, asking her to pack a bag and make her way to the place where they'd dropped her a day or two back. Eheto had asked why, puzzled, but the man didn't explain, only that she would be glad to come in the end. Eheto was anxious - she was fairly sure that neither Red nor his men were planning on hurting her, or else they would have done so already. So what could it be? She wasn't exactly busy at the moment, and thus Eheto followed the man's instructions, leaving quietly, and had sat out here in the darkness, waiting. She'd tried to contact Red's friend again, only to find that the line didn't go through. It was getting colder by the hour, and as she hugged herself more tightly, her mind began to-

The leaves rustled around her, a sudden gush of wind, the whirring of an engine-

A large, dark grey, streamlined object came into view. 

Red's ship.

Eheto wrapped her coat around her as the wind whipped past, tears stinging her eyes. The ship hovered in the air as a door opened, and a set of stairs descended to the ground.

An invitation.

Eheto hesitated, only a little, before making her way inside.

And gasped, her bag falling onto the floor.

There, chained to the seats, was a woman tied up, lost to the world around her in deep sleep. 

Eheto shuffled closer, her movements quiet and her voice stuck in her throat.

Pale, tear dried tracks on the cheeks. Face devoid of that brassy lipstick she insisted on wearing, but Eheto recognised the face anyway.

 _Magdaia_.

She stared at the woman, numb, her mind blank apart from one word.

 _How_?

Red's voice suddenly filtered in the air.

"I see you've met our little guest, Eheto."

Eheto nodded dumbly. 

"Leave your bag in one of the lockers. Grab yourself some food, there's a carrier bag on the table in the kitchen containing shriomupkel, some stew, a few loaves of bread and water. Bring it up to the front, I'll explain the situation whilst we eat."

Eheto obeyed, putting her things away. She couldn't stand to look at that _filth_ as she walked towards the cockpit, bags of food in hand, wanting nothing more than to rip the woman apart. She sat down in the seat next to Jason, watching the man calmly flicker the controls, comfortable. Jason turned to her, offering a brief smile before focusing on the view ahead.

"Eat, Eheto. There's nothing to be afraid of, I give you my word."

Jason could see the young woman was confused, a mixture of emotions, but he knew it was important to keep her calm if this was going to work. Jason explained the situation briefly as they ate. Jason had received the coordinates of the safehouse from Yellow; they would be staying on the outskirts of the city, in a quiet industrial complex, away from prying eyes. Eheto wouldn't be disturbed. Her task was simple; to monitor the hostage whilst the Ghosts took care of the coup, only for a couple of days. All she had to do was to make sure Magdaia was fed, and didn't try to run away. All supplies would be provided. As soon as their work was done, Jason would come for the two, returning Eheto back to her mother's hometown for safe keeping.

Eheto looked towards the back, feeling the disgust cloud her mind. Jason noted her clenched jaw and spoke without facing her.

"You're gonna need to cool it, if I'm trusting you with this. She'll rile you up, understand that, and if you lose it with her, then I won't be happy. Understand?"

Eheto forced back her rage. Red was counting on her, and _God_ , Magdaia was such a cunt, but she'd take that bitch over Red any day. The man was _not_ to be messed with.

"What will you do with her?"

Eheto's voice was low, but Jason could detect the hate lurking underneath.

Jason turned to look at her, noticing her eyes hardened. He looked away.

"Enough."

That was all Eheto needed to know. 

A small pause, and then-

"Good."

Jason smiled to himself. They were on the same page, and Magdaia would get what she rightfully deserved.

 

 

Friday, three-thirty pm.

Jason sighed.

Things had been difficult today. He'd arrived back at the Pantheto just before midnight last night, raising a few eyebrows, Yena's included, but Jason paid them no attention. He had changed his clothes in the ship, getting rid of the dust and blood splattered evidence of his night-time activity. His friends would want to know _exactly_ what he'd been doing, but Jason knew he wouldn't budge. He'd much rather keep them in the dark than lie to their faces. Besides, 'Vegas' meant that they would respect his privacy out of trust. And now, after hours upon hours of debating, the Ghosts were finding that both the coup and the Elders were making progress difficult. Neither of them could accept the other being right, even the Elders, and the Ghosts now realised that things were unlikely to change. The realm needed stability, desperately, and if this bickering lot couldn't understand that, then they had to look elsewhere.

And so the Ghosts had sat down, away in the far corner of the room, closest to the entrance, discussing what to do next. Yena and Purple had created a list of people whom they thought suitable to serve the realm as part of a council, and with Yellow's access, the Ghosts had started planning, arranging conference calls with officials of the other planets, wanting their input. They couldn't do any of this alone, and it was about time they started acting with the best interests of the realm at heart. The rest of the day, and late into the evening, was spent running from one room to another, with Jason, Yena and Purple taking calls, speaking with ministers, Yellow and Green managing communications, Fuschia and White reviewing past histories of such planets, and the rest keeping a close eye on their guests. As it turned out, foreign diplomacy was draining, and several breaks were taken, mainly to calm frustration on both sides. 

By early Saturday morning, it was agreed that elections were the best thing for the realm, both at national, regional, and local levels. It would take a great effort but the Ghosts sprang into action, helping draft the voting formats, reaching out to important figures, and helping Yellow create an election system specifically for this purpose, under his sole command, thus preventing any manipulation of results from external sources. The realm at large would needed to be informed, and the Ghosts had quickly elected Jason and Yena for the job of addressing the nation, much to their amusement, and the two friend's chagrin. As well as the address, the media would also need to reached, putting across the update, how elections would work, where and when, and the Ghosts had split up accordingly, tackling the tasks with gusto. The Ghosts pulled in all the stops, burning through the night as they prepared speeches, figures, set up systems and announcements, whilst a few of the coup leaders snarled with disgust and the Elders displeased, but quiet. It was a real pity, in the end. The Elders seemed satisfied that they would remain on the Council, but were having trouble accepting that it would be no longer _just_ them, and as for the coup? Well, Jason didn't give a shit, not with the atrocities they'd ordered. There would be new committees, a House to oversee all activities and ensure the laws of the realm were properly adhered to. No more unregulated power, no more unchecked access to resources. The time for change was now here, and they could either get in line with the program, or stay out of it altogether.

 

 

"This is for the good of the realm, for the people." Jason muttered to himself, as the makeup lady doused yet another lot of fucking powder onto his face. It was silly, the pale powder on top of his tanned brown skin, but apparently it was to avoid his skin appearing oily on camera. Jason had given the makeup artist a _look_ \- what the fuck did oily skin have to do with peace and stability? But she continued, dusting away, ignoring his glare. Jason caught Yena's eye then, the man shaking his head slightly, code to _endure it all_ , and Jason sighed, loudly for his friend's benefit. They had invited a whole bunch of media crew into one of the council meeting rooms, the space set up for a live broadcast. A couple of Ghosts stood guard over the Elders and the coup whilst the rest remained watching the spectacle, taking pictures of Jason and Yena as they were primed and primped like Christmas turkey. Yena appeared patient, but Jason could see the man's eyes closed, face almost grimacing and chuckled to himself as he heard the man muttering in Futian, begging for the torture to end.

Finally they were ready. Jason would begin first, addressing the realm, before Yena would take over, detailing how the Elections would take place. Though it was just a couple of cameras and bright lights, Jason kept remembering that all this was _live_. Everyone, everywhere would see him, his face, his voice - there was nowhere to hide, and it made him uncomfortable. He'd always hated public speaking, being thrust into the open, like those pompous-ass Wayne galas. Bruce would be great at this, Jason thought sourly, and the expression caused Yena to send him a _look_. His friend leaned over then, encouraging him to remain calm, to _not_ focus on having to be in the spotlight, but emphasise the need for peace, for stability, and the importance of proper representation of _all_ the realm, not a select few, for future government and decision making. Jason nodded, grateful, and employed the use of an old breathing technique Talia had taught him long ago. He remembered her voice now, smooth, calm, the way she'd always have him sat up straight, her arms positioning his chest, her hair over his shoulder. Kind, even to someone like him, unusual for a person of her status. That small smile she'd give _just_ for him and Damian, when the three of them were alone in her private quarters, her green eyes dancing. Her laughter, the way she moved so gracefully. Afternoons spent reading together, him teaching her how to cook- she was so shit at cooking and yet she'd be perched on a stool, eating his food, watching with poorly hidden delight. 

God, he missed her, so much. He missed his Mother.

"Sir, we're counting down now." A young female voice spoke somewhere above his head and Jason nodded, eyes still closed, a little lost in the memories. He knew he ought to pull himself back now, to focus, but his eyes stung a little. If only he could call her, somehow. Talia had a number of phones, mainly for business, but there was only one she kept on her at all times: her personal phone. She kept just two numbers on that phone, his and Damian's. Jason had checked one day, scrolling through out of sheer boredom, whilst Talia sat next to him, her feet across his lap as she painted her nails and spoke Arabic on one of her other phones. When this was over, Jason decided now, he would visit her, just the two of them.

It was strange, now that he dared to think about it. Mother was reserved for Talia, his mind automatically sprang to her, but it was also attached to Diana. He'd never quite forgotten about her, not Diana, his Mother before _Mother_. Moments spent with the two women filled his mind now.

Talia and Diana.

Diana and Talia.

Dark haired stunners, the most beautiful women he knew, probably in the world, in fact, strong, powerful and intimidating. Jason felt safe with them, and loved them more than what he believed possible, but his time with them had been very different. With Diana, Jason had remembered feeling _free_ , that he was her Robin, her little boy, and he always flourished with her, in every way, laughing and smiling, talking to her about anything and everything, whatever sprang to mind, to his heart's fullest content. Jason was the little boy he was _supposed_ to be with Diana, the childhood that was stolen away from him. She encouraged him, taught him to see the beauty in life, in love. She was his, he was hers, and Jason loved her, deeply. The love was _still_ there, despite everything. With Talia, Jason remembered feeling _accepted_. Yes, he didn't like that she'd kept him away from Bruce at the time; a small part of him hadn't quite forgiven her for that, but with her, Jason experienced what a _Mother was supposed to do_. Talia was there right from the beginning of his horrors, first row seat to the deepest, darkest shit he'd lived out, things that shook him to the core, that haunted his nights and crept in the day, things he'd shared with _no-one_. Talia was the one who'd bathed him, who got on her knees to wipe away his mistakes, to bandage his wounds, kiss his tears, brush his sweaty locks and wash his hair. She taught him, pushed him, protected him, even at her Father's displeasure - Talia knew him, all of him; she loved him, said that he was of _Talia_ , hers and only hers ever since, and Jason loved her, deeply.

Diana and Talia. They were _both_ Mother, and Jason found that he could not separatel the term. 

If he was ever forced to choose between them? Jason felt his mouth go dry; he simply couldn't. Wouldn't. He'd rather die than choose one over the other. He wondered if they would ever understand just how much they meant to him. Diana would feel...somehow, at Talia's involvement, both with her supervilian status, and her relationship with Bruce, one tgat had resulted in Damian, forever connecting the two. Talia would probably feel betrayed at having to share him with Diana - she tended to love with all her heart _and then some_ , to the extent that one might call it obsession, and Jason knew that him being hers left no room for sharing, none at all.

 _Three_. The countdown markers. Jason sat up straight now, calmer. The room fell silent.

 _Two_.

 _One_.

Jason cleared his throat.

"Good afternoon. My name is Red and I, along with Yena'at Suke, welcome you to this broadcast today. These last few days have been rather eventful, as I am sure you are well aware. Today, I would like to take the opportunity to clarify exactly where the realm stands. The coup, Dunamis, headed by Elder Semeticai'a', has been sidelined in the interim, _as well as_ the Ancient Council of Elders. Previously, it was the Elders who had total and final say in all rulings, laws and treaties, governing the entire realm. We respect their leadership, their good intentions, and have no wish to displace them entirely from their positions. However, not all has been rosy, and past events have clearly demonstrated an unhappiness with the current political structure, one that has governed unchallenged, unregulated, with a wealth of resources at hand to use as desired. Again, we are not here to place blame on anyone, and we recognise and acknowledge the lengthy experience and leadership of the Elders, to which the realm is grateful. However, in light of the coup and their actions regarding nuclear strikes, for the sake of the peoples, their well-being, their livelihoods, and the stability of the realm at large, today, myself and Yen'at, along with a few colleagues, offer you a change that aims to bring peace, stability, and unite the realm. A change that will hopefully be far more representative of each planet in government, as well as a number of measures in place to deter misuse of power and resources. My colleague Yena'at will discuss with further with you. Yena'at."

The camera switched to Yena. Jason took a moment to himself, breathing deeply, his heart pounding. He hoped that he'd been clear enough.

"Good afternoon all. As my colleague, Red, has mentioned, I am Yena'at Suke, commander of the eighteen regiment of the Xanderian army. The change we offer you today is a change to the way the realm is led. A change to the nature of the IGC, to the government structures in place. We have put in place the groundwork for a Congress, which is a large collective of individuals, representatives of each planet here in the realm, who will meet on a regular basis to discuss current affairs and other important issues. The aim is that _all_ the planets are taken into consideration, not just those who are the biggest, or wealthiest. In this way, trade, growth, partnership, development can occur widely, and benefit us as a whole. We want to promote open and fair discussion, and believe a Congress will be an effective tool for this matter. As well as a Congress, we come to you today with another idea in mind: A House. The aim of the House is that of an overseer: to monitor dealings advocated by Congress, making sure contracts and treaties are made with good intentions, and regulate use of resources and other materials. The House will make sure that Congress is held accountable, deterring any measures that are otherwise contradictory to the good morals we uphold in this realm, and to each other."

"We are also helping to set up a number of committees: finance, agriculture, health, industry, technology, law and ethics, education and the arts, and many more, which will again, meet on a regular basis, which Congress will provide oversight and input towards. We understand that this is a large change, but we believe that this is a new step forward for the realm, in light of modern times, and we only wish to move forward. It is imperative that we work together, in unity, living in harmony wherever possible, and this starts with our leaders setting a good example to us all. Over the next few days, we invite each person over the age of eighteen and registered to their catchment areas to register at the website address detailed at the bottom of the screen. There, if you meet the voting criteria, you will be invited to vote in your Council representatives at local, regional, and national levels. The profiles for each representative named will be available to read, and you alone must make your own choices, to the best of your reasoning. The voting will take place across the entire realm; the system will be available to access and cast votes from next week Monday, opening at six am, and closing at twenty three: fifty nine am, Tuesday evening. If you cannot access your systems online, polling stations will be available throughout at each major city; you can access the locations on the map provided on the website. The results will be announced on Thursday, noon, and we hope to swear in the new changes to government the following day, on Friday. We charge _every_ citizen who meets the voting criteria to vote, for the good of yourselves, your children's future, and for the betterment of the realm." 

"From all of us here at the IGC, we hope that you join us in taking this forward step in history in unity and in peace. Thank you, and good afternoon."

 _Three_.

 _Two_.

 _One_.

"We're offline."

Yena and Jason both cast loud sighs of relief, foreheads slumped onto the table in unison, prompting laughter from the whole room. They lifted their heads at the sound of applause, surprised at how well they'd been received. The two men received a number of backslaps, shoulder claps, cocky grins and smirking faces from the rest of the Ghosts, as well as many appreciative nods from Esse and his men. Esse himself walked up to Red and Yena, congratulating them on a job well done, and that the message had stirred up promise in the hearts of his men. The Ghosts were relieved, but the job wasn't over yet. There was still a system to finish creating, upload, regulate, profiles and messages to be sent, calls to make, and so after a little bit of food and a break, the Ghosts resumed their work, determined to make this happen.

 

 

The sunlight streamed through the windows, and the stream tinkled beautifully in the distance, but Bruce didn't care about any of that. Apparently the League had sauntered off to various parts of the town, exploring, but Bruce couldn't care less, not when he had this. He knew the rest had done so to give them some privacy- clearly, they'd known what the two lovebirds had wanted and had cleared off, and they were grateful. Bruce stared a little at the black hair spilling across his chest. He brought a hand to brush it gently, and the owner looked up at him. 

Diana, the woman he was so afraid of admitting to love, smiled at him, before reaching up to gently kiss him. Bruce couldn't help but respond, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her towards him tightly, her breasts pressing into his chest, arousing his desire. He shifted, angling himself even more towards her, clasping her by hips with his thighs. She was _his_. Diana responded appropriately, a small gasp as he entered her, pushing deeply, taking all of her. He watched as she arched her neck and kissed her there, mesmerised by her soft skin, sweet to the taste. Diana laughed, a throaty sound, and Bruce thrust in her again, stirred wild by the sound. How dare she be so sexy, he thought, going in, emboldened by the low moan she let slip by his ear as he grasped her buttocks, giving her his all.

"Again, Bruce? You're not tired of me?" Diana whispered tantilisingly, but her voice kept breaking off as her gasps grilled the room, penetrated by his thrusts.

Bruce kissed her, hard, lost in her desire as Diana's hands weaved through his hair, clenching as he pointedly continued his endeavour. He came up for air, kissing her lightly on the nose, waiting until her eyes fluttered open before he spoke.

" _ **Never**_." His voice was hard as he gazed into her blue eyes, caressing her cheek.

Diana stared back at him, and Bruce watched as her smile grew across her face, starting as a tiny twitch at the corners, before it grew slowly, lighting her eyes, a pink tinge to her cheeks.

It was lovely, and Bruce found himself staring, his finger tracing the contours of her face. Diana broke him out of his musing by lunging for his finger, trying to snap at it with her teeth. Bruce tutted, his quick reflexes saving him from having a stump of a finger remaining. She laughed, hungry, a glint in her eyes, and Bruce grinned. He made as though to kiss her again, waiting for her to lift her head to meet him, before he quickly drew back, and Diana laughed at the tease.

"You know I need these hands for my line of work."

Diana darted up to him, kissing him, biting his lower lip, sucking a little. "Thought you were better than that." Her voice was slightly muffled, and Bruce drew back now, chuckling at the audacity of this wonderful woman. Diana stared back, defiant, as if she was _daring_ him, and Bruce couldn't have that, oh no. 

"Is that so, woman?"

Diana burst out laughing, the sound bouncing off the wall.

Bruce smiled at her blush, the crinkle of her eyes, and he used one sly finger to insert himself up into her vagina, grinning as the shock entry lurched her hips upwards. He inserted another, and Diana arched upwards now, hair cascading down her back, lost to the word. She breathed out his name, but Bruce paid her no attention as he used one arm to push her back down again, pinning her down.

"Lie still."

Her eyes fluttered open, a little dazed, and she opened her mouth to say retort but Bruce inserted himself a little deeper, and the woman _gasped_ now, groaning, chest heaving as he took his time, fingering and massaging, her breath leaving her in sharp pants. " _Bruce_..." Diana's voice drew out his name, husky with desire and Bruce decided he liked the sound of that. He wanted to hear more of it, and now, he would make her _sing_.

Bruce moved himself down Diana, sucking at her breasts, biting the teats a little. He carried on with the kisses, starting from her ankles and moving upwards, alternating light touch with a firm press, till he reached her groin. His head was level with her labia, now a little moist, and Diana let out a soft groan, a small smile on her lips at Bruce's exploration. Removing his fingers gently, Bruce waited till Diana's breathing slowed, her head lolling to one side, coming down from his penetration before he decided.

Time to make his move.

Without warning, Bruce moved in, sucking at her labia, his tongue pressing and pulling, massaging and he dipped inwards, licking forcefully. The cry Diana emitted, along with her gasps of surprise, had Bruce grinning at his revenge, moving with her as she lurched upwards. Bruce went in deeper, quickening the pace, and now Diana was practically off the bed, her hands digging in his hair as she yelped, screamed even, coming wet and sweet. He went harder still, and now Diana was lost to the world, groaning, skin hot to the touch. Satisfied that she was ready, Bruce lifted himself from her touch and entered her properly now, grinding into her, letting out a groan himself. The pace increased, and Bruce thrust harder, the air filled with wet pants and sweat. They continued like that for a while, Diana's yelps getting louder in volume, climbing in pitch, but Bruce wouldn't let her come, not just yet. He withdrew suddenly, ignoring the flustered "no no no" as Diana reached for him, yearning. He let her beg a little, teasing her with a slick finger before deciding the woman had suffered enough. Placing one hand on her lower stomach and slipping the other under her crook of her back, Bruce flipped Diana over, and in the same, smooth movement, entered into her vagina from _behind_.

Neither of them were prepared for the intensity that came next.

Diana was lost to the world as her buttocks arched upward to enable Bruce, the pain a welcome, raw delight. Bruce kept up the pace, and Diana widened her thighs apart further, moaning loudly into the pillows. Now the two of them were really lost to their surroundings as they moved as one, rocking, hips meshing, and their voices climbed now, each panting, wanting, _oh_ -ing their lust. Harder, deeper, _more_ -and they came, Diana first, Bruce mere seconds later, the thick ejaculate weaving through coarse hairs, cementing their union, trickling down legs and staining the bedsheets. Bruce grabbed Diana by the breasts, cupping them firmly as he came, thrusting in her deeply, their sweat cementing them as one. Diana reached for him then and Bruce let her, allowing himself to be flipped over as she now lay on top, inserting herself onto him, riding him hard. It was _his_ turn to gasp now, and he did, loudly, moaning as she rode him, hip digging into hip, feeling more of him release into their union. Bruce felt himself climax _again_ , the third time in under an hour as he held onto the railings of the headboard, groaning, skin flushed, his ejaculate coming in thick and fast. Their voices filled the room, the mattress squeaking in protest, until exhaustion took over, and they gradually slowed, voices breathy, kisses hot, groins tender in ache. Diana flopped over his chest now, hair damp, and the two of them lay like that for a while, content in the silence.

"Thought I was better than that?" Bruce questioned, voice teasing, but Diana had no energy to respond other than to swat him limply on the chest, clearly regretting her words. Bruce laughed, extending one arm and the two held hands for a moment before he pulled Diana upwards, high enough that her head tucked in perfectly beneath his chin, hands remaining linked. He pressed a light kiss to her hair, inhaling her scent, before he rested his head back onto the pillow, mind drifting. 

That night at the fair had been downright magical, for both of them, and it had taken every ounce of his strength to leave her that night, the two wanting each other more than anything. They'd reluctantly parted for the night; Bruce had been half debating to walk into Diana's room on hearing her footsteps up the stairs, and kiss her till they were left dizzy and filled with lust, but he forced himself to stay put. His sleep had been restless, waiting for the next morning when they would finally have time to themselves, and eventually it had come. The League would be setting off on their own, exploring the town for themselves. The morning couldn't come any sooner; the League had quickly planned their adventures, making it clear that they _all_ would be leaving the two alone. Diana had sneaked in a glance at Bruce then, who smirked at her, his eyes gleaming a little. It was obvious as to how _they_ wanted to spend their time; the whole room could practically _feel_ the tension, and Barry had fake coughed, choking a little, before the rest of the League burst out laughing, leaving the shy couple red with embarrassment. In the end, Bruce and Diana had decided to go out, and they'd explored the South of the town, walking hand in hand as they surveyed delights, bought treats, souvenirs, and enjoyed the sights.They'd stopped by a delightful "Pincit d'nere", where it became clear that it was "picnics for sale" - one could buy what they wanted and have the items placed in a picnic basket, fresh and ready to be eaten right away. The couple had selected a couple of stuffed loaves, thin slices of meat and cheese dressed with a layer of oil and flour, along with a light vegetable stew and two bottles of wine. Bruce had remembered where they'd had lunch the day of Clark's arrival, near the riverfront, and the two had walked along the stream, settling for a cosy spot a little under the sun, on a hill top a little west of the river. Dotted around were a few couples in the far distance doing exactly the same, and the two felt at peace as they made themselves comfortable.

They talked as they ate, and after eating, continued to talk about everything, anything. Bruce lay on the grass, eyes closed he as basked in the sun with Diana atop his chest, their hands clasped together. With the two of them there, so relaxed and peaceful, in the warmth of the day, they let it all out now, the worries, the concerns, all that had plagued their minds from the beginning. Bruce had used the front of team relations and professionalism to try and dampen any sort of feeling for Diana, and it had worked, for a long while. Diana hadn't liked it but she'd respected his feelings, especially as the only human League founder. It was important to him, and so she'd made it important to her. At times she'd pushed, just a little and Bruce had let her, knowing that she was testing the boundaries, but Diana always left it there, though she made it obvious as to how she felt. Over the years, they went from colleagues, to friends, close friends, best friends, and the closer they became, the deeper the feelings grew. The boys came, and they too had teased Bruce mercilessly for they adored Diana. It was unsaid but Diana was the mother figure; Damian had once called her "an acceptable substitute for his Mother," high praise indeed.

They had been through a _lot_ together, meetings, battles, difficulties, and even at their lowest, the two had come to rely on one another. Yes, there had been arguments, fights even. Most of those disagreements had been between Clark and Bruce, especially at the beginning, and Diana was the only one who could step in as mediator, though she _hated_ coming between two she loved deeply. A few times, however, the arguments had been between _herself_ and Bruce, where Diana had been all but lashing out at him, past hurts built up, and Bruce had yelled right back at her, also hurting, angry at himself that he was too afraid of being with the woman he loved, and Clark stuck in the middle, pleading with his friends. Contrary to popular opinion, the man had known how the two felt about each other, they knew _he_ knew, and it made everything worse. Clark had dragged Bruce out of the Manor one day, far out into the grounds until the house was nothing more than a blimp in the distance. Clark was angry that the man couldn't for once just _tell the truth_ , and the two had come close to blows, screaming at each other, before Bruce had let out a strangled gasp, clutching at Clark, that couldn't he see, didn't he understand? He couldn't be with her! Clark had shouted why, and Bruce had flailed around, lost, before screaming that _he was too fucking afraid_ , afraid that if they embarked on a relationship, it wouldn't last, that he'd mess it up by being his cold, emotionally constipated self, that Diana deserved _better_. Clark had stared at Bruce, just _stared_ , incredulous, before he'd asked his friend: how was he so sure that _he_ wasn't good enough? Bruce had stared back at Clark, speechless, before throwing his hands in the air, mouth open. And then he'd let out a sob.

And another.

Before long, he'd broken down, crying, and Clark said nothing. He simply moved over to Bruce, hugging him, letting the man cry in his arms about a woman he believed he didn't deserve. The two of them had stayed out there for ages like that, one held up in the embrace of another, barely holding on. They talked heart to heart that day, spilling it out in the open, and after that, Clark had stayed out of it, sadly. It hurt the man to see his two best friends, clearly deeply in love, deny themselves, but there was nothing he could do but wait, and hope that they would eventually come to their darn senses.

Years of love, of hurt, of longing, but the second Bruce realised that the League had been captured, that Diana, the one he loved, was being _fucking_ tortured as if she was less than an animal - Bruce couldn't deny it anymore. He wanted blood to run, to kill those who'd deemed it "necessary" to experiment on his Diana with his bare hands. The worst thing had been knowing just how _powerless_ he was, in that jail cell, watching her be dragged in and out by the hair, thrown carelessly around. He hadn't said much, but Jason killing them all, especially that fat bastard Jempte, had Bruce closing his eyes momentarily in pure relief. Morals be damned, Bruce was sure he'd have killed him themselves had Jason not done it for him. Bruce had been desperate to rush over to Diana the second they were released from their cells, just wanting to cradle her in his arms, but he could barely walk, and was in too much pain himself. The shock of almost losing her had finally removed the veil over his eyes: Bruce loved Diana, he loved her, loved her with all he could ever give and could only hope it wasn't too late.

Stepping in Gerebeta had changed things. Bruce took one look at it all, the peace, and _knew_ that there'd be no better time than to reach Diana, if she still wanted him. He was anxious, a little doubtful, but the next day, as she'd walked over to him by the window bench, beaten, skin marred with bruises yet still smiling down at him, as she'd pulled him up effortlessly, standing too close together - Bruce knew Diana felt the same, and they _both_ knew that their time had come. 

And so, that day with the picnic, feelings revealed, the two had admitted their love for one another, accepting that they would be together - no more delays, no more excuses. Relationships took effort like everything else, and the two resolved to make it work. The next day had seen the League opting to stay in, tired from the previous day's adventures, and they'd sent another large basket of gifts and notes to Clark, reminding him that they loved him. The man still requested his privacy, and they respected his request, though they missed him greatly. This morning, the League had once again "mysteriously" left, leaving Diana and Bruce alone in the house. Even the cooks seemed to have excuses, claiming to need to do a bit of food shopping. And so Bruce had made his way downstairs, only to find Diana curled up in an armchair, reading a couple of books Lielr had brought over from Jason's house; Bruce noted the one she was reading was an old book, Ancient Greek poetry if he was correct, one Diana probably gave to Jason as a child. Bruce had stood by the door, waiting for Diana to notice him, and she had after a few moments. Without saying anything, Diana had stood, placing the book on the shelf closest to her, and walked over to Bruce, who'd outstretched his hand. The two had made their way upstairs, quietly, before their love-making began, slowly, cautious, before growing with confidence, exploring one another.

Bruce drew his attention to the present. He looked down now, smiling to himself as Diana slept, her lips a little pouty. She still held an iron grip as her hand intertwined with his, and he kissed it now, chuckling to himself as the woman shifted, curling herself around him even more possessively. He began to drift off now, lids heavy, and succumbed to the world of sleep, content.

Bruce and Diana.

About damn time, he thought.


	32. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magdaia wakes up to a familiar face, and Clark meets the League for the first time since his arrival.

Sunday morning, six am.

Magdaia stirred under the sheets. She was dreaming that she'd been in the midst of having a bath when the air became filled with noise, shouts and gunfire. She tossed a little now - there had been a man, all in black, pointing a gun at her, at her _baby_ , and had forced her outside. Magdaia felt her heart quicken in fear, her hand trembling, and she woke up now, only to find a heavy, painful weight around her wrists. She snapped her eyes open, about to scream, when she froze.

There, sitting on an armchair right beside the bed to her right, was Eheto.

 _ **Eheto**_?

The woman simply smirked, a mug of something in her hand, and Magdaia felt herself go pale with terror.

She stared at the woman, but Eheto seemed nothing if not relaxed, legs crossed, eyes gleaming. 

Magdaia began to panic, and she flailed about, desperate to run, to move, but to her sinking horror, she quickly realised that both wrists had been tied together and chained to one of bedposts via an extension. Magdaia switched her gaze to her feet now, sweating, her mouth dry as she found her feet in a similar position, also tied at the ankles. Magdaia looked back to Eheto, beginning to beg now, but the woman raised her mug, as if in cheers, and continued to sip away, paying no attention to Magdaia's pleas.

The pleas turned into sobs, then shrieks, til Magdaia felt rage at the injustice of her situation, and then the snarling began. She cursed Eheto, with all that she could think of, spittle flying as she screamed at her, raining misfortune and agony upon that worthless bitch's head. 

Still no response. The woman had now begun to read a book.

And then Magdaia switched tactics.

She went still for a moment, watching Eheto, before placing her hands on her stomach, rubbing it gently. The silence caused Eheto to look up, and Magdaia heard Eheto's sharp inhale, as small as it was. She glanced up at her smiling, and continued the motion, speaking softly to herself, but loud enough for Eheto to overhear. 

"My beautiful one, so _precious_ to me. I cannot _wait_ for your arrival. Your father was _wonderful_ , just wonderful. Truly spectacular. You shall be the spitting image of him, I'm sure, his strength, ability, all he can do-"

"Stop that." Eheto's tone was like ice, but it was Magdaia's turn to have a little fun. She was going to _rub_ it all in Eheto's face.

"Oh, little one, if only your father were here. I'm sure he'll be in for quite a shock, but seeing you? He'll be _thrilled_ , for that I am certain. Yes, our union happened in ...unusual circumstances, but he wanted it _just_ as much as I did. He wanted _me_ , and by _God_ , did he give it all. Not a drop of him went to waste-"

" _ **Shut up**_ ". Eheto was standing up now, shaking, and her nostrils flared as though she was breathing fire.

Magdaia ignored her, now resting her back against the headboard, eyes closed, as she moved her hands up and down, across her neck, cupping her breasts, over her belly, and down below.

"He really gave it all, the touching, the way he pulled at me, pushing hard, and we came as one, hot, sweaty, and oh so _delight_ ful-"

" _ **I said, SHUT UP**_ !" Eheto screamed, red with rage, eyes wild with fury, and Magdaia opened eyes, smirking, running a sharp tongue across her lips as she looked at Eheto.

"He fucked me, _hard_ ; I bet you just _wish_ it had been you, Eheto, that he'd spilled his seed inside, pumping and thrust-"

 _ **THWACK**_.

The sound echoed across the room as Eheto delivered a mighty backhand to Magdaia, across the face. The woman's head snapped painfully to the side as she flopped over the bed, going with the momentum. Eheto's arm was still in the air, chest heaving, hellbent on killing the woman dead. Magdaia gasped, turning head towards Eheto as she used her tongue to prod at her now swollen lip, cut by her teeth. She licked the blood, and propped herself upwards by the elbow, shifting round to face Eheto once more, eyes flashing.

"There's no shame in denying it, girl. You could only dream of being me, being the one to _suck_ at him, _lick_ him, **taste** his scent and _swallow_ his pride, to ride him as he begged, cried, and pleaded for _more_ , to do it _harder_ , to _dig_ in and feast-"

Eheto lost it.

Letting loose a yell of fury, she climbed on the bed, straddling Magdaia, and began to squeeze her throat, determined to drain the life out of the demon. But Magdaia laughed, her breaths throaty as she choked, arching her hips upwards as she reached for Eheto, beginning to grind hard into her pelvis. Eheto tried to back off her, horrified, but Magdaia now separated her thighs, and she trapped Eheto in firmly at the hips. Pulling Eheto down towards her, Magdaia widened her elbows to trap Eheto by the neck, flipping them both over with practiced ease - she _was_ an expert after all. Eheto struggled, pushing against Magdaia's chest with all her might, desperate to get free, but Magdaia paid her no mind as she plastered herself on the woman, smashing her lips with her prey, forcing her tongue inwards, and began to increase the pace of her thrusts. Eheto screamed, muffled, clawing at Magdaia's face as the woman tried to devour her, and finally managed deliver a right-handed hook across the demon's face, breaking free of her grasp. 

Eheto scrambled off the bed, her body trembling top to bottom, before she turned to vomit on the floor, sick with shame that Magdaia had tried to force herself on her, in her mouth, on her private parts. Magdaia lay on the bed, panting, watching little Eheto cough and splutter, as if the girl hadn't wanted any of it. She ignored her gushing nose, hot, wet and sticky, and rested her chin on her fist as she chuckled at the pretense, cocking her head in appreciation. Eheto was a fine little one, and though she had her preferences, Magdaia wasn't about to let a little opportunity go amiss.

"What? You didn't like that Eheto? I always thought you _did_ , with the way you would follow me around, admiring, hanging onto my every word. You're a cute little thing, clearly naive and _unexplored_ , but you have potential. I could teach you, you know. Just as my mother did me; we could start slow, learn how to fondle, to play, to stimulate; I'm sure we'll have a _lot_ of fun together. I've taught many subjects, and there's no better teacher than experience." 

Eheto stared at the woman as she backed away, hitting the dresser with a _thud_. Her skin was flushed, from anger, embarrassment, and worse of all, a little desire. She'd never had that sort of thing before, not with anyone, and she felt horror rise within her as she realised how _wet_ her parts below had come, a little lustful, as if she had wanted _any_ of this. Magdaia seemed to read her expression with ease and laughed, cackled even, as she shifted towards the end of the bed, closer to Eheto, and angled her thighs open a bit, inviting Eheto in. Eheto shrank inwards, feeling her skin crawl - how could a woman be that _strong_? How had the tables turned as so?

"Come now, Eheto. You can't be _that_ scared, can you? You've never been with a woman? Or a man too, I see now - you're a well kept little thing, aren't you? Well, don't be afraid, I'll take it slow. I'll be gentle, next time, I promise. Horrified, yes, I know, but I can see a part of you _wanted_ it, you _felt_ something, hmm? Don't be ashamed, its perfectly natural - I'm good at what I do. Sit, Eheto, just rela-"

Eheto shook her head free of unwanted images as struggled to compose herself. "You're a sick, evil creature, and you deserve nothing but death and agony." Her voice was shaky, voice hoarse, and she fled the room now, Madgaia's cackling ricocheting off the walls at her retreat. 

Eheto will break, easily, Magdaia thought, as the door slammed shut. It wouldn't take long, and when she did, Magdaia vowed to teach the bitch what she was _truly_ capable of.

 

 

Gerebeta, six pm.

Clark stood at the door, tugging at his collar.

He was nervous.

As he waited for Klose to arrive, Clark let himself ponder at his stay so far.

He'd spent the last five days by himself, in almost complete solitude. Sleep had proven difficult, and as much as he loved reading, Clark couldn't take it any more. Two days in, he'd decided he needed to hear something other that the rustling of a book, or the way his sheets moved as he tossed in the bed, trying to sleep.

And so Clark had informed Lielr and Klose, the latter whom he'd met when Lielr had brought him to dinner on his first full day in Pepo, that he would like to see the town. Klose was kind, patient, and laughed a lot; his eyes seemed to twinkle, as if he had mischief in the works, and he reminded Clark a little of his father, though many years younger. Klose had taken him on short walks through the town - unexpectedly large and full of delights-, sometimes early in the morning, avoiding too many people at a time, where Clark could be introduced to the town a little at the time, or late in the evening, marveling at how parts of the city seemed to come alive. The two had enjoyed an evening meal together down in the south of the market square, in a restaurant owned by Klose's friend Dainei, and they ate right next to the stream, with trees in the distance that boasted white leaves, gold trimmings and a pink sunset. The sight, the sounds of the water, and the food made the night one of Clark's favourites in a long, long time, and he and Klose spent hours eating, talking, completely relaxed in the scenery. Klose told him much about the town, how Jason had come to Pepo, and Clark had listened, riveted. Jason had done all that, truly? It was incredible to listen to the story, how Jason had managed to save hundreds, and yet had refused anything in return, opting to make his own living by his own hands.

Clark had laughed at the stories Klose told regarding Jason's antics, some of which included Tim, marveling at hearing the way the man could flit between gossiping with the young, fanciful ladies, baking bread and drinking tea with older women, joking and working alongside the men, drinking whisky with the Elders, and playing with the children. Apparently the kids loved it when Jason held a reading night in the centre of the square, which would be quickly filled with soft throws, furs, pillows, and the children would snuggle against each other in the warmth, surrounded by hot milk and treats as they listened to Jason read. Clark had dared to ask about the woman he'd seen in Jason's room, dark haired, green eyes, beautiful, and Klose had chuckled, eyes glinting knowingly, before asking why Clark wanted to know. Clark had blushed then; he was being nosy, and Klose continued to laugh, recommending that he ask Jason himself, before he continued with the story-telling. The man was loved by all, and Clark could imagine it so - watching Jason's interaction with the Ghosts had been amusing as they ribbed each other endlessly. Jason was a big ball of life, laughter loud and hearty, drawing people close to him. Clark remembered how the Red Hood had declared himself a protector of Gotham's forgotten children, watching out for women; teenage mothers, single mothers, those that were being abused, or in the throes of drug addition and homeless. The man cared about people, and Clark was beginning to wonder why he hadn't made more of an effort into reaching out to the man. He had been so preoccupied with stopping the Hood and his murderous exploits, especially with all the mocking, taunting, the way the man easily stirred up resentment against Superman and the League, and in light of their history, Clark found it difficult to believe just how _kind_ Jason had been during his time with him. Making him laugh, staying right by his side, holding him as he fell apart, even when he had every right _not_ to. It was difficult to wrap his head around it.

Clark wondered that night, as he and Klose walked home, eating ice-cream, as to how Bruce would react if he found out about his relationship with Jason. His friend had confided in him privately that he no longer thought of Jason as a son any more, their relationship too damaged to be salvaged. It was harsh, a real blow, but Clark could understand why Bruce thought this way - Jason had put the Bats through hell, and his friend couldn't cope any more. Clark had felt uneasy at what Bruce might think of their relationship, but at the same time, he was worried about Jason. Bruce, he couldn't tell how the man would feel, but Clark wasn't prepared to try and deny liking Jason. Were they acquaintances, friends? Could they be friends, after all this? It was difficult to put a label on it - Jason mentioned something -'frenemies', that was it - but for some reason, Clark felt Jason to be more mature than that, that the man deserved more respect than such a silly title. Clark had remembered, as they walked home, under twinkling lights and cobbled paths, that Jason had died at around fifteen years old, apparently returning to Gotham three years later, before disappearing again for another two years. That would put him at twenty years old.

 _Twenty years old_.

Clark had almost stopped walking as it dawned on him, that Jason wasn't even an _adult_ yet, not legally anyway. It was that beard that added a few years to his age, and even then, Jason looked to be his mid mid-twenties, max. His lightheartedness and easy going demeanor were telling of just how young he really was; perhaps that was why the Ghosts were so protective over him. A _kid_ , who'd been through hell and back, through _so_ much in such a short space of time, the same one who'd put aside his own hurt, and pain, to help someone he considered a foe. Enemies, and yet the man had given all he had, shared his food, introduced him to his friends, those that Clark had heard him refer to as "brothers", and risked his life several times over, just so that he and the League could get to safety.

Clark didn't know what to say. He had swallowed, his throat painful, dry, and Klose had taken one look at him before speaking, his eyes in the distance. 

"I do not know about the past you and Red share. Judging by your reactions tonight; indeed, similar to your friends' reactions, hearing this side of Red has been quite a shock to you all. My advice would be this: get to know the man. We have come to know him well, and you would be surprised at how far a little time and effort will go. He is not perfect, none of us are, but he is truly a delightful mystery, and that draws people to him. Listen to what he has to say, his reasoning for such things, and who knows? Perhaps you'll discover things about him that you never thought possible, or might not have realised; we certainly have."

Clark had looked at Klose then, questioningly, before staring at the ground. 

"I'm not sure whether Red would be willing to take that chance with us. Our history has been...volatile, mine and his, especially." 

Clark's voice was quiet, low with regret. Why hadn't he tried to help Jason? He'd been fond of Dick, of Tim, and patient with Damian, so what made Jason so different from the rest - the fact that he killed? The army killed, the police killed - anyone in law enforcement might find themselves having to take such drastic action, yet Superman worked with these people. Liaised with them, supported them, had even spent time sitting with them, eating cake and drinking tea, so killing wasn't exactly foreign to him. Was it the brutal nature of Jason's murders? Yes, that was part of it - Jason had a particular talent for creativity in that area, and it sent shivers down Clark's spine whenever he'd heard about the latest Red Hood killing. But Clark knew it was more than that. It had stemmed right from childhood, when he'd first known about Jason. The boy was unlike any he'd ever seen. Cheeky, full of mischief, and bold, daring, not afraid to challenge, to learn, to push. Difficult to trust others and _be_ trusted; it appeared as though Jason seemed to see right through him, through the "Clark Kent" act, the 'justice, peace and harmony' mantra, as if he just _knew_ Clark was hiding a darkness. The same darkness that had manifested as the Justice Lords, that whole fiasco, or whenever Darkseid came up now and again.

Even back then, Jason was an unreadable child, not like Dick. Clark was now ashamed of how had treated the young boy - he had been polite, kind of course, but the _warmth_ that he employed with Dick, serving as the favourite Uncle, or the trips he took Tim on, or even surprising Damian with visits to the Kent farm, a place the boy loved dearly - he hadn't made any sort of effort with Jason. Clark hadn't done _anything_ along those lines with him, not even once. He'd chosen to remain distant from the boy, from a background he was unfamiliar with - the newspapers, amongst other chatter, had referred to Gotham's orphaned children as street rats, and Clark had mentioned this to Bruce, receiving a brutal _glare_ in response-, a culture unknown to him, a history he'd been fortunate enough to never experience, and the shame burned Clark's cheeks at his appalling behaviour. Clark had shaken his head at the memories, hating himself, but that wasn't even the worst bit. 

Jason's death, or murder, if they were being truthful, was hands down the _worst_ thing Clark had ever experienced. It was a dark period, for all of them, but none of that held a _candle_ to how Jason must have felt, just a damn child, and his light already snuffed out from the land of the living.

The day he'd heard, Clark swore that everything around him had come to a standstill. He had been off-world at the time, and had returned back to Earth, only to find that his phone had a backlog of _hundred's_ of messages, missed phone calls, voicemails, the works. He had tried Diana - no response. It was the same thing with Bruce, absolutely nothing, and Clark had been on edge that morning, pacing, before Alfred called him, telling him the news. The old man's voice was barely audible, a tiny whisper, still in disbelief, and Clark had flown out of his apartment as fast as he could, whipping through the air, only to find the Manor silent, the Cave dark, and one Bruce Wayne hiding in the corner, eyes dazed, slumped ove-

Clark didn't want to go down there, not now. That period had been nothing short of devastating. Bruce had blamed him, Clark had blamed himself - why hadn't he been around? If only he had been there, to stop that madman, to shake sense into the boy - why had he left? Tears had sprung a little to Clark's eyes as he remembered how everything had just... _fallen_ apart, that a child could be taken away from them like that, so brutally, so young, with much ahead of him, so much _promise_. Bruce was simply broken, days spent numb, unresponsive, and nights filled with terrible rage, lashing out at anyone and anything; Diana a mere shell of her former self, cutting off all communication as she'd fled to Themiscayra, her heart torn to pieces, Dick driven to insanity by grief- it was too much and Clark stopped, his hands shaking a little as he spoke to Klose, his voice hitching.

"Klose...you don't understand. We-we failed him, along time ago, we failed him as a child, when we should have loved him, protected him, _ac-accepted_ him, and we lost him, in the most _God_ awful way possible. It tore us apart, his father, moth- _God_ , I shoul-I should have been there, to save him, to put an _end_ to the madness, but I wasn't, and we lost him. He-he came back, but it wasn't him. A madness, a rage so fierce, and none of us tried to reach him, I'm so _ashamed_ -"

Clark turned away, his jaw tight, angry at himself. Superman? What a lie. Who was he "super" to - Jason? No way, he had failed that boy many times over.

"-I didn't even _try_ to reach him, and we just...turned on him. Didn't bother trying to find out why, or how, or to try and understand - we told him he was wrong, and that was that. He went away, disappeared from the face of the Earth, and I-I don't think anyone really tried to locate him. But then he came back, Klose, out of the blue one day, and he agreed to help us with this mission, and, and I gotta say: he was fantastic. Really, really good, at his job, with the people, making sure we were okay, that we were safe, and when things went to utter _shit_ what did he do, Klose, hmm? _Tell me_."

Clark had picked up steam by now, mind racing, voice shaky, and heart full of regret.

Klose remained quiet, watching him, only responding with "I don't know, my friend."

Clark put his hands on his head, staring into the distance.

"He came back for us. I don't know how, or even why, but he did. He came for the League, and made sure to get them to Gerebeta, and then he came for me, Klose, he came, when I-I..." Clark gulped, not able to speak anymore. "God, after _everything_ , why? Just.. _why_?"

Klose had looked at his new friend, eyes red with agitation. He knew Red to be a caring, selfless man. Whatever had happened in the past must have been truly life-changing. He said nothing for a long while, and the two leaned against a cobbled wall, watching the lights in the sky, faint laughter in the distance. Eventually he spoke, voice thoughtful.

"My friend, I cannot tell you why. In fact, if you carry on like this, you will drive yourself into a headache, and it is likely that if you asked Red, he _himself_ wouldn't know why. _The point is_ \- Red cares; it is part of his nature. He cares for people, about people, and if he is in a position to help them, then he will. That is one of the many things I have come to admire about him - Red is selfless, ready to give the very clothes on his back if necessary. There's not a thing in the world that you can repay for such kindness, apart from gratitude. Red will be back soon, I'm sure of it, and when he does return, tell him thank you. I do not know him to be the boasting type - cocky, of course, poking fun at himself, but trust me, your thank you, and appreciation, will go a long way. Red will brush it off, but he will remember the gratitude. So, my friend, come along. Do _not_ beat yourself up on what you could have done, or should have done - let the past remain in the past. I'm sure mistakes have been made on both sides, but whatever it is, be thankful that Red is caring enough to put aside the hurt you two share to work on your behalf. Such a person is rare, and it is admirable."

The two had stayed against the wall for a while, Klose letting Clark muse over his advice. Eventually Clark had straightened, nodding, and the two had walked home, comfortable. 

A few days in, Clark had gathered enough courage to venture out a few times with Klose, and sometimes with Lielr, out into the town during busier periods. They had waked with Clark in the middle, to avoid too much contact, and though Clark had been initially anxious, wondering if he'd end up feeling trapped, overwhelmed by the noise and the sights, in the end, the truth couldn't have been more different. Clark had _loved_ it. The more he spent outside, the more his mind lost its focus on himself, his past trauma, as it switched his attention on all the new things to see, to eat and to do. All manner of surprises had been given to him, and Clark had enjoyed them immensely, bowing, touched by the people's kindness. The town was _massive_. Clark remembered how Klose and Lielr had laughed solidly for about a minute when he'd asked them shyly if that was it - whether they'd finished their touring of the market square. The two men had looked at each other before bursting into laughter, with Clark jumping a little at the sudden intensity of their noise. " _Finished_?" they had asked one another, tears streaming, and Clark had blushed, embarrassed. Lielr had told to _wait and see_ , that they hadn't even toured up to half of the _Eastern_ part of the square. Clark had stared at them, mouth ajar - it couldn't be. As it turns out, the town really was _that_ big, full of attractions - hilltops that grew teacup trees, meadows that held hot springs, museums, theme parks, a lane specifically dedicated to bread making and honey-potting, and Clark was fascinated by _everything_. It was overwhelming, magical, and Clark let himself be led along, smiling as he took pictures, stuffed himself on various delights, and let his mind be distracted by the sights.

 

 

A sudden knock on the door had Clark musing out of his thoughts. 

Klose was here, and they would be joining the League tonight for dinner.

Mae appeared by his side now, smoothing his shirt, and gave him a little peck on the cheek to see him off. Clark blushed as Klose laughed at him, and the two said their goodbyes to Mae before setting off towards Cata. Though they conversed at first, laughing, Clark began to quieten as they drew nearer, clearly nervous. Klose said nothing, knowing that the man must be feeling anxious at seeing his friends for the first time. Finally they arrived at Cata, and Clark stared up at the large house, his heart in his throat. He felt a little sweaty, and though he'd unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, his skin felt hot to the touch. The duo made their way to the front door, and with every step, Clark felt his heart pound quicker. Klose stopped at the door, turning to face him.

"My friend, we are here now. Are you ready to go in?"

Clark tried to steady his breathing. He was scared, a little afraid of facing his friends, especially what they _knew_ , but he couldn't hide from them forever. Now that they were away from Earth, out here would be no better opportunity to meet them like this. Clark took a few moments to himself, grateful that Klose didn't push, but waited patiently. Already, he could hear laughter in the background. Finally, after a few minutes, Clark nodded, but Klose made no move to open the door. He spoke in a quiet voice.

"I cannot imagine how stressful this is for you, and I am proud that you have made the effort today to be here, as are you friends. That being said, if at any point you'd like some time to yourself; if it gets too much for you, and you would prefer to go to Rete, please, my friend, do not hesitate in letting me know, or Lielr, any of us in fact. Your friends will understand, and will respect your privacy. Know that there is no rush in doing any of this, so take your time. Do _not_ beat yourself up for feeling anxious, or if you need some space."

Klose turned to Clark, and the two looked at each other. Clark nodded, a small _thank you_ , and Klose smiled in acknowledgement before he rang the doorbell. The two waited, hearing footsteps before the door opened, and Clark held his breath-

It was one of the helpers, Egla, Klose introduced her, and Clark stood awkwardly to the side as the two hugged. The woman turned to him, drawing him in lightly, smiling and Clark returned the gesture, watching how delighted she became. Egla led the two men through the house, with Clark gazing at all before him, the large rooms, spacious and well furnished, before he steppe-

" _Clark_?"

Barry was the first one to notice him, the man already standing, and conversation drew to an instant halt as all seven heads snapped towards him, eyes wide. Clark stood at the door, head a little bowed, offering a small smile-

-And was totally unprepared for the giant tackle as Barry rushed over to embrace him, hugging him tightly.

For a moment, Clark was frozen, his mind panicking at feeling trapped, but then Barry let go, yapping, eyes shining, apologising, and Clark couldn't help but hug his friend back. One by one they went to him, careful not to crowd him too much, and Clark hugged them all, ignoring the way his mind screamed and his body tensed in anticipation. Tears, hugs-Diana had planted a great kiss on his cheek and Clark had turned red, much to the laughter of the group. Finally, it was just Bruce left, and all seemed to hush in anticipation of their reconciliation.

" _Clark_."

"Hey-Hey, Bruce, you-you alright?"

Clark was stumbling now, flushed, tripping over his words, looking everywhere but his friend, staring at his feet on the ground, anxious that-

-All of a sudden, a pair of arms were around him, light at first, and Bruce was by his shoulder, murmuring in Kryptonese that he missed his brother, and that he was sorry, for _everything_ , that he was safe now, and that he, they, loved him. Clark was stood stock still, shocked, before it hit him, that he was safe, with his friends, and he'd tentatively hugged Bruce back, lightly. Bruce seemed to bypass the motion and hugged him tightly, and Clark surrendered now, unable to keep it all in. He held onto Bruce, tight, as he burst into tears, weeping, crying at the _shame_ of it all, at his failure to protect his friends, his utter _weakness_ at allowing himself to be taken advantage of so cruelly, and Bruce simply held him, speaking in Kryptonese that he was here now, that he loved him, that they were here for him. There wasn't a dry eye in the room now, not if all the sniffing and muffled voices were any indication. After a while, Clark let go, red faced, eyes full of tears. He stared at the ground now, not meeting his friend's face, but Bruce wouldn't let him off that easy.

" _Clark_ , look at me."

Clark shook his head, pressing a palm to his eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears. It was embarrassing, breaking down like this, humiliati-

" _Clark_ , _**look**_ at me."

Clark bravely raised his head, meeting Bruce's tearful eyes, but he couldn't maintain the eye contact.

"You are _never_ to feel ashamed at what happened, _**never ever**_." Bruce's voice was low, a little broken, and Clark failed to hold back a sob. Diana had his other hand firmly in her clutch and she squeezed it, willing him to believe it, but Clark couldn't, not yet.

"We love you, and we're so very proud of you. I can't imagine how hard it is for you, but you _will_ get through this because we're here for you, and we'll do this _together_." 

Clark tried to look at Bruce, he really did, but all he did instead was to exhale shakily, his throat painful, his wet shirt sticking onto his skin.

Bruce reached for his other hand and shook it now, voice hitching as he tried to get across to Clark. "I swear it, Clark, no matter what, you will, I swear it, I _swear_ , on-on my parent's _graves_ that I've got you, Clark. I've got your back, no matter what, and I'm here, we _all_ are."

Diana had reached over to Bruce now, and she held her two men by the hands, heart full of love for them.

Clark could do nothing but let the tears roll, and the group didn't push, allowing him time to himself. A couple of minutes later, Clark was finally able to look Bruce in the eyes a little, whispering a broken "Thank you" to his best friend, and Bruce squeezed his hand in return. Diana let go then, allowing the other members of the League to hug their hurting friend, and eventually Bruce steered Clark a little to the table. One of the helpers, Laeo, brought out clean shirts for Bruce and Clark to change into, since they'd cried each other to death, and the room chuckled lightly, before silence dawned.

"Whata day, huh?"

Barry broke through the silence, voice muffled, and the League turned to look at their friend, whose cheeks were already full. He looked so ridiculous, mouth puckered as he struggled to fit food in, that the whole group burst into laughter at the sight. Barry had turned red, desperate to keep the food in, causing Clark to laugh even harder. Barry had done it for him, Clark knew, and he threw a grateful smile into the man's direction, receiving a toothy grin in return.

And so the group ate, entertained by Lielr, Klose and Ishiboth as they recounted a couple more stories about the town and her adventures. Later, when dinner came to an end and the group moved towards the seating area, enjoying drinks under the stars and the great Yamao tree with its white, glowing leaves in the darkness, Klose set up the projector and began to play a few videos, many of the town's competitions, sports days, events, and a few detailing Jason's antics alongside Tim. The atmosphere was relaxed as the group laughed away, talking amongst each other. Clark felt himself loosened as he sat between Bruce and Diana, smiling at his friends as the drinks continued and the air remained light.

There was one video playing now, and the group watched as Tim took control of the camera, recording himself and Jason trade snappy quips one after the other, before showing the town, the meadows, theme parks - there was even a recording of a singing contest Tim had made of Jason, and the group were hushed into awe as Jason stood on stage, his rich baritone saturating the air, bass throaty yet full of depth. The man's voice was a cross between Bob Dylan and Jeff Brides, raw in that gravelly sort of way, the kind that cut to the core and pulled on the heart strings, and the town were as hushed into silence as the League now, riveted and mouths ajar as they listened to Jason sing. Tim panned the camera to himself, blue eyes bright as he grinned, before he turned it slowly to capture the rest of the town, who sat listening, women holding each other, children cross-legged, captivated by the emotion in Jason's voice. The camera returned to Tim now, and to a little of his right were a pair of legs, women's legs perched close to him, with her long dark hair near his shoulder. An elbow was captured on the table, leading up to a hand bent at the wrist as it held a device, presumably recording the event as well. The camera panned a little more to the right, and a handbag could be seen on the table. 

Bruce sat up a little at the handbag. It looked familiar, somehow, but it was momentarily forgotten at hearing Jason hit a particularly high note, clear and sonorous, much to the delight of the town. The League sat, shocked.

 _Wow_ , did that man know how to sing.

What a voice.

Diana made a "hmming" sort of noise, and the whole lot of them turned to stare at her, at her smug look, chin jutted, eyes bright.

 _She knew_.

Even Bruce seemed lost for words as he stared at Diana. He had heard that Jason could sing from Alfred; apparently the boy sang all the time during their cooking sessions, but Jason had never mentioned it possessing such talent. Bruce had approached the subject once, hoping to hear just a little bit, but Jason had refused, not ready to reveal that part of himself just yet, and Bruce had let it go, disappointed. Bruce looked at Diana once more before looking away - he loved that woman with all his heart, but he couldn't deny that he'd been jealous of the way Diana and Jason had been so close during his earlier years, close enough that the boy hugged her without hesitation, held her hand and followed her everywhere. Many a time had Bruce caught sight of them in the library, or in Jason's room or the garden, snuggled together as they read, whispered, laughed, ate and Jason _loved_ his monthly weekend visits to stay with Diana in London. 

Bruce sank back in his chair, thinking. _God_ \- now that he and Diana were together, how could he tell her that he'd all but given up on Jason, disowning him as a son? The woman loved that boy; Diana _still_ loved him, they all knew it, and Jason had shown a real soft spot for her even on Xan. Diana was now in the middle between once-son and once-father, and Bruce felt his throat turn dry, anxious at having to broach the subject.

If it came down to it, who would Diana choose?

Clark drew him out of his musing, then - the man tapped him lightly on the knee, and Bruce looked up to catch Clark looking at him, an eyebrow slightly quirked, knowing _exactly_ what was going on through his mind. Bruce scowled slightly, a little put off that he'd been read so easily, and Clark chuckled quietly, before they returned their attention to the screen.

The song came to an end, and the applause that followed was nothing short of rapturous. Whooping, cheers, girls that flung themselves adoringly at Jason, and the man stood there, bowing, cheeks a little red. The camera, manned by Tim, had captured it all, and his cheers could be heard clearly alongside everyone else. Tim directed the camera around the town square, full of little tables with candles on them, before he turned to his own table, plates full of food. The boy recorded Jason coming back to the table, camera going a little dark as Jason reached down to hug Tim, joking, mussing the boy's hairand ignoring his feeble protests. The man's face was a handsome one, deep brown, flushed a little, green eyes sparkling, and then something unusual occurred.

The camera showed Jason turn away from Tim, to hug another person, tightly, murmuring something unintelligible, and a woman's laugh rang out clear. The League couldn't see who at first, only the long dark hair that spilled over Jason's shoulder in the midst of the hug. 

The camera focused on Jason a little as he sat down, before it shifted slightly to focus on the woman.

Outside, in the patio, everything seemed to come to a stop. Even the stream seemed to fall silent at the woman's reveal.

Bruce had sat forwards, pale, wineglass in his hand shattered by his tight grip, Diana with her arms folded across her chest, eyes narrowed, jealous, Clark only just realising why the face had been so familiar, and the rest of the League, staring at the screen, speechless.

Dark bouncy hair.

Emerald eyes, sharp and clever.

Truly beautiful.

They all knew who she was; head of the League of Assassins, former lover of Bruce Wayne, Mother to Damian Wayne, the woman who'd apparently played some part in keeping Jason away from his father. A highly dangerous criminal, a person of interest to many and yet known to few. Frighteningly powerful, a fearless army at her disposal, wealth beyond imagination. Fierce, a force to be reckoned with, even for the Batman.

 _ **Talia al Ghul**_.

Talia sat next to Jason, staring adoringly at him as he moved close towards her, putting one arm around her shoulder, and he spoke in a foreign language, his tone suggestive as his green eyes gleamed with mischief. The League watched as Talia laughed again, hair spilling over the table, before she looked directly at the camera, shaking her head, smiling. Tim teased her then, prompting a mock stern "Timothy" and a little swat of his shoulder, and Jason chuckled at their interaction. The man bent now and kissed Talia on the cheek, before placing another on the top of her hair, and Talia snuggled in closer, cheeks tinged pink, resting her head on his shoulder. The woman turned to the camera then, extending one arm to Tim, and the boy sighed dramatically, as if it were a major inconvenience, before he relented, moving in close to her, Talia's arm wrapping around him, and Jason smiling at their antics.

The recording stopped then, focused on the three individuals.

Jason at one end, Talia in the middle, and Tim at the other. 

Happy smiles, beautiful faces, one happy family.

 

And the League frozen where they sat, _absolutely_ **silent**.


	33. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason makes a difficult decision. Bruce is reeling from last night's discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING! sensitive topic ahead**.

Monday morning, two am. 

The Ghosts had been working tirelessly throughout the weekend, making sure things were ready for the elections. A team of software engineers had been brought in, and they, under Yellow's command, had set up base in one of the meeting rooms. Their job was to keep up maintenance of the election site, the voting system, and to monitor the servers in case of a crash. All had been working for hours straight since the broadcast on Saturday, and news article after report after interview about the situation had been played non-step on the airwaves. Jason found himself rushing from one end to another, taking phone calls, directing people - he needed a break, and so by two am, even as the work was in full swing, activity bustling from one end of the corridor to the next, Jason took a few minutes to slip away from everything and take a breather. It was nice, to be around people, and friends, but Jason was acutely reminded of why he had moved to Danver in the first place - to get some peace and quiet, and that was what he desperately needed right about now. Tensions were high, expectations on the line, and the Ghosts, along with all those who had rallied to support them, were feeling the pressure. They were making history, history that would shape the lives of generations to come, and none of them could afford to fail now.

Jason decided to see how Eheto was holding up. He scrolled through his apilio til he reached her number and waited for the woman to pick up. He gazed at the view outside whilst he waited. Most of Esse's army had deserted by now; those that _were_ remaining had made themselves useful by manning security, helping to watch over the Elders and the coup with a few of the Ghosts, and helped with the Election set up. Jason was thankful for their input; truly, he had dreaded having to fight them should they have put up resistance to the Ghosts, for Jason didn't think he or his men had any strength left to fight. 

"Hello?" Eheto's voice was quiet, a little shaky.

Jason straightened from where he slumped on the wall. Something was wrong.

"Eheto, what's wrong? Everything alright?"

A pause.

Jason spoke more firmly now. "Eheto, if you don't tell me, I'll have to come there mysel-"

"Nothing! Nothing is wrong, Magdaia is still here, its-its just that..."

A sigh on the other end. Either Eheto had lost her shit and damn near killed the woman - Jason was growing pissed at the idea, _or_ -

"She's-she's horrible, Red, just... _awful_., sick, twisted, foulsome-"

"Start from the beginning, Eheto." His voice was firm.

And so Jason listened to Eheto as the poor woman recounted her story. He closed his eyes, knowing that Magdaia would have tried to take advantage of her; it made sense now that Semeticai'a' had told him a little of her life's backstory, Magdaia's too. It was obvious what that bitch was planning - rile up Eheto enough to make her lose it, and somehow use the woman's temporary loss of control to make her escape. Jason pinched his nose, understanding why Eheto had lost her cool, but nevertheless, he was irritated. He couldn't afford for this woman to go missing - all it took was one slip, and the bitch would be lost to him forever. And with all the resources at Magdaia's disposal, it would be damn near impossible to capture her again, not if Jason wanted to draw attention to himself. He sighed, letting Eheto finish before he composed himself to speak.

"Eheto, listen to me."

Jason could tell Eheto was anxious, probably afraid of what he might do to her. He didn't want her to be scared of him, that wasn't right, but at the same time, Jason wanted her to understand that he had trusted her with this _for a reason_.

"I get it, really I do. But understand this: you losing your cool is _exactly_ what Magdaia wants. She will look for any and every opportunity to make her escape, and if she can get you to lose control, then she will, and will use that to her advantage. I brought you into this because I knew that you of _all_ people wouldn't be tempted by her offer of money, or succumb to _other_ types of persuasion-"

The woman gulped on the other end. Both knew what type of persuasions Jason was referring to. Jason himself recalled what Semeticai'a' what said about sex, that it was a tool, and nothing more, and he hoped Eheto had learnt her lesson now. Like Mother, like daughter.

"-Magdaia will pay for what's she's done, all the sick, vile shit, but in order for that to happen, I'll need you to be patient. If the bitch escapes now, then she'll be able to disappear with all she has at hand, and I don't have any time or resources to start looking for her. Even if she _were_ captured, and taken to the authorities, the most she'll get is a slap on the wrist, a short imprisonment, because she has the money, the connections, and worst of all, the power to weld those things for her benefit. Neither of us have that kind of leverage; not standing or reputation, so listen up Eheto, and pay close attention. Magdaia _**must not escape**_. Not under any circumstances; I don't give a damn what she says, or how much she pisses you off - you must _not_ allow her to get the better of you. All you have to do is feed her, and lead her to the toilet when required. That's it. You don't have to talk to her, or listen to her - your single responsibility in all this is to make sure Magdaia stays alive and stays put where she is. Ideally, I'd like her to stay relatively unharmed, so that she's well primed for what I have in store for her."

Jason could barely hear Eheto at this point. He knew the woman was afraid, and though he didn't want her to be afraid _of him_ , if the fear of his retaliation forced her to toll the line, then so be it.

"I'm not going to drug her, nope. I want her awake and alert for _everything_ coming her way, in the same way she treated her "subjects". I know its hard, having to be in the same place as her, listening to her spew bullshit, but block it out. Focus on the fact that she'll be getting her comeuppance soon; you've seen the news I gather?"

"I have." Eheto's voice was quiet.

"Good. Now, play Saturday's broadcast to Magdaia. Just set up the apiliwe I gave you and play it to her. You don't even have to say a word; just watch her reaction. At least, that'll serve as a little payback for what she did to you, after she realises her darling Mother is no longer in control, and then she'll _really_ start to panic. I'm taking everything away from her, starting with the power she's afforded through Semeticai'a'. Everything else; their reputation, resources, safe-keeping - all that will fall apart as they are exposed to the entire _realm_ , and when I'm satisfied that the two women have lost everything they hold dear to them apart from each other, Magdaia especially, _then_ I'll pay her back for what she's done, what she forced you to do, and most of all, what she did to my friend. Its a step by step process, one that will require a bit of patience, but if you're willing to play along, then the payback will be sweet indeed. Do you understand, Eheto?"

A small pause, and then-

"I understand, Red. I am sorry for losing control; it will _not_ happen again." Eheto's voice was firm, determined to see this through. The demon, and her bitch of a Mother, would pay for all the horrors they had inflicted.

"That's my girl. Now, remain strong, and don't let her get to you. I'll have more supplies sent out to you; let me know if you need anything else. For now, take care, and if all goes well, I hope to see you soon."

"Thank you Red. Goodbye for now."

Jason disconnected the call, stuffing his apilio in his pocket, and folded his arms against his chest as he gazed out of the window, thinking. He was going to destroy the women, but it would be gradual. First he would start with their reputations. Jason had already tasked Yellow and Yena privately to compile a dossier on Semeticai'a's illegal activities using Yellow's newly acquired unlimited access as head of military command. They would need to do the same for Magdaia; Jason resolved to contact every single place where Magdaia ever worked, her previous research works, to find out all he could about the woman. The work at Ikisi and Fewuity would have been perfect evidence to testify against her, but both labs had been destroyed, along with all the work in them, and so Jason would need to find evidence elsewhere. He remembered how Semeticai'a' had bragged about sexual favours and manipulation, having people fired who'd tried to expose her, and if all Semeticai'a' had said regarding teaching her daughter along similar lines was _true_ , then the same would be found for Magdaia. People who'd been shafted because of her, work stolen, pushed out - they would have _something_ on the woman, and Jason resolved to collect _everything_ \- he was going make sure all Magdaia's work was discredited. So, reputations shattered. Next of course, would be their resources. The Ghosts currently didn't have access to those things, since the family was wealthy, old money wealthy, moving in circles where names carry weight, respect, and power. There was no way of freezing their accounts, but then it dawned on Jason. Names were _everything_ to these people, like the Wayne name, the Elliots (or Hush, as he preferred to go by) - names carried respect, meaning; they bought power, access and opportunity. Jason knew it now - they didn't have to take away their money, no. It was just as Semeticai'a' said. Power _is_ power and Semeticai'a' had been fortunate to be born into the right kind of family in order to _access_ it. Take away the name, drag the reputation through the gutter, and everything that came with the name: the money, the power, the consideration, the respect- that too would fall by the wayside. 

It was perfect, the way it all slotted in so fittingly, but Jason knew he had to be careful. He couldn't be seen as harbouring an irrational grudge against the family; his status as a foreigner, though improved by recent events such as the broadcast, wasn't permanent. At the heart of it, Jason was a foreigner, not accustomed to the ways of the realms, their peoples, and they wouldn't take too kindly to Jason going after one of their own. Therefore, he would have to be subtle. Present the facts as objectively as possible, no emotion detectable. Have Semeticai'a' hoisted onto the stand, torn apart by her own people, shamed in front of the realm to an extent that no-one would like to be associated with her, or let it be known that shared past connection. As far Magdaia? Well, the explosion and the private cover Semeticai'a' had provided for her little demon spawn meant that the woman _should_ be presumed dead. Which, of course, meant that no-one would _think_ to go looking for Magdaia - wasn't Semeticai'a' the one who mentioned that she had her daughter take her Father's name, in order to keep the family connection between herself and the bitch a secret, for "security purposes"? It was a load of bull, Jason decided - Semeticai'a' had insisted it for her _own_ purposes - she didn't want anyone to use her daughter against **her** , _not_ that she was worried for her daughter's safety and well-being. Selfish woman, breeding a selfish daughter; it was no surprise really. 

Jason straightened up now. Eheto had got the message; if she didn't before, she certainly understood now. He would start poking around into Magdaia's history - that would come in useful when it came to help clearing the League's names, and tying up loose ends on Xan. The last thing Jason wanted was for the League to be dragged into this mess yet again, not for _any_ reason, and after the Elections were over, he would insist for a hearing with the "new" IGC, in order to clear their names, declaring their contractual work finished and complete. _That_ was how to do a damn good job, as a professional, and Jason took pride in his work. His training as a Ghost taught him the importance of seeing his work through to the very end, finishing well, and Jason was determined to bring the League's time here full circle. They started with Xan, with the IGC, and they would finish with Xan, and the IGC. Nothing would be left to chance.

Jason held his apilio against his mouth. 

There was still one other call to make.

Jason had picked up Magdaia on Thursday evening; according to Dr Ghersha's notes, from his visits, the last that Thursday morning, the pregnancy test results would be available by now. Presumably, Dr Ghersha would have tried to contact Magdaia by now, even visited possibly. The man would need to be contacted. 

Perhaps a visit to the man was in order?

Jason thought about it. Yes, it could very well work. He had the man's contact details, but no actual address, not til Yellow was able to work his magic. He checked the time: Two fifteen am. The voting system was due to open at six am, and there was still a bit to do. But Jason knew that he couldn't afford to lose Dr Ghersha, the man might have even alerted someone to Magdaia's absence, even though the woman was clearly meant to be in hiding. If he was going to get across to this doctor, it had to be _now_ , but he would need to be covered, for a short while.

 _Yellow_.

Jason smiled to himself, and made his way to Yellow's command centre. The man was still there, active, the room full of maps, displays, bright and humming with activity. The two had caught up in the early hours of Friday evening, when Jason had returned from his little trip. His absence had been brought up, but the cover Yellow provided was adequate, at least to Esse and his men. The Ghosts were a little unconvinced, but they knew the protocol, and so they hadn't pushed, trusting that whatever it was, Jason had it under control.

"Yellow, how's it going?"

Yellow had a pen in his mouth as his head moved from one screen to another, fingers moving of their own accord. The man was flitting between this place and the meeting room next door, where he was leading the team of engineers. Jason peeked through the window to this room; they were all there now, headsets on, talking on the phones as they typed away, eyes glued to their screens. Jason chuckled to himself, Tim would fit right in here. 

"Not bad, Red, and yourself? How are things? We're getting close to the voting polls, how much left is there to do?"

Jason ran a hand though his hair. His curls were getting slightly tangled, they'd need sorting out soon.

"Not much. A couple of things here and there, but I think we'll be alright. Just need to make sure the actual site stays up and running once it opens, can't have the whole thing crashing down on us, you know?"

"Yeah I get you. Don't worry about it, we've got a lot of support into making sure that doesn't happen." Yellow lifted his head to grin at Jason momentarily before returning to his precious screens. "But that isn't why your fat ass is here though, is it? C'mon, spill already."

Jason laughed before he answered, hands in his pockets as he read the data on the whiteboards dotted across the room. "I'm gonna need to head out, again." His voice was deliberately soft, enough that Yellow looked up at him. The man cocked his head, realising what Jason was referring to, and he crossed his arms a little, a small smirk on his face.

"Again? The bitch's escaped?"

Jason let loose a sharp laugh. "Nah mate. I need to pay a visit to someone, need a little more information. It's important."

Yellow nodded, not pushing the matter. "How much time will you need?"

"Depends on how far away it is. Here, I need a trace and a location."

Jason gave Yellow the doctor's details.

"Where d'ya think he'd be at this hour? Work or home?" Yellow asked, swiveling round to face Jason. Jason leaned on the desk, legs outstretched. 

"Ain't got a fucking clue. I'd like to say at home, but the guy's a doctor, what if he's in the office, doing paperwork or called away for an operation? I can't tell." Jason sighed a little. He didn't really feel like breaking into the guys's home, threatening to torture the guy with his family asleep in the next rooms, but he didn't want to go all the way there only to find he was someplace else.

"Well, there's only one way to find out." Yellow shifted round to the screen and began typing away. A few seconds later, the sound of a dial-tone filled the room. Jason whipped his head round to look at his friend, but Yellow mouthed "tracing" to him, grinning away. Jason shook his head at him, wanting to swear a little at the man, but found himself smiling instead. He steadied his voice, speaking calmly.

"Hello? Who is speaking?" The voice was old, a little haughty. Jason couldn't blame the guy, he'd be pissed if someone was calling him at almost two thirty in the fucking morning.

"Dr Ghersha, good morning. I am Thete, one of the private security personnel guarding Miss Damaes. We've had a breach in security, and we felt in necessary to move Miss Damaes to a more secure location for her safety. As I'm sure you're well aware by now, the residence is no more, and the line I am calling from is private, again, for the safety of Miss Damaes."

"Of course, of course." Dr Ghersha's voice was hurried, clearly aiming to please. Jason rolled his eyes in disgust; faithful lapdog.

"She has asked me to inquire whether you will be able to attend to her later in the morning. She has requested some privacy, and-"

"That is not a problem, Thete-was it? Not at all, I am currently at work, just completing a little paperwork. I will see her first thing at ten am, if that is suitable?"

"I shall have to ask. Please stay on the line."

Jason waited for a couple of seconds, smirking at Yellow, who grinned, taking a break from his work to listen to the play at hand. A few more seconds later, and then-

"Dr Ghersha-"

"Yes-yes, I'm still on the line."

"Miss Damaes has agreed to the time. Again, for security purposes, I will have to escort you to the premises-"

"Of course, that is not an issue, I completely understand."

"Thank you for your cooperation. My apologies for the late hour, and good morning."

"Good-"

Jason cut the phone. "Urgh." He rolled his eyes, and Yellow laughed.

"Got a location?"

"Yep. Somewhere in the city, a private hospital by the looks of it."

"Great. Gonna have to land somewhere and walk it." Jason mock sighed before he straightened up, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "Thank Yellow, couldn't have done this without you."

"Damn straight."

Jason laughed on seeing the man's smug face. He walked towards the door now. "Want me to pick you up anything?"

Yellow appeared wistful. "Could do with a burger, I can't even lie. But nah, don't worry about it, get going. I'll think up a cover."

Jason nodded in appreciation and made his way towards the exit. He stopped at the door. "Do me a favour: find out as much as you can about the doc. He's a little too eager to please for my liking."

"Think there's something on him?" Yellow had a glint in his eye.

"Maybe. Would explain why he seemed to hurry to accommodate the princess; I wouldn't be surprised if Semet la bitch had a lil' summin' over his head."

Yellow laughed at the name-calling. "Will do. Good luck."

Jason mock saluted his friend and made his way out.

Time to pay Dr Ghersha a little visit.

 

 

Dr Ghersha rubbed his eyes, tired. It was now ten minutes past three, and there was still work to complete. He had clinic in a few hours, and to make matters worse, he had that Magdaia bitch to attend to. He stared at the pages in front of him, the words swimming as he struggled to concentrate. The bitch's mother, an even bigger cunt, knew all about his somewhat questionable practices, and Magdaia had gleefully informed him of a few when he'd initially refused to see her, at her lapdog Uemiet's request. Semeticai'a' was from a powerful family, and with all the new changes to the coup, the broadcast on Saturday, things were up in the air now. If even Semeticai'a' was out of the picture, Magdaia wasn't, and apparently the woman was not only sly, but _sick_ , and delighted in her twisted nature. At least her mother had been somewhat sane, agreeable even, but as for Madgaia, that creature was something else entirely. And now he had to attend to that vicious whore in the morning, fucking up his day, and worst of all; she loved it. She enjoyed the power she welded, over him, over many others; rich and untouchable, and Dr Ghersha _despised_ her. The doctor thumbed through her notes now; the woman had causally mentioned a pregnancy test, and for a moment, Gersha had forced down his bile, pitying the poor fool who had stuck his penis in such a hateful woman. The results had come through, and-

" _Shit_." Dr Ghersha swore a little as the cup he'd been sipping coffee from missed his mouth entirely and went onto his shirt, burning a little. He jumped up quickly, muttering curse words upon that hellish woman, that Thete lackey and all the other paid fools who were looking after her, and left his office, stumbling to the bathroom down the hall to sort himself out. He failed to notice a dark figure in the shadows, watching him as he left.

 

 

Jason watched the Dr Ghersha go, holding back a chuckle. Late night coffee spillages, he'd had a couple of similar incidents as a result of sleep deprivation. Yellow had sent over a few files on the way here; apparently the man had a history of falsifying research statistics, one study which had resulted in the development of a new drug that had proved lucrative to the doctor and a few of his partners. In addition, the man had a tendency to be a little too... _familiar_ with his younger patients during his "charitable" work at the outreach clinic downtown, for those whose health insurance didn't cover much. So a liar, and a pervert, Jason had hummed to himself, as he flicked over the information. He waited for the doctor to retreat a little further down the hallway before checking his mask was still in place, and made his way into the office, causally looking around. He disconnected the phone before seating himself in the armchair closest to the door. The doctor would only notice his presence once he sat down, and Jason made himself comfortable now, arm dangled over the armrest with a gun in hand, feet crossed as he position them outstretched on the coffee table, waiting for the good doctor's arrival.

He didn't have to wait long.

A set of footsteps approached the door, louder, until the soft mesh of the carpet indicated that the doctor was now back in his office. The man closed the door himself, muttering angrily as he made his way back to his desk, face down as he swatted at his chest. The man sat down, shifting in his chair before he looked up.

And screamed.

Jason gave a lazy wave, gun still in his hand.

The man kept screaming. 

Jason sighed. He pointed the gun at the man now, who had dared to get up, presumably to escape, such a silly notion. The man froze in his position, half off the chair. Jason made a pointing motion downwards, indicating the man should stay put, and the man complied, sitting down with a squelch, eyes wide with fear.

Silence.

"Evening doc. I was wondering what you could prescribe for this little _bitch_ of a thorn in my side." Jason began, tone mocking.

The poor doctor spluttered, stuttered, and Jason waved the gun in his direction, continuing with his antics.

"Twisted little shit. Arrogant, sick in the head, lording the power she thinks she has over others, just like her cunt of a mother. Sound familiar?"

Dr Ghersha stopped, speechless. "How-"

"Never mind that. The pair of them are right horrors, aren't they? Holding all your lies and perversions over you, so inconsiderate." Jason continued, smirking at the way the man's face drained of colour.

"Wha-what do you want?" The man managed to strangle out in a gasp, sweating already. 

Jason sighed dramatically, and in one smooth motion strode towards the desk. The speed of the movement sent the doctor reeling, and he stared at Jason now, clearly shaking.

"Plea-Please! I'll do anything, _anything_ you want, just don-don't hurt me, please!" The man begged, frightened, and Jason leaned against the side of his desk, legs crossed in front of him. Ignteresting. The man had been desperate to agree to see Madaia before on the phone, and yet here _he_ was, an unknown, and this doctor was desperate to help him too. Was he just that helpful? Doubtful. Jason drew the chair closer with his foot and held his gun right on the man's groin, ignoring the wet stain that had now appeared. He spoke, voice hard, eyes narrowed behind his mask, assessing the man.

"Why?"

"Wh- _why_? Why do I want to help?" The man now had tears rolling down his cheeks.

Jason gestured with his hand. "That's right, dough boy. Speak, or you'll lose-."

" _I hate her_!" Ghersha burst out. "I hate her, her mother, her-everything! The way they _twist_ things, people,-they-they're untouchable. I want them go-gone, just _gone_!" The man was shaking properly now, but his voice was filled with rage.

Jason cocked his head. "So you can continue _your_ sick shit in private, eh? No-one to hold you accountable, is that it?"

" **No** - _no_! I-I-mean, just, no, I just want them off my back. They-they're horrible people, truly! Sem-Semticai'a' is one thing, but at least she's sane. The other one, Mag-Magdaia - there's something _wrong_ with her, truly evil, so _repulsive_." The doctor looked close to breaking. Jason said nothing, pressing the gun deeper, watching the man whimper as he screwed his eyes tight.

And then he released the pressure, straightening up. He went back to leaning against the side of the table, arms crossed, gun appearing to dangle carelessly.

"Fine."

The doctor opened his slowly. He opened his mouth to speak but Jason shook his head, once, and the man clamped his mouth shut.

"You give me what I want, and your sick shit stays with you. I'm not interested in your activities, believe me. As long as you do what I say, right now, and keep this-" Jason gestured between them "-to yourself, you'll never hear from me again."

Gerhsa nodded frantically. "Yes, yes, of course, anything, _of_ -"

"Uh-huh." Jason cut him off. "Here's what I need you to do: bring up everything on Magdaia Damaes. Her files, her history, particularly your little visits to her last week. I want the test results of her pregnancy test."

"I don-don't have much-"

"Give me what you have." Jason's tone booked no arguments, and the man complied instantly, bringing out files, pleading to be spared, but Jason waved him quiet with his gun. He spent some time making his way through the information, noting a number of terminated pregnancies over a few years in the past, probably as a result of her "opportunities", just as her dear Semeticai'a' taught her. He looked up now at Ghersha who had been staring at him, and at the door. Jason returned to read the last remaining bit, and spoke without looking up, voice calm.

"Ghersh, you make a run for that door, I'll litter your body with bullets, and send the pieces to your wife and three sons." 

A strangled gasp, and Jason glanced to see the doctor nodding, swallowing, crying pitifully. He closed the file with a _snap_ , ignoring the way the man flinched, and stared at him, voice emotionless.

"I want to know the results of the latest pregnancy test, the one you conducted for her last week."

Ghersha nodded, moving quickly, tears still streaming. He shakily handed a slim sheet of paper to Jason, who rested the gun on the table as he scrolled through the report. 

His eyes scrolled and searched, heart thundering until-

Results: _**positive**_.

For a moment, all Jason could do was stare at the paper, his heart stuttering to a stop.

 _It couldn't be_.

He read the word over and over, reading the report almost three times, before he swallowed painfully and staggered back into a chair across Ghersha.

 _Pregnant_?

 _Jesus_.

Jason's mouth was dry. _Fuuuuuck_ , _fuck_ , _fuck_ , _fucking hell_. His mind was racing.

He looked at Ghersha now, who seemed to shrink back. "This can't be right." His voice was hollow, shaky.

"There were multiple-" but Jason cut him off as he _lunged_ for the man, grabbing him by his neck, and slamming him against the wall.

" _ **You're lying**_!" Jason's voice boomed, and he shook the man like ragdoll.

"Please, _please_!" The man's face was turning purple, and he gasped, struggling to breathe. "It's true, it was tested three times!"

Jason let him go, ignoring the way the doctor slumped to the ground, clutching at his throat.

He fell into the chair, dazed.

For a long moment, all that could be heard were Ghersha's gasps, trying to get in air, but Jason couldn't care less about him.

 _Pregnant_?

No, just... _no_ \- Jason pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes, taking in deep breaths. He sat forwards, trying to calm himself, but all he could picture was Clark crying as he held him, numb to the world around, his dazed, broken look as he lay on the table, powerless to stop Magdaia raping him.

He couldn't let this happen to Clark, he just _couldn't_. The man didn't deserve to be burdened by such a memory, to know that an innocent child had been the result of something so _brutal_ , so ugly. A mother who was nothing less than deranged, evil, and a father who wouldn't be able to look at him, knowing that he was a product of something shameful and unholy.

But this was a _child_. Innocent - should a child pay for their parent's mistakes? Could he fathom ending the life of a child, a whole person? A life, a separate individual? Jason knew about the different opinions on abortion, pro-life, pro-choice. Weren't children gifts to be treasured? What if the child could be kept away from Magdaia, adopted somehow, to live their life away from such hate, such a twisted situation? A chance to grow up good, untainted? Would Clark want to know about the child, to give him a chance somehow? What if, by complete and utter _miracle_ \- the child changed Magdaia? Was it possible for a person like that, so devoid of empathy, to change, to see their wrongs? Jason didn't believe it.

Another part of Jason argued back. What if the child went looking for its parents, like _he_ did? What if he _wasn't_ able to get the child away from Magdaia, from this place - she was a powerful woman, from two very powerful families, with almost unlimited resources at her disposal. What if _Clark_ found out - the man would be nothing but crushed, devastated, reminded of his past trauma, of this new unwanted responsibility. How would the man be able to _love_ the child - was it even possible, to love something that was fifty percent hate, from evil? The news would fuck up Clark for the rest of his life, with relationships - _God_ , with Lois, Jason swore-he hadn't even thought about the woman. Were the two together now? Would they be in the future? _Fuck_ this was messed up. What if Clark wanted to know about the kid - did Jason have any right to take this away from him? To hide knowledge of the child's existence? To make a decision without parental consent?

Jason sat like that for a long, _long_ time. 

And then Ghersha spoke into the silence, voice quiet. "There is another report."

Jason raised his head slowly to the man, coming out of his slumber. The man swallowed, staring, but he continued. "The test came back positive three times, but there was a...concern about the genetics." 

Jason stared at Ghersha.

Ghersha reached over, scrambling through papers, before he handed a slim file to Jason, who took it numbly.

He read the report, stopping a few times to re-read parts. Magdaia's genetics read as fifty percent Elekian the other half Xanderian, but the baby's was a little different. Some Elekian, yes, Xanderian too, also to be expected, but then this: _unknown_.

Jason read the word aloud now, looking up at Ghersha, who explained, voice shaky.

"The concern is the _unknown_. The Elekian and Xanderian can easily be identified, but whomever Magdaia...in any case, their genetic material is not on our systems. Essentially, Magdaia is with child, but the concern now lies to the _viability_ of the pregnancy."

Jason stared at him. "Viability." His voice was flat.

"Yes. We don't know what genetic composition the partner is, and that puts questions as to the baby's genetic makeup, if it will be compatible with Magdaia's own.

It was dawning on Jason now. "So, what your saying is- due to the unknown material, this pregnancy could either a. make it full term without any problems b.continue in pregnancy but be left with..complications affecting both mother and child, or the child born but left with defects, anything ranging from cognitive, functional, motor abnormalities, possibly affecting quality of life or c. not make it, a miscarriage-

"Exactly. We cannot predict what will happen, and Magdaia will require extensive monitoring throughout to determine her progress."

Jason was silent for a few minutes. Finally, taking a deep breath, he faced Ghersha. "In your professional opinion, what is the best course of action?"

Ghersha began to stutter, palms raised, but Jason cut him off with a harsh tone. "Take emotion out of it. If this were any other patient presenting to you like this, _what would you recommend they do_?

Ghersha sat, hands clasped, head bowed. He didn't move, didn't speak. He sat there, and then he looked up at Jason, face a little sad. "In my professional opinion...I would advise a termination of pregnancy. I cannot predict what will happen, with mother and/or child, and I believe that the risk outweighs the benefits. I'm sorry."

Jason said nothing.

What right did he have to do this? Yes, Magdaia was evil, absolutely, but this was.... 

But then he remembered something.

He remembered his mother, and himself, in their shitty little rat-infested hole in Crime Alley. He remembered how at times, his mother would look at him clearly, and the _hate_ that crawled across her face would chill him to the bone. How she would stare at him from across the room, but not say anything. It was only in the midst of a drug-induced ecstasy, inhibitions lowered, that she would tell the truth: that she _hated_ him, for being born, for having to care for him, that he was a responsibility no nineteen year old should ever face, a _burden_ , that when she looked at him, all she saw was regret and pain, particularly because of his father.

And Jason knew he couldn't allow anything like that for this child, or any child in fact. The possibility was there, was too real, and Jason sat up now, mind coming to a decision. Magdaia was unstable, incapable of care - she treated people as subjects, as tools for her to manipulate, to use, and that's _exactly_ what she would do to this child, to _Clark_ , if he ever found out about the child's existence. And Clark, though a good man - Jason knew deep down that part of him would always look at the child with hatred, hating that he came from someone so cruel, someone who had taken full advantage of him at his most vulnerable, who'd laughed at his suffering, and taken pleasure in his pain. 

Even if the child grew up away from the two, then he or she would go through an identity crisis of some sort - Jason saw it all the time when he'd been carted from one orphanage to another. Children who were lost, who didn't know who they were, who hated themselves because mummy and daddy had thrown them away, had given them up, or left them all alone. And if that child grew older? Then they would probably begin searching for parents, trying to trace roots, and establish their identity, and Jason couldn't imagine a situation in the future where an eighteen year old alien kid would introduce himself to Clark as his son, no fucking away. Talk about PTSD - Shelia had reacted in a similar way, when he'd shown up, out of the blue, introducing himself as her son, as if that made everything okay. It didn't, because as Jason had come to understand later, his presence, his very existence, reminded Shelia of her past, her trauma, her pain, the abuse she'd suffered under Willis Todd, and the life she had created to escape her torment.

It wouldn't be fair on the child, _and_ on Clark, and therefore, Jason made the decision. 

"I need you to obtain something that will induce a medical termination of pregnancy." Jason spoke without lifting his head, voice low.

It _felt_ like right thing to do, Jason was almost one hundred percent sure, but that didn't mean necessarily mean it _was_ , nor did it make the decision any easier.

Ghersha stared at him for a while before he turned away to the wall, as if he just wanted to conceal the shame away.

"The pregnancy is not far along. There is a pill, one single one that dissolves in water, clear, and without odor. It will induce bleeding within the next twelve hours." The man's voice was soft, hitching a little at the end.

Jason sank to the floor now, knees to his chest, hugging himself.

They stayed like that for a while, neither moving. Eventually Jason spoke, his voice far away. "I..it can't continue. If the baby is born...Magdaia, she, she-" Jason struggled to find the right words. Ghersha looked at him, sad, knowingly. "I understand. She...cannot." He stopped there, unable to continue. 

Both men understood that the other was trying to say.

Magdaia would ruin that child's life.

A couple of pauses later, and then Ghersha spoke again. "There is pharmacy on the first floor. If...I-I can obtain the medicine, if you want."

Jason closed his eyes, rocking himself a little. Eventually he nodded. "I-I'll come with you."

The two men stood together, and Jason picked up the files. Beckoning to the doctor to lead the way, the two walked slowly, legs heavy, till they reached the dispensary. Jason watched as Dr Ghersha walked to the medicine cabinet, brought out the medicine, and gave _two_ pills. Jason stared down at his hand, abnormally heavy, before he looked up at Ghersha, but the man was looking away to the side, unable to meet his eyes.

"One should be enough. If nothing after twelve hours....then, the second, that-that will do it."

The two of them stared at Jason's hand.

"Usually the bleeding is heavy, but since the pregnancy is very early, then-the-the bleeding will be similar to a monthly period, all within twelve hours." Ghersha was having trouble speaking, his throat tight.

Jason nodded, wanting to be anywhere but here.

"Anything else I need to know?" His voice was barely above a whisper now.

Ghersha closed his eyes. Jason almost regretted dragging the man into this, _almost_. "Just rest and fluids. The bleeding should not last long. I-I...I just _can't_ , that child..." the man shook his head, and Jason didn't know what to say.

"I know."

He checked the time. Almost four am. He had to be getting back.

"I have to go." Jason's voice was hollow. He _felt_ hollow.

Ghersha nodded.

"I-" Jason didn't know what to say. 

None of them did.

Ghersha sighed, heavy, and turned to lock up the dispensary.

By the time he looked back, the man was gone.

 

 

Monday, sometime in the late morning.

Bruce stood in the garden, mind far away. 

Last night had been...well, there weren't any words to describe how he had felt.

Bruce began to walk to the rear of the garden now, then through the meadow, up to the hilltop where the the Yamao tree stood proudly in the sun. He needed some privacy.

Talia, the mother to his youngest, one who he had loved, briefly. The same one who had played a part in keeping Jason away from him - Jason had taunted that little fact, and Bruce had confronted her one late evening in her private headquarters, somewhere outside the secret city, wild with fury at how she could even _consider_ such a thing, but Talia had sat there, hands clasped, saying _he wouldn't understand_.

And Bruce had lost it.

He'd lost control that evening, and lunged at the woman, flinging her across the room before he descended on her, screaming in her face, shaking with rage. He wanted her _dead_ \- she had kept his boy, his Jason, cheeky, bright, and full of life _away_ from him, _deliberately_ and she had fucking nerve to sit there like a cat licking its cream, as if there wasn't anything wrong with what she'd done. Bruce had slapped Talia fully across the face before she fought back, clawing, punching, and the two rolled together across the room, lashing out. In the heat of the moment, with Talia on top, the woman had kissed him and Bruce had responded, brokenly, desperate, and the two had stripped each other's clothing, lusting and wanting and just yearning, thrusting and biting-

-and then Talia had stopped, pushing him away, and put her face in her hands.

She wept, her cries bitter and angry and Bruce had slumped against the wall, staring at her, tears soaking his shirt as he kept shaking his head, _why_ , of all the things she had done to hurt him, having a child by him and keeping him secret for _years_ -God, he hated that woman, hated and loved her, the Mother of his child, and Bruce had sat against the wall that evening, sobbing as the memories flooded back to him; a boy too short who liked girls and ice-cream, who loved to read and could make him laugh deep from the pit of his belly, who cooked with his _abuelo_ and teased him in Spanish, who would deny anything liking "snuggling" and "hugging" but would dart a kiss on his cheek when he thought Bruce wasn't looking, cackling wildly. 

_How did it all go so wrong_?

A boy he had loved with every fibre of his being, lost, gone, who now wanted him dead, who snarled and spat, cursed and shot, screamed and cut him to the _fucking_ core, believing that he just _didn't care_ , that he wasn't worth anything to him -

 _God_ Bruce had wept that night, the two of them, far apart, damn near naked, and in tears. Talia had reached for him but Bruce had pushed her away. She'd reached for him again and Bruce fought her, completely broken, before he gave in, head cradled against her breasts as his heart tore for his son, his beloved Jason, lost to him. Talia had met his tears with hers, and the two had kissed, before they made love, backs against the wall, tears intermixed with moans and cries broken by thrusts. They had remained like that for a while, sat up, with Bruce still inside her, his head on her shoulder, and hers against his, stroking his hair. Bruce had whispered that he _hated_ her, that he could _never_ love her, for keeping Jason and Damian away from him. He had fucked her _hard_ against the wall, ignoring her cries, painfully penetrating as hard as he could, gripping her by the waist as he told her that she'd cut the final piece, and laid the finishing blow, that he never wanted to see her again, even as she sucked on his lips, her tears weaving through his hair as she agreed, _I know_ , _I know_ , and _I'm sorry_.

They'd climaxed together, the both of them, and then they'd faced each other, red eyes meeting red, staring at each other in the silence. Bruce no longer recognised Talia, a woman he once thought he loved, his eyes full of hate and lips curled in disgust, and Talia knew that Bruce was no longer her beloved, not anymore - she'd torn them apart, and the man didn't understand why, why she'd done it all, to protect her boys from Ra's claws, because they were hers too. Bruce had spoken then, a growl even as they were still inside one another, that he never wanted to see or hear from her again, that it was only for Damian's sake that he hadn't strangled her and thrown her body in the river. He took her chin, softly, then firmly, gripping it tightly, that _she_ had destroyed Jason, _not_ him, and Talia had let loose then, spitting at him, slapping him, hissing that _he didn't deserve Jason_ , not after everything her son had been through, that they were hers, _her_ boys and Bruce had reeled back, shocked, leaving her and their sticky union as he backed towards the door, speechless that she could ever make such a claim. Talia had walked towards him, hips swaying, taking him by the hips and shoving him against the door, pulling on his penis and twisting it, _hard_ , that until he recognised Jason as a son, until he admitted his mistakes, then he would _never know the full truth_ , all the things that he _didn't_ know about them, the _three_ of them. They departed, cursing one another, the past thrown into the fire.

That was almost three years ago. Neither had spoken since, not face to face, though Bruce knew that Damian was still in contact with his Mother. He hated that the boy still chose to be in contact with that witch, but he hadn't pushed the matter, not wanting to lose his son. As for Jason? There was nothing between them, not son, not father, not mentor - just two strangers on the same planet. Bruce had remembered the last time they fought, ugly, bloody, and both reduced to tears. But what neither of them had mentioned to any of the others was that the two of them had walked past one another _a few days later_. It was by complete accident - Bruce had decided on a whim that he needed a walk, to get out of the Manor for a while, and he had left home early that morning, walking into town. He'd walked and walked, hat over his head, mind lost as the emotions of the night before tore at him, the misery, the pain, how he wished for one horrible moment that he'd never met Jason, or welcomed him into his life. Bruce hadn't been paying attention and he had looked up, only to lock eyes with _Jason_ as he had walked past, red rimmed, pale, hoodie over his head.

Time slowed to a crawl, and the emotions passed between the two could only be detected through the eyes.

But they had walked past each other.

And not a single man had glanced back at the other.

Not even a peek over the shoulder.

But worst of all - Bruce felt _relief_. Absolutely relieved, and when it became clear that Jason had left Gotham, he'd felt a little of himself lighten - no more angry words, horrible shouts, screaming and rage and headaches over a lost son, unreachable and lost. No more high blood pressure, sleepless nights, wrinkles that had begun to line his forehead as a result of the stress, or the tremors he'd get in his hands when he heard of yet _another_ of one of his children's fight's with the Hood, wondering whether he would meet his boys half dead, in a pool of their own blood. The headaches, the nightmares, the agony - all that melted away the moment Bruce realised that Jason was finally gone, and if he was honest, at this very present, looking sitting under the Yamao tree, he was _glad_ Jason had left. Truly glad, for both their sakes. They had needed the time apart.

And now Jason was back.

Jason, and Tim.

Jason and _Talia_ , clearly close - Bruce was sure the woman had never looked at him like that, not the way she'd looked at Jason in that video last night. He had seen a similar look with Jason and _Diana_ , how the boy would look up at the woman of his dreams - Talia looked at Jason the same way.

She _adored_ him, and Jason loved her - it shone through his entire being, the way his eyes lit up at her smile, his laugh at seeing her blush, hair flowing over her shoulders. He loved her. Bruce closed his eyes at the memory of the man's face - lightly freckled, handsome, clean shaven and looking more like a kid about to start college than a private mercenary with a history of death, clowns and violence behind him. Eyes _sparkling_ \- Jason really did have lovely eyes, and the _way_ he'd looked at Talia, like she was _everything_ to him, his world- _God_ , Bruce had sat back, reeling, his breath leaving him all in one go. How the man had so very casually slung his arm around the Head of the League of Assassins, one of the most powerful people in the _world_ , kissing her cheek, her hair, bringing her close, and the way Talia had responded - relaxed, comfortable, snuggling in and blushing, smiling -happy.

They were happy together.

Talia, the one who'd kept Jason away from him, and here they were, close as can be.

And then there was the shock of _Tim_ of all people - with them, wrapped in Talia's embrace, arguing and quipping with Jason, mock admonished by Talia - Tim had been in contact with her, all this while? First Jason, and now _her_ -

"You look like an angry toddler when you frown like that."

Bruce was brought to the present by the sound of a quiet voice. He looked up to see none other than Clark Kent smiling a little at him, shyly in fact, standing as if he were afraid of his response. Bruce said nothing, only to offer a smirk at the fairly accurate description and Clark took that as permission to sit, placing a basket of warm food in front of him. They sat like that for a while, in the sun, neither man saying anything.

"I thought she was out of our lives." Bruce's voice was low, as he stared into the distance. It was difficult to put into words how he felt about it all. 

Clark hmmed and Bruce turned to him, questioning.

"What?" Clark's cheeks had turned red and Bruce could only roll his eyes at him.

"Spill, boy scout."

He caught his friend smiling and he nudged him a little by the shoulder. Clark's smile grew bigger, and something in Bruce's chest stirred warm at seeing his friend smile at his misfortune.

"It's nothing, really. Just that...they seem happy, you know?" Clark's voice was soft, but on seeing the look Bruce gave him, he spluttered a little, raising his palms in surrender. "I'm not taking sides, Bruce, you know that. But from what I can see, Talia is important to Jason-"

"From what you can see?" Now Bruce was curious, and he folded his arms across his chest, waiting for Clark to explain. The man's face was bright red by now, clearly his tone had suggested there was more to the story.

"Oh hell." Clark muttered, and Bruce chuckled lightly, though he still wanted to hear what Clark had to say. A sigh, Clark rubbing his neck awkwardly and then-

"It's not for me to tell, honestly." Clark didn't want to break Jason's trust by telling Bruce about some of the things Jason had in his house that clearly referenced the _woman_ , now obviously Talia. Jason had _trusted_ him by letting him into his house, his personal space, and Clark wasn't about to let Jason down now, not after failing the man for years in the making. "I can't Bruce; he's done so much for me, and I-I gotta say, if it weren't for him?"

Clark broke off here, staring into the distance, shaking his head. Bruce stayed quiet, watching his friend.

 _This_ was a new development.

"He saved my life Bruce, and-and a _whole lot more_. I owe him everything, for all that he did, when it was..." Clark gulped, looking away, and Bruce regretted asking, upsetting his friend. He squeezed Clark's knee, and his friend looked back at him, sadly, before he looked down, clapsing his hands.

"I don't know why he did what he did, Bruce, but he did it all, and there's nothing I can give the guy except to say thank you. And djuti bars, he kept mentioning these chocolate bars that are apparently amazing and that I had to leave a couple for him - and you know what? Jason was spot on, they're _incredible_ , I've got a few in the basket." Clark smiled to himself, and Bruce looked on, wondering. Clark seemed to really like Jason, a surprising change, but Bruce could understand why a little. Jason had been difficult as a child, yes, suspicious, always wanting to challenge, but the boy had a great sense of humour, cheeky - even if you _didn't_ like him, you had to admit that he was funny. Jason had been the only one who could make Bruce crack up laughing, the tears streaming, bellyaching kind of laugh, but still.

Clark, and _Jason_?

Two people who damn near _despised_ one another, and now Bruce was supposed to believe that they'd somehow got on, peacefully? Bruce didn't believe it. _Couldn't_ \- Jason would show his true colours sooner or later, and then Clark would know what it was like, dealing with such a temperamental person. The skepticism must have shown on his face because Clark laughed now, and started bringing food out of the basket.

"Whatever is up between Talia and Jason, leave it be. It's between them, Bruce, and if Talia being a part of Jason's life makes him happy, well, so be it. That's for them to decide, Jason is a grown man who can make his own decisions." Clark turned to smile at Bruce before looking away. "Besides, don't you have someone _else_ now?"

Bruce stared at Clark.

Clark continued facing forwards, arranging the food and the plates out, but Bruce could see his cheeks raised in a smirk. He looked at his ears, red-

It dawned on Bruce, then.

" _You know_."

Bruce stared at his friend, now as red as the blanket in front of them, and put his head into his hands. "You _**heard**_."

" _Yep_." Clark popped the p, turning to grin at Bruce. His superhearing was the only thing that had returned so far.

"Oh _God_." Bruce's voice was muffled, and Clark burst out laughing now.

"She said that, a _lot_." Clark had to duck Bruce's swing as he laughed himself over to the side.

" _I hate you_. Bruce tried to growl but it came out as a strangled gasp. He couldn't face Clark- he wished for the ground to swallow him whole, right now; the embarrassment was too much, but Clark simply held himself, rolling on the grass as he laughed, enjoying being able to have one-up on Bruce for once.

Eventually Clark's laughter subsided, and he lifted his face, red, to meet Bruce's own, also red. The two looked at each other before laughing, and after a while, they began to eat.

"Bruce."

Clark was looking at him now, face soft. Bruce looked back at his friend. "If you say-"

"It's about damn time."

Bruce didn't know what to say to that, and he kept quiet for a while, humbled. Clark had wanted him and Diana together for a _long_ time, from the moment he'd realised the two liked each other. Bruce went a little red again, but this time Clark smiled, nudging him in the shoulder instead. 

"I'm happy for you two. Really, _really_ glad you guys are finally together, everyone's been rooting for you two for _years_ now."

Bruce smiled, touched, not quite able to meet his friend's face.

"Don't worry, Bruce. You two have waited a long time for this, and out of _all_ the people in the world that I know of, you deserve this, to be _happy_ , Bruce, and as your friend, and Diana's too, I won't let anyone convince you guys otherwise. I've got your back, both of you, so go right on ahead and enjoy yourselves, alright?"

Clark's tone was gentle, and Bruce looked at his friend, at the truth written across his face. He looked away, his throat tight.

"Thank you, Clark, for being my friend."

A brother, that's what Bruce meant, they both knew it, and Clark simply raised his glass. "To many years of love, peace and joy; I wish you and Diana all the happiness in the world."

"I'll drink to that."

The two men chuckled, and ate their lunch together, enjoying the sun.


	34. Author's note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heads up!

Hey guys! Thank you all for reading so far!

Just to let you know that since I'm back at uni for final year, the updates will now be once to twice weekly, not almost every day like they were before (summer). Story is still going to continue because I hate leaving things unfinished, just wanted to let you all know!


	35. A conflict of interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason meets with Eheto. Diana is troubled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING! sensitive topic ahead**.

Four thirty am.

The ship was eerily like this, quiet, a stillness that seemed too unnatural for words. Foreboding even.

But Jason preferred it that way, rolling a pill between his fingers as he stared out at the city. The other pill was safely tucked away in a little box he'd stolen on his way out from the pharmacy, and now here he was, ship on a rooftop, staring at the vast expanse of the city in the cover of darkness. It was beautiful like this, with the newly repaired ISSA bridge glowing faintly in the sky, and the slight hum of energy from the Na'vi was almost palpable.

Jason closed his eyes, rubbing his temples wearily. The tell-tale signs of a headache were coming; the dull throb, made worse by his tiredness and being run ragged from left to right. This elections business had everyone out pulling the stops as they worked determinedly, focused; Jason was proud of them all, of all those who had rallied to help him and the Ghosts when it had been just them, facing the coup, their military, wounded and against all odds. They were making history, with the weight of the world on their shoulders, and for a moment, it was hard to believe that he was just twenty years old.

Jason closed his eyes tighter. _Twenty years old_. 

How did it come to this?

If he'd stayed with Bruce, he'd be in college by now, a rich Daddy's boy, probably studying English Literature, History, a masters one or two languages probably. If he had remained on his old path, the one before Bruce as just another one of Gotham's street rats, he'd have been dead a _long_ time ago; Jason was sure of it, fact. Death by starvation, hypothermia, sickness, murder - a lot of kids under the age of ten living on the streets could meet their untimely end in any number of these ways. For those a little older, those who had banded together to survive, or were fortunate to have a sibling looking out for them; fine, they could manage, but only for a while longer. Drugs, alcohol, sex abuse - all manner of hell lurked by the street side, in the corners, down piss-stinking alleyways and roach infested hideouts. It became survival of the fittest out there, particularly during the winter, the strongest, the most diligent - naive fools were just that, fools, children were liabilities, adults were vultures, deadly to trust, and food was a tortuous mistress. Barely enough for one day, a meal in fact, and the next day, and the day after that- nothing was guaranteed. Jason had tried leading a band of children, caring and looking after them all, and for a couple of months, he was successful. Foraging "safe places", recruiting older kids to help gather clothing from shelters who were kind enough to donate their spares, food by begging, or working as a cleaner, a runner, stealing from bins, people, waiting hours in line at the foodbanks, where there were too many drug-addicted, alcohol infused homeless shits and nowhere near enough food. Jason had tried, he really did, but he knew that his efforts were not enough, and they never would be. The same band of children might last a week, two weeks; one had almost gone on for two months, but there was always one, and then another, and another. One by one they died or went missing, a few who were taken - sometimes very week, or more. And each time, the empty spot would be replaced, and Jason made sure to _never_ get attached, not to anyone, for his sanity, and theirs.

Except for the babies.

 _God_ \- Jason's eyes welled up a little as he dared to think back on the few times where he'd stumbled across mere babies crying, swaddled in thin fabric, and left alone in the midst of hell. Sometimes they were alongside dead mothers, those who'd been raped, murdered or overdosed. More often these babies were left outside to die, forsaken by mothers who couldn't care for them, or didn't want to. Jason would always swear a little to himself whenever he found a child; approaching softly, holding his breath at what he might find. Those that were red, pink in the face as they screamed left him closing his eyes. Relief for the moment, but it meant having to look for food, warmth and clothing, things Jason couldn't guarantee. The orphanages were there, but all the kids knew that those places were second hells, picking spots for those who enjoyed using children to fulfill their perverted fantasies, and matrons who turned a blind eye, so long as they were being paid for their supply. Those whom Jason met pale, blue even, almost frozen to touch- Jason would say nothing, simply staring at the body. The first few times he'd come across them, his eyes would fill with tears. But as time went on, the tears stopped, and his heart would harden, just a little. The baby would have died quickly, unable to cope with the demands that thermoregulation required to keep their tiny little bodies alive - death was merciful compared to the life before them should they have survived. 

Jason picked up the pill now, rolling it between his fingers. He loved children, he really did. Bright and wondrous, full of life and potential, but this? 

Magdaia's kid? Clark's kid?

No.

That child, though unlikely to lack basic necessities, would be seen as nothing less than a tool. A power play, something to use, to experiment on, something that would have demands placed upon it, and Jason couldn't bear the idea of such slavery. A life less than nothing. A mother who was the very definition of evil, deranged, and a father, too good for his _own_ good, who would always be linked to something so cruel, a hate that ran too deep for words. Innocent child, burdened father, repugnant mother, and Jason knew that the time for deliberating had come to an end. He stood up now, stretching in his ship. Four forty three am, so he'd been here for roughly half an hour now, just sitting, thinking. Jason knew that once the elections started, there would be hardly any time to leave in the midst of things, not if he wanted to attract attention. It was best to do this _now_ , to see Eheto and give her what was necessary, to avoid delay. The sooner, the better, and Jason shook his head free of sleep and old memories, plugging in Eheto's coordinates.

Time to pay Eheto and the bitch a little visit.

 

 

Four fifty four am.

Jason waited at the door for Eheto to arrive, bags on his shoulder. He had made a pit stop down at a local convenience store, slapping down a few notes whilst he filled one bag with toiletries, towels, women's care, and simple analgesics; he'd forgotten to ask the doctor for some, and the other with food, water and other necessities. As much as he hated Magdaia, he needed her alive, and that meant keeping her safe and well. Eheto he had called on the way over, apologising for waking her from sleep; already the woman sounded weary. Jason shifted on his feet a little, taking a deep breath. This _was_ the best thing, he knew it deep down. For a moment, he had debated calling Yena, or Orange, just for a little advice. As much as he liked Yena - and Yena was a good man- the man might be swayed to spare the child's life by his damn morals, children and all. The man clearly had some experience of torture and PTSD judging by the way he'd spoken to Clark when they'd rescued him, and though Yena might understand the implications of Clark knowing, of a child being raised by Magdaia and her twisted self, right at the heart of it was an innocent life, a child, and that would sway him a little. But Yena wasn't looking at the big picture- an innocent _now_ , but in the future?. Orange would probably be on the same lines with _his_ kid, despite their work as Ghosts, rescuing trafficked children and those escaping drug cartels; a life they'd quickly realised was filled with horror and void of mercy. They might advocate for the child to live, and Jason _might_ have reconsidered if not for the fact that he _knew_ who Clark **was** , and a child born of Clark had the potential to carry some of his _unique_ abilities, and then what? The possibilities were now risks, and Jason knew it was the right thing to do. He just had to keep reminding himself so. 

Jason was broken out of his musing by the opening of the door.

"Red?" Eheto looked tired.

"Wait here." Jason went straight inside to where Magdaia was being kept. He stared at her form, illuminated by the moonlight. Quiet, peaceful, all normal apart from the chain extending from the bedpost to her wrists. She looked well, healthy at least and Jason swallowed, knowing that this peace would soon be shattered. He shut the door quietly, making his way over to Eheto.

"Come, Eheto, we need to speak privately."

Eheto led them a little distance away outside. "Magdaia is asleep, I made sure of it."

"Eating and drinking?" Jason crossed his arms over his chest, towering above her.

"A little. Your news broadcast has dampened her spirits a little, though she still spits venom and foul curses." 

Jason chuckled quietly, causing Eheto to raise an eyebrow at him. "What? C'mon, the woman's a fighter, just like her witch of her mother - she won't go down without a fight, and definitely won't give away her upset at her support now gone. Mag will want to rile you up remember, especially now that her Mother's situation is not as she hoped - she'll need a way out, and fast. Remember what I said?"

"She must not escape, not at any cost." Eheto stood up a little straighter, eyes hard and Jason smiled at her, a little proud.

"That's my girl. If you want justice, the sweet old kind that ruins everything in its path, then the bitch has gotta remain here, fed, and relatively well. Nice and proper for when I start my work, understand?"

"I understand Red."

"Good girl. Now, there's something else I've got to tell you." His voice was quiet.

Jason paused, taking a moment to himself as he stared up at the sky. "When I broke into Magdaia's place, I found a couple of notes. A few visits from a Dr Ghersha, who was asked to run a pregnancy test." He stopped there, not wanting to watch the emotions break out onto Eheto's face. A gasp, then complete silence. Jason turned to the ground now, scuffing his boots slightly.

"I paid the pervert a visit-long story about that one, I'll deal with him in later. Anyway, as it turns out...just-just take a look, will ya? It's better if you read it yourself."

Without looking at Ehteo, Jason fished out the pregnancy results and the genetic report from the inside of his jacket and thrust them to the woman.

Eheto's eyes grew wider as she read. "Pre-preg- _pregnant_?" It seemed as if all oxygen was sucked out of the air, and Jason felt a little shiver in his bones. He wrapped his arms around his torso tighter, as if clicking his boots three times would have him wake up back in Danver. He stared at his feet. No such luck unfortunately.

Her voice sounded hollow. Jason closed his eyes, steadying himself. "Keep reading."

Eheto did, and her stunned silence was enough. She looked up at Jason's face, eyes searching. "You mean..."

"Three possibilities. Baby lives, all is well. Pregnancy continues, but complications, defects. Pregnancy doesn't make it."

Eheto kept opening her mouth. And shutting in. She blew out a breath, clearly struggling for what to say. "Are you sure-"

"The good doctor ran the damn test three times. Same result. Same concerns, Eheto."

Eheto stared out of the distance for a while. "Red....she-she _can't_ be, not a child. An innocent, she..she would _ruin_ it."

"I know." Jason's voice was sombre.

"And the Superman...if-if he eve-"

" _ **Never**_. He must _never_ find out about this, it-it would destroy him, and I-I-"

Jason ran a hand through his hair. None of this made sense. Superman was Red Hood's enemy, one he'd have been glad to see put down, but Red Hood was gone, and this was _Clark_ , not Superman. Superman was a front, an icon of some sorts, but he wasn't truly real, not like Clark Kent, goofy four-eyed nauseatingly keen journalist that made Jason's eyes roll in irritation. Not this guy. As much has he hated Superman, Jason couldn't say the same for Clark, not really. For some reason, he'd come to...acknowledge the guy with their stupid little library rendezvous. They'd barely spoken, but away from the action, the noise, the fronts, when it was just the two of them - Jason knew he'd been sitting with Clark Kent, not Superman. It was Clark who had bags under his eyes, whose shoulders were a little slumped from tiredness, as "super" as he was. Clark who liked to read, and with surprisingly good taste, who was easy to make fun of, and comical to watch as he blushed like a fairy princess. Fuck Magdaia, fuck everything - for Clark, the guy whom he met dazed whilst he was being taken advantage of - no _fucking_ way was he ever gonna find out about this shit. Jason resolved that he would rather bear the angst of this decision forever if that means Clark was kept in the dark. The guy wasn't strong enough, not in that sense. Jason had a past that had toughened him up to survive horrors, tragedies, to struggle and claw and scrape one's way through the unimaginable, the pain - Clark hadn't experienced any of that, the ugly side of life, and dare he say it, not much as Superman either. It was a mystery, as to why he was fighting so hard to help Clark, protect even- Jason didn't know, but for some reason, it felt right. The torture, the rape, the powerlessness of it all had already happened, and Jason couldn't change that, but what he _could_ do was help Clark survive through it, and develop the skills to remain standing. And if that meant keeping this fiasco hidden from him, then so be it.

Jason turned to look at Eheto now, eyes firm. "The Superman will never hear about this, not ever. Not from me, or you, or anyone, and I've got something to make sure of it."

Jason stepped forward a little and opened Eheto's hand, placing the two little pills inside her palm. The woman stared down at them, not saying anything.

"Magdaia's in the really early stages; a few days give or take. One pill, dissolved in water, will cause bleeding within twelve hours, similar to a menstrual period, according to the doc. Shouldn't last more than a day." 

Jason paused here to see if Eheto was listening. She had brought a trembling finger to her palm, gently brushing the surface of the pills, but Eheto had yet to say anything. Jason continued.

"If there hasn't been bleeding within twelve hours, then the second pill should be used, again, dissolved in water."

"And afterwards?" Eheto's voice was low.

"Rest and fluids. It shouldn't take long since its early."

Eheto said nothing for a while before she spoke suddenly, voice like steel, meeting Jason's eyes with a fire he hadn't seen in her before.

"And you're sure it will work?"

It was Jason's turn to look at her, cocking his head. She _wanted_ this, from the moment she found out. No deliberation, no concerns, just a done deal. He nodded his head. 

"It will. Once it dissolves in the water, that's it. Clear, no smell - it will be as straightforward as anything."

"Then I will do it, later this morning."

Jason remained quiet, assessing Eheto. Fist clenched, pills tightly within, tone sharp. "You understand the consequences of-"

"I do, and it _is_ the right thing to do. That child **cannot** be allowed to grow up with a monster, used by his mother, hated by his father. There is _no_ hope for him."

Jason stared at her a little longer before speaking. "Good. Call me as soon as its done. Send me updates throughout the day, and when she starts getting sick, needing the toilet, inform me once you've seen to her. Here." Jason patted the bags currently weighing his shoulder down. "Women's stuff, in this bag, as well as stuff to stop the pain and help with the nausea, food and other bits in that one. You should be alright for now. If you need anything else, you know how to reach me."

Eheto nodded, and Jason made sure to catch her square in the eye for this next bit. "Eheto, I know how you feel about her, trust me, I do. But despite everything, remember what we're doing here. I'm not saying comfort the woman, she sure as hell didn't extend any level of warmth to those she used and discarded, like fucking meat, but what I'm saying is this: give her the things she needs, any more is up to you. I'm not a woman, I have _no_ idea what its like to go through any of this, but from what I can only imagine, its _not_ a walk in the park, even for a twisted psycho like her. Once she's realised what has truly happened, she'll either withdraw or lose it completely, so be on your guard throughout. Pills to help with the pain, get her cleaned up, and make sure she rests."

Eheto turned away.

"Eheto." Jason's voice was sharp, and the woman flinched slightly. "This isn't me caring. But as someone who grew up with a mother who regretted having me in the first place, I can tell you from experience that children, kids - that can make or break a person, most particularly a woman. Don't underestimate what all this can do to the mind, especially one as unstable as that witch. So: do what needs to be done. No bragging. No telling her that the water she drank has a pill dissolved in it, and the purpose of such endeavor. It will appear menstrual period, especially in line with her medical reports, but whether Magdaia believes this or otherwise, it won't matter to her - she's lost what she thought she could use. Magdaia will rain curse upon curse at you, when she's not vomiting or bleeding. She _will_ lash out, scream, cry even, for the tool, the baby she's lost, and she'll want you head on a spike, but keep your cool, and do what is necessary, and if you can, what is right. Magdaia will hate you, and will do anything to escape. She will _not_ hesitate to kill you, at any opportunity. Remember that."

"I..I understand, Red. I will do what needs to be done, but I cannot promise anything more than that, not comfort. She will live, and she will remain well, I'll see to that myself." Eheto looked at him, face open, and Jason knew she was telling the truth.

"That's more than enough for me." Jason looked at the time now. Five thirteen am. "I need to go, I've already stayed out far too long already. Can I trust you to take things from here?"

Eheto motioned for the bags and Jason complied, handing them over as the walked to the door. The woman didn't complain at the heavy weight. 

"I will be fine Red. In a couple of hours, when she wakes up, she'll have the glass of water then. I will keep you updated throughout as requested, and if there is anything else I need, I will not hesitate to contact you. Go, you have history to make."

Jason smiled out her briefly, squeezing her shoulder before he took his leave. Elections would be open shortly, and Eheto was right - there _was_ history to be made.

 

 

Pepo, North of the town square, at the Urshweti hilltop, six forty nine pm.

Diana drummed her fingers on the table lightly as she waited for Clark order from the menu. They were having dinner at another stream front restaurant, this time slightly situated above a hilltop, giving them a wonderful view of the town beneath, twinkling quietly. Diana had been studying her friend for a while now; Clark knew of course, but he let her, a testament to their close relationship, particularly during such a sensitive time period for the man. Clark had found the menu interesting, re-reading the same thing over and over, and Diana had reached over take his hand gently, simply holding it. The man didn't look at her; he simply breathed in slightly, trying to get used to everything again, and Diana leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, earning a shy smile and a blush in return. Clark was trying, and she was proud of him. Her friend was letting them in, one by one, and Diana loved him all the more. Since the League's dinner two days ago, things had been quiet, uneasy even. The League seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, particularly for Diana and Bruce, and had left the two to themselves, giving them some space. Diana had not spoken to anyone, not to Bruce who obviously needed time alone, and Diana found that she herself needed some space to think. She had left the dinner that evening, heated, inside a rush of emotions- anger, upset, jealous, bitterness-, and the League had let her, watching her go. 

Jason.

Her boy, her _son_ , the one that used to curl up in her arms, playing with her hair as he listened to her read to him. The way his short, rapid breaths would fall in line perfectly with hers, matching her tone, the rise of her chest, chuckling at the slight rumble of her deep voice. Diana turned her head to the distance, eyes filling with tears at the memories. The way her little one would look up at her, green eyes bright with love as he followed her every movement, yapping away happily as they cooked together, his little apron she had sown especially for him, or the way they would hold hands as they took in the sights along quiet avenues, idyllic cottages, Jason skipping, and Diana laughing, watching his curls bounce with every step. Diana remembered _everything_ ; their picnics atop Greek mountains, excursions through Mexico as Jason exercised his Spanish, stumbling a little over phrases on which Diana corrected him gently - _Great Hera_ the countless times they would visit the Apollo Theatre or the Royal Albert Hall, her eyes glued on Jason as the boy sat forwards, absolutely riveted, and afterwards when they would have dinner together, discussing the plays and marveling over the music. The times Jason would open up to her, tearfully, or the little jokes he would make, declaring that one day he would marry her, or, failing that, would beat any man who dared to, much to Diana's laughter. Or the other times, when he would sprawl on the couch in her beauty parlour, helping pick out a dress, or perfume, even plaiting her hair. They did school work, home work, training, teaching together - _everything_ and _anything_ they did it side by side, and they were one, always. Diana had long ago lost count of the way strangers would compliment them despite their differences in skin colour, remarking at how wonderful it was to see a cute little boy attached to his mother, to which Jason would blush, and hug himself closely to her leg, as if he could meld like that forever. Diana always smiled at that, running a hand through her little one's thick hair as he smiled back at her, that yes, he was hers, all hers, and he was lovely, perfect in _every_ way.

And now Talia.

Diana pursed her lips, her eyes hot. Clark was now the one to take her hands, squeezing them a little. That woman had almost destroyed Bruce, keeping Damian and Jason away from him; she was poison, all elegance and dangerous and spitting with fire, lashing out and tearing the heart of the one she loved into pieces. Talia didn't _deserve_ Bruce whom had tried to save her from Ra's, he was too good for that bitch, that conniving snake, who wouldn't last a blow against her. The woman loved until it became an obsession, the person _her_ possession, all greed and selfish without any remorse, and now that bitch had her son, Jason, little Damian, sharp as a viper, haughty, but who too viewed her as a mother figure - it had slipped out one day, and though the boy went as red as the silk scarf she often tied in her hair, Damian had never denied it, nor had he taken it back. The only one who he'd call by her first name, whom he allowed to kiss him on the head, to touch his baby soft cheeks, to visit the animal shelters and homes that housed the abused, feeding them- that same little boy who could sit next to her for hours, perfectly content as he drew away, sometimes even falling asleep close to her shoulder. The one Talia had denied the opportunity of knowing his father for _years_ , but oh _no_ , that wasn't enough. Now that whore just had to have _Timothy_ too, her darling Timothy, sweet and kind, the child who constantly astounded her with knowledge and genius, whom loved her trips to Bejing, the midnight strolls through Shanghai, thoughtful, ever helpful, and too lovely for words, one whom everyone loved. That fucking bitch had them in her grip, treasures that she would never be able to appreciate, to love fully and with all her being-

 _Talia_? _**Her**_? 

_That's_ who Jason loved, whom he looked at like that, kissing her cheek, like he used to do to me, Diana thought, her blood boiling with rage. The way Jason _looked_ at her, love absolute, adoring even, the way her boy used to look at _her_ as she taught him handstands on sandy beaches, at night when they read together, his freckles coming alight in the glow of the room.

That _bitch_?

That woman had stolen Jason from them, watched him grow up to his handsome self, tall and strong, despite the horrors of his youth - Diana had being denied at watching her son go from boy to man, and it made her eyes ablaze with fury.

Diana was seething as her mind replayed the video - Talia had the privileged of hearing him sing, something she had no right to, a treasure that Jason had kept just for her, Alfred too, and Diana would always treasure Jason's beautiful voice, even back then, in Greek, Spanish, even old Themysciran songs she taught him. How _dare_ she, and Jason -didn't he understand? Couldn't he see that he was simply something else the woman was using to hold over Bruce, to spite him, delight in his misery, at all the suffering she had caused? Talia had purposely kept him away from Bruce, from her, _their_ son - it was never properly acknowledged but both Bruce and Diana knew that they shared Jason, that he was theirs, their boy, that Bruce was his father, and Diana all his mother, and that was that. Diana could feel her skin prickling, her fists clenched as she-

"Diana?"

Clark's soft voice broke through her rage, and for a moment, all Diana wanted to do was scream, to fling this row of tables up into the air, or hurl them across the hillside and into stream, smash them into pieces, but she took in a shaky breath, gritting her teeth a little as she forced the tears back, but one treacherous drop escaped, and then another. Clark said nothing but to move now, bringing one soft hand to wipe away her tears, tutting a little. Diana laid her head on his shoulder, noting how her friend tensed at the contact but remained, and she smiled up at him now, loving him dearly. Strong, capable - Diana loved him, Clark, her best friend, a brother, and had not Jason took vengeance on their captors, Diana would have torn the whole planet to pieces for him, for Bruce, and for all her friends. Clark looked down at her and kissed her gently on the forehead, and the two stayed like that for a while, listening to the stream and watching the white leaves of the Yamao trees flutter in the breeze. 

"I know its hard...I know, but he loves you."

Diana cocked her head at Clark. Which _he_ was he referring too? There were only two, and both wanted nothing to do with the other. Clark saw her look and chuckled to himself, the sound a deep rumble against her ear, and she smiled as she felt another kissed placed on her hair.

"Both of them. They love you...more than words could say. Don't let the past sour your present, and don't let it steal your future; I won't stand for it. You two have stayed away long enough, hmm? Don't make me intervene again." Clark dug his chin into Diana's head for a response, and she laughed, swatting him gently on the chest, not giving away anything, before she quietened again, resting against her friend. They enjoyed the silence for a few more moments before Clark spoke again. "As for Jason?"

Diana stiffened slightly, wanting to draw away from Clark, but he held her firmly, and she relaxed, trusting him, though she knew she wouldn't like what would be heard next. "As for Jason? Well, the guy's a mystery. He's been good to me Diana, really, really good. Kind, and warm, he made me laugh when I thought it impossible, and he was there when it became too much-"

Clark's voice was a little hitched at the end and he swallowed, looking up at the sky. Diana nuzzled her head to his chest, waiting for him to continue, encouraging him. "He-He's so...so _funny_ , Diana, I mean it. He has all these stories to tell, and the way he just _tells_ a story - I can see why people ask after him out here, he draws them in, he's warm and embraces them through his laugh. A big guy, with a big smile, and as it turns out, a bigger heart that I could never have associated with someone like him, at least with our history."

Diana said nothing. She knew all of this, she'd always known, right from their first meeting, but the League hadn't come to know Jason as she had done. All this was new for them, but it wasn't, not for her. Jason had always been a cheeky little boy, full of life, warmth, quips and snarks, quick to barb, and even quicker to protect. It was a shame that the League were only just learning about this now, but Diana could understand a little - Jason was not the easiest child unlike Dick, whom the League had obviously preferred, his death had torn apart everything, and his return as the Red Hood had pit many against the League, and almost destroyed herself, Bruce and Clark, and the relationships they shared between themselves. Diana reached over to take Clark's hand, squeezing it as she waited for him to compose himself.

"What I mean is this: I don't know much about him. I don't know what happened to him, not really - none of us know, and that's because we didn't actually ask. But what I _do_ know is this: Talia is important to him. I'm not about to delve into whatever they have going on, that's between them, but she's a part of his life, and he values her. _That_ , in no way, shape or form, means that you are somehow diminished, no. I've seen the way Jason looks at you - remember the watch-tower?"

Diana nodded. She did remember, and she remembered their conversation in Auburn room, standing over his mass of curly hair, lost in the freckles that decorated his nose and cheeks beautifully, noting how handsome her boy had grown to be. Even when Jason had walked in with that General, seemingly betraying them, they had locked eyes, and there was something there, deep, that tore at them both. Diana had been angry at him for the pretense, and Jason hadn't tried to explain himself, but he couldn't find it in him to look at her, not directly, and they'd all seen _that_.

Clark continued. "That man still loves you. He may not ever say it, and he's never mentioned it to me - hell, I shouldn't even be telling you this, but he's got a library in his house. And amongst some of his most treasured items are a couple of books in Ancient Greek, poetry, novels - tell me, whom do I know has a heavy interest in Greek philosophy and culture?" Clark grinned at Diana now, and all the woman could do was blush. "You're important to him. Things have happened, and many things have changed, but we _never_ forget the ones we love, never. So I don't know how you and Talia both fit in, in Jason's life, but...don't blame him, alright? Talia is...something else, but she's his, and if you make Jason choose between you two?"

Clark shook his head slightly. Diana clenched her jaw.

"Wait till he arrives. Start gradually, don't spring it on him because I have a feeling _he won't like that_. And then be patient. He told me something similar too, and I'm beginning to find that the guy knows what he's talking about, which isn't too much of a surprise; it shouldn't be anyway."

Diana lifted herself from her chest, eyebrow raised, arms crossed. She didn't like it but Clark was right. Clark remained firm, looking at her in the dim light.

"This isn't something you can demand answers to. Nor is it something that can be rushed. I-Klose helped me understand a few things about Jason, and if he's willing...I'd like to get to to know the guy a bit better, to know Jason, the one whom everyone here loves, but that's completely at his discretion, not mine. I wasn't there for him like I was with the rest of the boys, I didn't try to understand him, his culture and background. to get to know him or even spend time with him, and I regret that, all things considering. You, on the other hand, were there. You understood him, he loved and trusted you, so work with that, and move on from there. And one more thing. 

Clark paused, clearly struggling to find the words to say. Diana raised an eyebrow at him.

"Now that you and Bruce are together-"

Diana turned to him, cheeks already flushed but Clark began to sip water from a glass, hiding a smile as he began to make his ear twitch of its own accord.

Diana stared.

It came to her, then. He had _heard_.

" _Great Hera_." She whispered, covering her head with her arms, her face horribly red. Clark chuckled. "Yeah, you said that too-"

He burst out laughing as Diana swatted him hard across the chest, catching sight of her truly embarrassed face.

"-Went on for quiet a while, was tempted to give you guys tips and all-"

" _ **Clark Joseph Kent**_!" Diana was open mouthed, and the two friends stared at each other before dissolving into laughter, Clark continuing to tease her a little. After a while, they gradually quietened, and Clark looked out into the distance, face thoughtful.

"At some point, Jason will come between you two." Clark's voice was hushed, and Diana felt herself grow grow anxious in the pit of her belly. "I can't speak for Bruce, but its clear to all of us that you two feel _quite_ differently about him, and it might be worth sitting down and hearing each other out. That's all I'm saying." Clark held his palms in the air. By "quite", he meant _the total complete opposite_ , but that was for the new couple to figure out.

Diana swallowed, staring down at her plate. She didn't want to choose between them, but if they were both going to be in her life, then at some point, they'd have to be around each other, at an event, a birthday dinner-

"It's not a matter of one or the other, Diana." Clark spoke softly. "I don't want to overstep my boundaries here; I hope it doesn't come to having to make a choice, but I'd at _least_ like you to be aware that the two of them...may _not_ ever do and go back to how things used to be, or what _you'd_ like for them to be. Do you see where I'm coming from?

Diana nodded. "I...I'll talk to Bruce. I-we don't like...going back to that time, _before_ , but I can't lose either of them, Clark, I just _can't_. I've only just got them back, and I pity the fool who will try to take them away from me." Her eyes were narrowed, voice fierce. She was not going to lose _any_ of them, not the one she loved, and not the one she adored.

Clark smiled at her, leaning to place a kiss on her head. "We can aim for civility for now; that's good start at least."

Diana squeezed her friend's hand in appreciation.

"Now that the speech is over, can we eat?"

Clark shot a grin at Diana, and she failed to keep her face stern. Mock sighing, the two began to eat, enjoying each other's company. Diana held onto hope, she had to. A true reconciliation was...possible, though unlikely, not with all that had past, but if they could at least tolerate one another without resorting to wanting to kill the other person dead, then that was attainable on some level. Not a resounding _yes_ , and yet, not an outright _no_ , either, but for now, it was possible, and that was good enough for Diana.

And so the two friends enjoyed their dinner under the sky, watching the town twinkle in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Na'vi = city's internal power structure.


	36. Heart in mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Diana confront the elephant in the room. Semeticai'a' taunts Jason, and Magdaia discovers something unpleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sensitive stuff ahead!**
> 
> Just a reminder to anyone who didn't read the Author's note: weekly chapters since I'm back at uni.

Monday, three minutes past three pm.

Magdaia held her stomach, clicking her teeth as her stomach rumbled unkindly.

Odd.

She looked down at herself with a frown, before looking over at Eheto, but the woman was on the far side of the room, reading, not paying a single ounce of attention to her. Magdaia gritted her teeth slightly - ever since that cow had played the news of that broadcast, updating the realm on the new situation, the bitch had been smug as hell. Cool, calm, collected - Eheto had played the broadcast whilst staring at her for her reaction, but Magdaia wouldn't give her the satisfaction of displaying anything. Outside she remained blank, neutral, but inside she was rattled, and her skin felt prickly.

The news wasn't good, not one bit.

By the looks of things, Mother was in trouble. She had been unseated from her previous position of ultimate power, well in control, and with the news of this "election", it was only going to get worse from her. Magdaia was seething - the military, where was their loyalty? How could they have abandoned the country, the coup like that? It appeared as though the blocks on travel were lifting, and that those stationed to maintain order and prevent any uprising to the counter-coups were disillusioned, leaving their positions.

This was bad indeed.

No military meant no armed support.

A loss of control over the narrative.

Magdaia forced herself to watch the entirety of the broadcast, ignoring how Eheto stood to one side, arms folded, smirking a little.

That bitch would pay, but Magdaia kept the bile down in her throat. What Eheto wanted was to see her lash out, dismayed that the power and influence afforded to her through her Mother was now in peril, that her chances of escape were narrow, but Magdaia was stronger than that. Eheto was a child playing a game only for the strong, the ruthless. She didn't have the balls, the strength, nor the insanity of mind to accomplish even half of what Magdaia had done at her age, and that included positioning one's rivals, using the body provided for her, and creating opportunities through a number of nefarious methods. Yes, it was bad, but there was still a chance. Mother had money, connections, people - the men on the broadcast had _no_ idea just how powerful Mother was, what their family names carried - all that she _knew_ \- if Mother went down, well, so would everyone else, and none of those who moved in her circles, at the very top, would want any of their dirty secrets spilling out, not whilst Mother's position was being threatened. Somehow, Mother would be restored, Magdaia was sure of it, and together they would inflict heavy punishment on those who had dared to stand in their paths.

 _Rumble_.

Magdaia sucked in her breath, closing her eyes and she turned to lay on her side, curling up, knees brought to her tummy. She counted for a few seconds before the pain passed her. 

What was happening?

Was it something she ate?

Magdaia raised her head to shoot a glare in Eheto's general direction but the witch continued to read, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. They had both eaten the same thing for lunch, bread and a frankly bland stew, so what was it? Did she need the toilet perhaps? But she didn't feel any urge to go. Magdaia swallowed uneasily. Perhaps there was something wrong with the baby? Pride be damned, nothing could be allowed to happen to her miracle.

" _Eheto_." Magdaia tried to call out that heifer's name but it came out as a hiss along with the cramping pain. She took a deep breath, biting her lip, before she tried again, feeling her blood run hot with the humiliation.

" _ **Eheto**_!" By now the pain was a little more intense, and Magdaia had to grip the bedsheets to stop herself from crying out loud.

The woman in question lifted her head lazily in Magdaia's direction, as if it was just another simple day. Madgaia cursed her with every breath she took.

"There's something wrong." Magdaia managed to gasp out, resting her forehead on the pillow with a _thump_ as the pain blessedly subsided.

Eheto put her book down and stared at the woman with slight concern. She had given Magdaia the pill at around nine or so, with breakfast, so that would make it roughly six hours since. The pill was supposed to work within twelve hours, so really, this was nothing to be worried about, especially not over Magdaia. But the woman appeared to be in real pain, though trying to avoid showing distress. Eheto swallowed a little and stood up, quietly making her way over to Magdaia. Red's warning came flooding back to her. Magdaia was not to suspect a shred of foul play, absolutely nothing. This woman was about to lose her baby, an _unstable_ one at that, one that was unpredictable and could react in any number of ways. Eheto knew she had to tread carefully here. She came closer to the bed, watching Magdaia as she rocked a little on the bed, eyes closed, face slightly grimaced.

"What is the matter?" Eheto kept her tone neutral, with just a slight injection of warmth. Concerned, but not overly so.

There was nothing for a while, before Magdaia finally answered. "Pain. Crampy. Stomach ache, I think -wha-"

Magdaia looked up at Eheto, eyes fierce, voice hard. "If I find out you had something to do with is-"

"That cannot be." Eheto stopped her right there. "I have been given clear instructions to keep you hidden, safe, and unharmed. As much as I dislike you, angering the one who I'm working for is _not_ something I want to risk, believe me." 

It was partly true, at least.

Magdaia stared at Eheto, searching. Eheto knew she needed to sell this well. "We have eaten the same thing from the moment you awoke in this place. Apart from your... _restrictions_ , no other measure has been placed on you. You have been fed, watered, and taken to the bathroom when appropriate. Other than that, nothing."

Eheto kept her face open. Magdaia looked at her a little longer before cursing, turning her face away. "Then I need a doctor, some medical attention. I will not have my baby put at risk by your stupidity-"

"-I shall speak to my supervisor to see whether that can be arranged."

Magdaia looked at Eheto in surprise. The woman was willing to do that?

"Have Dr Somel Ghersha-"

Eheto cut her off. "I said I will _speak to my supervisor to see whether that can be arranged_ , not that one will definitely attend to you. Whatever they order, I will obey-"

"-Just like the worthless dog you are-" Magdaia snarled, baring sharp teeth.

"-the same worthless dog that is keeping you alive, mind you." Eheto retorted, staring down at the ungrateful bitch.

Magdaia refused to meet her eyes. For a while there was silence, and the old rust piping could be heard churning away in the distance.

"Fine. Whatever it is, do it."

With a huff, Magdaia rolled over the face the other side of the room, hands curled over her stomach protectively. The fact that _she_ , Magdaia Damaes, was now in this sorry position, reliant on the whim of a nonentity of a person, too worthless to mention, was mortifying, but Magdaia consoled herself; all this was temporary. She needed to escape, and fast, but not at the risk of her unborn baby. Once she was given the all clear, then it would be time, but not before then. 

Eheto looked at Magdaia's back. A sinking feeling began to line her stomach. Yes, this woman was pure evil, and yes, it was better that the child not live than to grow up with Magdaia and her poison, but that didn't lessen the gravity of what she had done. It would haunt her for a while, but those were consequences she had accepted the moment Red had dropped the pills in her hand. Letting Magdaia continue in her current state, however, clearly in pain, and unknowingly of what lay ahead, was cruel, and as much as Eheto despised Magdaia, she didn't to want to behave like her. Mercy, the woman didn't deserve, not at all, but something to ease the pain and nausea was the extent of the comfort Eheto was willing to give. She lowered her voice, speaking a little more gently from where she stood.

"Whilst I await my orders, I will try bring you something for the pain, and maybe a little food to help settle your stomach. Get some sleep."

No response. Not even a grunt.

Eheto shook her head. This woman didn't deserve anything.

With a tiny sigh, Eheto left the room, making her way over to the bags Red had brought in search of the analgesia. She would give it an hour or two before getting back to Magdaia, maintaining the pretense. 

The next few hours would be a trial for both of them, one in deception, and the other in anxiety.

 

 

Gerebeta, early afternoon.

Clark and Shayera had opted to visit the museum on the Eastern corner. Apparently full of rare artifacts, countless volumes of literature, culture and history, the two had set off a little earlier than the rest, mainly to avoid the crowds in town, and to enjoy the relative peace of a quiet stroll through the town. The two heroes had never been close, but here they were, opting to spend time with one another. Apart from the League dinner a few nights back, Clark had continued to spend time alone apart from a few occasions where he would hang out with another League member one or one, trying not to overwhelm himself. Shayera understood; it made sense really - her own torture, though short, had been downright brutal, and her newly repaired wing was still a scar to her memory. And if it had been hard for _her_ , military hardened General, well versed in strategic leadership, warfare and torture, then Shayera didn't want to imagine what the experience had been like for _Clark_ , especially with all she'd deduced already. Avoiding too much contact, unable to sustain eye contact for long, brief, shy smiles - more than one type of abuse had occurred, for sure. Shayera had been taken back by surprise when Clark had approached her with going out - she hadn't been sure that he would want to, not with all his _real_ friends, and he'd smiled at her slightly red face, himself also going a little pink. The man had apologised for his "distance", polite not _warmth_ as he treated the others, as Shayera had accepted it all with a sad smile, understanding. He'd never really spent time with her, barely speaking to each other apart from mission talk when there was something to be done. No fun trips with Barry, being invited over to the Kent farm like J'onn, or shopping with Diana in London, visiting Bruce and serving as Uncle to his kids, none of that. Even John had spent time with Clark; the two had bonded over a love of the classics - blues, jazz, you name it, they loved it, and they had taken a couple of trips to Brooklyn, where they had dinner in chill hangout spots, laughed during comedy corners in Queens and even a few football games now and again.

Everyone _except_ her, that is, and though Shayera had watched on the sidelines, throat tight, she'd reminded herself that at least she was back on the team, as a founder, even if that meant being treated as a teammate and nothing else. Shayera couldn't blame them, not with all she and her people had done to Earth, humiliating the League, imprisoning them, betraying her friends and a man she once loved. 

Not friend, not "buddy", and certainly not someone to spend time with after work was over.

But, all things aside, it was a real sting. Shayera had been tempted many times to call it a day, to hang up her mace, to live out the rest of her days on this foreign planet, alone, away from her people. But whenever she'd gained enough courage to do so, to speak up during founder's meetings - whenever Shayera had opened her mouth, ready to announce her departure-

Batman would look at her.

Not Bruce - Bruce was outside work. Bruce was Bruce to his friends, to Clark, Diana, Barry, John even, though the two were not as close as the others. Bruce was Bruce to those he'd accepted, but for her?

Batman, and that was it.

That man would turn to stare at her, the cold white lenses of mask unflinching, and Shayera would freeze on the spot. Her breath would be all caught in her throat, and the confidence she had built up would dissipate as the man took her in, neutral glare and all.

He _knew_.

Batman knew _exactly_ what she wanted to say, what she was intending to do, and Shayera couldn't understand why, not at first. Why he would look at her like hat, calculating, as if just for her to do it, just darin-

That was it - he was _daring_ her.

 _Daring_ her to leave, to pack it all up, to give in and take her leave. To give up everything that made _her_ , Hawkgirl, her identity. That in doing so, she would prove to them all, hell, the world even, what she truly was:

 _Weak_.

It had hit Shayera one day, when she was making her approach towards Batman. He had seen her, of course -his eyes had subtly flickered over from Clark who was regaling him about some silly anecdote, and Batman was of course pretending not to care, but they _all_ knew he did in fact, care, that he and Clark were best friends, brothers even, but still, appearances mattered, and that meant Batman pretending not to give a damn about anything. Clark hadn't caught the look, not quite, but as Shayera was moving closer, feeling all sorts inside - the realisation dawned on her then, and she'd stopped flat out in the hallway, just staring.

Batman was _helping_ her.

Sure, he'd barely spoken to her in the past, even before the Thanagarian crisis, and he sure as heck didn't go out of his way for her afterwards, but he, in his distant, objective manner, was _helping_ her. When she was close to throwing in the towel, to saying _enough_ \- that was when Batman would step in, daring him, as her intellectual equal, to _do_ it. They were alike, the League knew it. Both analytical, smart, and proud. And just for the latter, Shayera would never do it. She would catch sight of his _look_ , and chin slightly jutted, she'd hold in whatever she'd planned to say. Both too proud for their own good, but in this case, it was one pride pitted against the other, and Shayera would hate to prove Batman right, just as he would to her. Right there in the hallway, mace hanging slightly limp by her side, Shayera stared right at Batman.

And he stared right back at her. Eyes narrowed, a slight frown, but then he _knew_ , that she'd finally understood, and Batman had stared straight back, lips upturned ever so slightly at the corners.

The dickhead was _smirking_ at her.

At that moment, all Shayera wanted to do was to give him a good blow with her mace - he'd been playing her all this while, and she bent her head slightly, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her smile. Clark had paused momentarily to look between the two, curious, but Batman hadn't offered an explanation, and Shayera wasn't about to give one either. In the end, Shayera had lifted her head, eyes determined, and nodded at him, just once, before striding past. They'd locked eye contact as she did so, fierce eyes meeting knowing ones, and though not a word had been spoken, the message was clear:

" _Don't give up, because I won't let you_."

Shayera would never admit it, not to _him_ anyway, but she owed Batman. She really did. Though it had taken a long time, her relationship with Diana was back on track, and now, walking alongside Clark, pointing and reading at all the wonderful things inside this place, the man had given her a reason not to quit. John was another matter; they might not ever go back to what they once was; Shayera herself wasn't sure whether she would even want that, but at least she had more than one person to call friend, and for that, Shayera was thankful.

 

 

Also in Gerebeta, opposite side of the town: Nefeor, north side meadow.

"I'm not sure where to begin."

Bruce found it hard to confess. Now that he'd spoken aloud, the words sounded foreign, heavy, a weight once again on his shoulders, burdening his person. Beside him, Diana said nothing, blue eyes ever blue, patient. She had her fingers twirled around a few stalks of grass, almost absent-mindedly, but Bruce knew otherwise. Diana was listening. They hadn't spoken since _that_ night; both knew the other had conversed a little with Clark, but here they were for the first time, broaching the topic that had been on everyone's mind, right from the beginning of this mission.

 _Jason_.

It was amazing, really, now that Bruce dared to think about it. How a man who clearly hated them, barely spoke to them, could be the point about which everything revolved. The centre of attention, something he knew Jason didn't like, but everywhere the man went, anytime he spoke - the man drew people to him, knowingly or otherwise. Bruce swallowed his throat, looking up at the sky. He _knew_ Diana felt differently about Jason, but even he himself had changed a little from his previous cold stance. For one thing, it was _Jason_ , not the _Red Hood_ , _Hood_ , even _Red_. A boy, a son, lost, dead, insane, lost again, and now back, better than Bruce could have ever dreamed him to be, living a life where he had friends, one where he made a difference - and Bruce had not seen one bit of it. The times he'd dreamed to teaching Jay to dive, to shave, how to put on a tie, _God_ , he'd missed all of that, and the truth was hard to comprehend. 

"Diana..." Bruce began, but now that he _did_ , he was finding it a struggle to come up with the right words.

Diana said nothing. She needed to hear how exactly Bruce viewed his son. They had chosen this place, out in the far distance for a reason. Screaming, shouting - she knew that both men were _not_ on good terms at all, and she had the feeling that they would both want something the other couldn't provide.

"I'm sorry. For the distance, for taking this long...it was a shock, to see them together. Apart from Damian's connection, Talia is no longer in my life, not like that - there is **nothing** along those lines for you to be concerned about."

It was a shock to everyone, if they were truly honest. Diana stretched out her hand to take Bruce's, relieved that Talia wasn't one Bruce held affection for, and the man closed his eyes, squeezing hers tightly. No matter how Diana felt towards Talia, she didn't want to imagine what Bruce was going through right now, even despite their differences over Jason. Yes, they would argue, but when it came down to it, Bruce was a father who had lost both his children to that woman, and that trumped everything else.

"I understand." Diana kept her tone gentle, and Bruce opened his eyes to look out her, gazing, before he looked away again. He took a deep breath before starting again.

"I lost Jason." Bruce blurted out. Diana stilled. They didn't talk about that time, not when they'd both failed as parents, to each other, ripping them apart. But they had avoided things for far too long.

"I lost him. He was there, so full of...life, just there, Diana, and I-I failed him." Bruce swallowed, wringing their hands slightly. "You-Ja-Jason loved you, he truly _loved_ you, perhaps more than Alfred, I think."

"It's not a competition, Bruce." Diana let a little lightheartedness leak into her voice, and Bruce smiled.

"I know, but to me...I was envious. Jealous even, many times. You two connected in ways I could only dream about. I don't know whether that's to do with his past, but you Diana- you're his mother. I don't care, Talia, whatever they have or what she is to him-you, _you_ Diana, you're his, and I accepted that a long time ago. But I was never the father he needed, not truly."

"You're being too hard on yourse-"

"No, its true. I wasn't. I made far too many mistakes with him, ones that I would never dream of doing with Damian. What Jason needed wasn't Robin, not to be a partner, or any of that - he needed a father, and I failed to recognise that at the time. He loved Robin, Diana, that he could do some good for a few hours, and escape his troubles, but Robin was never meant to be an outlet. Not like that, not when there was so much to confront, to tackle. Jason didn't have anyone, Diana. A father who was an abusive alcoholic, absent most of the time, and a mother too young and too trapped to cope. He should have been in school, learning, playing with his friends, not having to take care of a mother who spent her days out of it, or having to steal and survive on the streets. Thirteen years old- _God_ , I was such a damn fool."

Bruce let go of Diana's hand, shaking his head. She tried to reach for him again and swallowed her hurt as he flinched from her. "I compared him to Dick. I know I didn't mean to, not consciously, but I did. In behaviour, in looks even - I did, and that boy grew up trying to emulate someone he shouldn't have, a history too different from his own, all to please me, to _fit_ in, and I _drove him away_ -"

Bruce's voice hitched, and he felt tears stinging at his eyes as he recalled a high voice, cheeky, eyes bright. "Bruce, you were young, and Dick was a very different child. From what I gather about man and their families, it is only _natural_ for parents to compare children, even if they don't mean to."

"But I did, Diana, and that's the point. In doing so, I failed to recognise what he truly needed. You and Alfred - you two didn't. You accepted him, saw him for who he truly was, and he flourished with you two. With me, it was-it was hard, to get him to open up, but with you - I always used to see you two talking, laughing, in the garden, sometimes I heard you from my study when you were in the library. I allowed my differences with Dick at the time to affect Jason, and as a result, he wrongly thought trying to be another Dick would somehow make things better, so, _so_ mistaken, and I never corrected him. Half-hearted attempts, but not properly."

It was Diana's turn to look away. She could see Bruce had made mistakes, some his fault, some a result of natural parenting, and no doubt this had affected young Jason. The League _had_ compared young Jason to Dick at the same ages, often finding the new Robin short-tempered, disagreeable, and it was a damn pity none of them had tried to value the boy in his own rightful standing. They were _all_ to blame.

"We share the blame in this, Bruce, the League included."

Bruce looked down.

"By the time Jason left us, we were already growing apart. Teenage years, yes, but it was more than that. I knew I was losing him - he was showing signs of his past trauma. Excessive violence, more outbursts - getting him to talk was like drawing chalk on a whiteboard. The Garzonas affair escalated things; a few weeks before he finally left, things were like ice. Tense, walking on eggshells. Dinner almost always resulted in one of us storming out, screaming at each other. It was so bad, at one point I debated whether it was right, me taking me in." Bruce's voice was low.

Diana turned sharply to look at him.

"Don't you _ever_ say that. _Never_." Her voice was hard, but Bruce could only close his eyes. 

"I don't know, Diana. I can't be sure. In the end, he left, without a word to any of us. I didn't even know what he'd been up to - I'd benched him as Robin, he was too reckless, putting himself in danger, and in terms of school? Jason had shut down completely. I should have moved him; I really wanted to give him the best, and I thought Gotham Academy would give him that. But Jason didn't fit in there. He told me at the beginning, but I thought-I stupidly thought that it would all die down, that it was a "new" kid thing, but it never did. The fights lessened, but Jason simply became more withdrawn, more sullen. Things continued to deteriorate. When I found out he'd left, Diana, I...I thought my heart had stopped. How I could have missed the signs, all his research...I raced to him, I went as fast as I could to him but even then..."

Bruce broke off here, voice broken. Diana tried and failed to keep the tears from falling.

"I-I made so many mistakes. The worst year of my life, of our family - and you, _God_ , Diana, I'm so sorry. I was so selfish, that in my grief, I shut everyone out, you, Clark, everyone. I hated everything, anything that reminded me of him, his laugh,.."

Bruce couldn't speak. Diana brought a hand to her eyes. Jason's death had come close to destroying her, to them, their son, and she'd gone back on her Mother's word never to return to Themyscira, arriving in the middle of the night, hair disheveled, movements agitated, sobbing uncontrollably. Hippolyta had said nothing except to embrace her, body shaking as her daughter broken down bitterly, completely heartbroken. And then to return, only to find out that Bruce had buried the body, absolutely no notice given, not through Clark or anyone. Buried and hidden away- denied the final farewell, to kiss her dead son - Diana let the tears stream down now - if it hadn't been for Clark, she would have torn Bruce apart, limb from limb, right in that very Cave. That he could be so _heartless_ to have done such a thing; it was a wound that had kept them apart for _many_ years.

Silence reigned for a while. Neither felt brave enough to continue down this route.

"When he came back, Diana...I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him, the boy I loved was no more. Not truly- there was something in him, unhinged - it was only logical; Jason came back from the dead, anyone would be. But then I failed again, Diana. I was so focused on _Jason_ , that he was back and doing all these things, that I failed to ask: **how**. How, and why, but how, and why _him_ , of all people, why my boy, just _why_."

Bruce didn't bother to hide the tears.

"He was so...angry, with everything, with _me_ , and I couldn't blame him, Diana. He had every right to be. _The_ Batman, saving everyone except his own damn son. Jason was intent on punishing me, and he did, through so much. We went back and forth, talking, shouting, grappling with each other and then crying the next. Out of everyone I've ever faced, our confrontations were something...awful. The words alone sent me into a stupor, and the fights, _God_ , having to fight my own son, to hurt him...the worst was when he switched his methods and came after the boys...that....that changed everything. The boys were innocent, Tim especially, but that didn't matter to Jason. He went after them to get to me, and he did, Diana."

Diana felt herself sinking.

Bruce's voice was hollow when he next spoke. "I was sure Tim was about to go when I reached him. Damian was dead, out cold, and...I couldn't take any more. The stress alone was tearing me apart, tearing the boys apart too. I tried to reach out to Jason, or at least I think I did, but as long as the Joker lived, it wasn't enough, and we both knew it. The fact that Joker was still allowed to live whilst my _child_ had been put in the ground...that was an insult, and I can't blame Jason, I really can't. I've always said why I won't kill, that its goes from just _one_ , to _another_ \- that it never stops, not truly. You kill one, more will keep coming. There will _always_ be one worse than the previous, more deranged, and for how long would that go on? What would stop the GCPD and every other law enforcement agency in the land from turning on me, on my boys? How many would I have to _kill_ Diana?" I just-just couldn't do it, I just _couldn't_. But either Jason didn't understand that, or he did, but it didn't make any difference to him. As far as he was concerned, the Joker, the worst of them all, was still walking about as if all was well, breaking out of Arkham every few months of so, and _that_ was the dealbreaker. In an effort to do what was right, or at least what I _felt_ was right, moral code and the law and all that came with it, I lost my son. My boy, to son, and then he morphed from estranged, to lost, and then stranger. I disowned him, Diana, I gave up on him, I stopped seeing him as my son. For the sake of _everything_ \- my sanity, my family, I told myself no-more, that we couldn't keep doing this, going back and forth. No more Jason"

Diana felt her breath quicken, her heart thumping away in her chest, but as much as she wanted to say _that's not true_ , to berate Bruce for giving up on his son, she couldn't. She had been there, during the entire time, watching the Red Hood tear apart Bruce, to wreak havoc in the city, against the League, to go as far as attempted murder on the boys, his brothers, and it had driven them to sheer madness for almost _four_ years. Stress, years of sleepless nights, of worry, anxiety, wondering if tonight was the night, stomachs churning as the news of yet another Red Hood attack, in all its gruesome glory, was splashed across the front pages. Diana herself had tried to reach Jason, but the man had kept himself deliberately from her. She had seen him close up, at times. Agitated, drinking twice his weight in liquor, dulling and numbing the pain, the isolation - it was painful to see, but the man refused her, every single time. And yet, if _they_ had felt this way - then what about Jason? How had _he_ felt during all this? To go from being murdered to being resurrected, in a city that had moved past you, to having been "replaced", a father hellbent on stopping you - it was difficult to fully take Bruce's side, not when few, if any, had considered Jason's side of things. 

But then there was Tim. 

Tim, who somehow, had managed to reach Jason somehow through all this, which meant that it _had_ been possible to reach Jason - they just didn't try hard enough, and that was a failure on _all_ their parts. Talia too was mixed up somewhere in this, in the background, and that made Diana bitter.

"The last time I saw him was more than two years ago. The fight was the same as ever, Diana, ugly, to the core, and then he left. I saw him a few days later - walked past in on the street in fact, and yet...neither of us spoke. In fact - I can't believe I'm saying this, but I was relieved, Diana. Relieved when I realised that he'd left Gotham, that the world news had dwindled-."

Diana pulled away, staring at Bruce. Her voice was tight, bitter even.

"Truly?"

Bruce couldn't look at her, and answering her would make him even more ashamed, and so he nodded, face low.

Diana couldn't stand to look at him. She got up swiftly, arms crossed, and clenched her jaw as she surveyed the meadow. "How convenient." Her tone was steely, hard, and her posture ramrod straight. Diana understood, of course, but it was _Jason_ , once a son, who through no fault of his own, had died, and now came back from the dead. She loved Bruce dearly, but that didn't mean she took his side, not with this. Jason had suffered more than _any_ of them, and Bruce, on his part, had been selfish to regard his feelings above the boy's own.

"I know." Bruce's voice was barely above a whisper. So he felt felt shame then. Diana felt a mixture of things; pity for Jason, to have lost hope so much so that leaving seemed the only option, and understanding of the stress that Bruce had gone through. It was difficult to place things.

"And now that he's back?" Diana asked as she stared in the distance.

"I...I don't know. He doesn't want anything to do with me, he's made that clear, and in terms of this, its a job to him. He's-He's done well, and changed, _so_ much, Tim, _Talia_ , and I-I don't know Diana. We-I underestimated him; seeing only a little of what he can do, and with what Tim has told me- I've realised that for the most part when he came back, he wasn't trying, not really. He's was trying to get through to us, not Batman or any of that but _us_ , to get our attention, to make us feel what he felt, but I didn't pick up on it. I focused too much on the murder and the killings more than anything else, and he gave up on making me _see_."

Bruce's voice was a little hitched, and Diana looked down at him, only to find Bruce looking up at her, face unreadable. She continued her gaze across the meadow.

"What do _you_ want, Bruce?" Her voice was quiet.

It was Bruce's turn to look far ahead, and he kept quiet for a while. "I don't know, Diana. I don't know. He's in Tim's life for certain, for a long while now, and they managed to keep their relationship apart from me, without me having any idea they were that close - the watch-tower was a shock to the League as it was to me. Tim has asked me to let Jason go, after this. Not to reel him in, or convince him to get back into the family fold - that once the work is over, let him go on his way, and I promised him I would. That if Jason wanted anything to do with me, then it would be for _him_ to reach out-"

"-And if he reaches out?" Diana's voice was sharp.

Another long pause.

"Maybe." Bruce answered a few minutes later. "I don't believe either of us can go back to _before_ \- we've hurt one another too much, and the history is...if it we're talking about a purely _civil_ basis, then possibly. But in terms of a _reunion_ , I'm not entirely sure - it is _highly unlikely_. That'll will involve a lot of work on both parts, forgiveness, a willingness to leave the past aside, but the past is what has brought us here, and that can't be discarded."

Diana said nothing. It wasn't what she had hoped, of course - Clark had alluded to that, but then these things couldn't be rushed. Bruce hadn't said _never_ , or _out of the question_ , only that it was unlikely. But it wasn't possible, and if both sides were at least able to be somewhat civil, after everything they had been through- well, in all essence, that was a downright miracle.

"You know how I feel about Jason."

Bruce nodded. They all knew.

"Asking me to choose between the both of you is _not_ possible. Now that Jason is back, I intend to be part of his life, and he in mine."

Diana turned to Bruce, wanting to see if he understood. He nodded back at her. 

Good.

"This means, of courseː events, dinners, birthdays, visits now and again. Spending time together, at home, and abroad. He'll be around, and you two will be in close proximity with each other at times."

Diana continued looking at Bruce. The man's face hadn't changed. "I can accept that." Tim and Jason was also another relationship he would have to accept, if he wanted to continue having Tim, and a sane, happy Tim, as a son.

"And in no way, shape or form, can your stance, status, thoughts, influence mine and his relationship. I understand your position, you _disowning_ him-" Diana let a little of her anger bleed into her tone and Bruce flinched on hearing it "-but Jason was never just _yours_. Back then, he was also mine, and he is _still_ mine, and I _will continue_ to treat him as _mine_ , regardless of your personal feelings towards him, or of Talia's involvement in his life. So long as he lets me, then he is my son, and I his Mother."

Diana's tone was final, determined, and Bruce found his mouth dry, lacking the courage to argue, not with Princess of the Amazonian.

"As much as I would...prefer a different outcome, I respect your stance. I too will respect your feelings towards Jason, and will not try and force anything that neither of you two wish, though should there be any indication for a change for the better - an _improvement_ in your status and/or his, I will not hesitate to _encourage_ where possible for the positive change."

Bruce swallowed in his throat. He wasn't sure if Diana understood the complete gravity of what she was asking, in particular, the likelihood of such an event. But that would be for later, when the time came, if such a change ever arose.

"I...I cannot promise much, but as I said to Timː I will at least try. So long as Jason is onboard with it, then I can be civil, at least for the sake of peace."

The two looked at each other. Both knew it was the best compromise they would get from the other. Anymore would result in resistance, and possibly resentment, and their new relationship was too important to be damaged like that.

Diana nodded, relaxing now. Bruce extended a hand towards her and Diana let herself be pulled into the arms of the one she loved. She could feel the tickle of Bruce's breath and he spoke quietly into her ear. "For you, Diana, I will try."

She smiled at that, tipping her face towards him to reward with with a kiss at the side of his cheek, and they began to eat.

 

 

Pantheto Council Arena, C, six thirty pm.

The elections had been running for over twelve hours now, and the Ghosts had found themselves running back and forth, Yellow and his team of engineers especially. Millions had participated in the voting, and the servers had come close to crashing on three separate occasions. Jason had yet to sleep, and was currently on his eight cup of coffee, eyes bleary, stifling a yawn. After checking in with his men, making sure things were at least running, he decided to catch a few winks in the corner. Eheto had called earlier, informing him that Magdaia was in the early stages of the termination, and Jason had instructed a close eye to be kept on her, particularly when the bleeding became heavier. That had been hours ago, and now Jason slumped to the ground, his body betrayed the extent of his tiredness, already shutting down as his eyes succumbed to the darkness-

"What is your plan in all thisʔ" 

A low hissing voice cut through the air, somewhere in the periphery. Jason groaned loudly. Who the _fuck_ -

"An election means nothing to these people. Sooner or later, there will be a power struggle. Someone will take aim for power and the rest will follow. Do you _truly_ believe your efforts here will amount to anything?"

A dry cackle.

Jason wanted to shut his eyes forever, but Semeticai'a' continued as if disturbing a man running on four or so days without proper sleep was completely normal. For her, it probably was, Jason cursed. Instead, he made a show of shifting, getting warm, unaffected, but Semeticai'a' saw right through him. She had waited, deliberately, when the man was tired and worn out, to infect him with doubt. Little by little, she would sow her poisonous seeds, enough to take hold and germinate, but Jason understood what she was doing. Instead of combating her, however, he decided to hear out her spew of insanity, to lull her into thinking she'd won, that she'd been successful in turning him away from the Ghosts and undermining their efforts. Semeticai'a' came from a powerful family, with many connections no doubt, and Jason was sure there would be some form of vested interest into make sure the woman regained control, in the background perhaps. Yes, the army had gradually withdrawn their support for the coup, but that didn't mean they were in the all clear. Someone with a lot of money somewhere could still pay for a private force of their own, if they really wanted to, and Jason knew he had to remain alert. Money, power, connections - he had none of that, but what he had was the media, the public, and bringing up Semeticai'a's activities with all her secret dealings would soil her name, enough that those associated with her might find it no longer find it cost effective to be linked to such a person. Jason had Purple and Yena leak a few stories into the media, enough to stir up some support, but not enough to think that a smear campaign was being orchestrated against dear old Semeticai'a' and therefore turn the public _against_ them. The trial, in front of the new government, was where Jason planed to lay out _everything_ , all the dirt, and that would ensure the spotlight would be kept focus on that evil hag. it was one thing to have stuff in the media about you, but in the official eyes of the law, the courtsʔ That was a game changer, and that was one of the reasons why this election was so important. Electing good people, well suited to their roles, in this new, fair government, and in the eyes of people who wanted to abide by the law - all the power struggles and plays could be brought out into the open. 

But Semeticai'a' was right about one thing. Fine, the election, and yes, the new government, but Semeticai'a', the coup, the Elders, _knew_ that the Ghosts weren't from this realm.

They were _human_ , and that meant that they would eventually have to go back to where they came from. And once they did, well - the people here were free to do as they liked. A few days of elections had _nothing_ on centuries of tradition and culture, and as soon as the Ghosts left, all could revert to how it once was. The coup, the Elders- a lot of these people, though in captivity at present, had connections. Wealth, and that carried with it power. There was nothing to stop these same people regaining power from this new "government", either by force, or bribes, whatever else. Politics was one big circle, and though the ghosts _had_ tried to look for well-meaning people, in the end, power always wins. Those who'd been in the game long enough, who didn't just ignore the rules - they _created_ the rules, flaunted them - these same ones were the ones who knew Semeticai'a', made deals with the coup, influenced the Elders - in one way or another, they were connected.

Semeticai'a' was right, deep down, and Jason felt his stomach turning. All the ghosts could do here was make the efforts, to _try_ , but the lasting impacts on such efforts was something else completely. 

Jason refused to open his eyes, but Semeticai'a' continued undeterred.

"Measly humans, with your pathetic efforts. Change is subject to change, is subject to any and all. It is not fixed, and those with the resources and ability are the ones who will direct the narrative, _always_. I've heard an interesting number of things about me, about my past - dear boy, you thinking leaking any of those things will change anythingʔ Pah." Semeticai'a' spat, shaking her head. A human who thought he had one-upped the game, not understanding that _she_ had been the one to shape the damn thing. Centuries of experience, of deals, partners, connections - _that_ was why none of this bothered her, not truly. Semeticai'a' was simply playing a part, pretending to hate everything, to spew venom, but the truth was -all this would blow over in the end. A new government - and so what? She'd heard of many of the names that had been suggested - had influenced them one way or another. It couldn't stand, it _wouldn't_ , Semeticai'a' was sure of it. All she needed to do was to be patient and bide her time, that was all. Semeticai'a' continued her taunts.

"All this show, and what happens after you leaveʔ It's not as if you can _stay_ here, after all, this isn't your realm, your planet, not at all. You have nothing, not really. Pat yourself on the back for now, because I _assure_ you, the moment you take your filthy selves out of our realm, the streets will run thick will blood, and the struggle for power will be the same as it always has been - won by those who can afford it. So I applaud you, dear boy. Keep trying, for the good of the "people", for "unity" or whatever that means, but whether next week, in months, years, hundreds of years if you want - the realm will go back to how it once was, and _nothing_ can change that."

Semeticai'a' ended her spite there, smirking to herself. The human had no idea how things worked, not truly.

As for Jason, the realisation had left him unsettled. It was all true, whether he liked it or not. The new government might remain in place for however long, but this wasn't Earth. He and the Ghosts had no chance of keeping this running smoothly, not twelve ordinary men against thousands, millions, out of their element. Even with all the shit he planned to bring out against Semeticai'a' and her spawn - sure, they'd look bad in public, but if they were powerful _enough_ , and supposing that those who were truly important didn't care, then they'd be fine, let off with a smack on the wrist at most- Jason had no doubt that those associated with Sem were probably involved in the same evil dealings and questionable ethics. One of them had gotten caught, that was all, but if the impact could be lessened with minimal blowback, then they would most likely continue to associate with her, just in private. But, as Jason turned his head a little to Semeticai'a' nowː the important thing was that he had tried. The Ghosts had tried, and whether the efforts were lasted or otherwise, at least they had taken the first steps. It was up to the people now to keep going, to run with the new change, to _want_ there to be a difference. Semeticai'a' had wrongly assumed that people were weak, that the backbone wasn't there, but there was a fifty fifty chance of the new government failing and things reverting back to the past, or things only getting better from here.

"You're right, Semeticai'a'. But who knowsʔ Maybe this new government will succumb to your power, your influence, and you and all your cronies will take back power. Maybe this new government won't stand for any more of your people's bullshit and actually try to make things work. Whatever it is, at least I can say that we've tried, and we've helped to lay the foundations for a potential change. What happens next after we leave is completely up to the people, to the realm, and then whatʔ It might be that things will for once, look up for a change and you and your merry band finally get whats coming to them."

Jason shrugged his shoulders as he let himself drift off. Semeticai'a' said nothing though, and Jason felt her eyes on him. Silly woman had forgotten that people aren't always predictable, and for all her bragging and assuming, things might just turn out differently to what she expected. Semeticai'a' clenched her fists, eyes hardening as she looked away.

The sooner this farce was over, the better.

 

 

Nine fifty two pm, secret location in Eain.

Magdaia awoke from her sleep, pain beginning to form in her stomach.

She had been sleeping on and off throughout the day. Eheto had given her a little something to eat, along with some strong pain relief, and whilst that had taken the edge off the pain for several hours, lessening her concern, it came in waves now, waking her up from sleep. Apparently a doctor would see her tomorrow should the pain not subside, and Magdaia had reigned curses upon Eheto's head, threatening her with the vilest she could imagine should her baby's life be at risk. Eheto had nodded dumbly, bringing food and extra blankets, and for a long while, all had been well.

And now this.

The pain came stronger now, and Magdaia found sleep drifting from her as she awoke fully, clutching her belly. She felt slightly nauseous, head swimming a little, and weakly flung the covers over her bed, putting one had on the mattress in an attempt to sit herself up. Another intense wave of pain, and now Magdaia cried out, prompting footsteps to make her way to the door, and Eheto entered the room cautiously.

"Magdaiaʔ" The woman's voice sounded strange, a little nervous, but Magdaia couldn't think about that now as she gritted her teeth, panting a little as the pain canvassed her belly.

What was _happening_ ʔ Magdaia was about to hiss at the girl, so get a doctor _now_ , when something caught her attention.

A little dark spot on her trousers, almost black. 

And then another.

The two spots merged into one, and Magdaia stared, transfixed as the stain grew larger and darker. She removed her hands from her belly in shock, placing it slightly behind her, when a wetness caught her attention. She patted around her person, confused, ignoring Eheto as she came closer, but then the woman let out a gasp. Magdaia raised her hand, heart in her mouth, as she brought up the hand to the dim light.

Red.

 _Blood_.

 _ **Blood**_.


	37. Self versus thy self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Magdaia's loss. The election is over, but things are not in the clear yet. Over in Gerebeta, Clark finds himself struggling with his trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited a little, refresh the page guys!

"How is she?"

Eheto shook her head quietly in the midst of the darkness. It was the early hours of Wednesday morning. The elections had taken the realm by frenzy, judging by the countless news cycles, but Eheto found herself unable to celebrate. 

_Magdaia_.

Eheto turned her face to the window as the last couple of hours replayed in her memory. The woman had practically collapsed on seeing the blood that evening, and the next few hours had been spent retching, bleeding and in the rare times Magdaia had the energy to speak, cursing and screaming. There had been so much _red_ , mixed in with all the vomit, thick spewing of hell mixed in with the dark foul liquids, and the witch had turned so pale Eheto had been close to calling for a doctor should things not subside.

It had been awful.

It was only sheer mercy that the woman had worn herself out to the point of unconsciousness, and Eheto had taken a step further to add in a sedative to her fluids in order to replace that which had been lost. Dehydration was another thing to worry about, as well as the blood loss, and Red's warning had flashed many times in the back of Eheto's mind: that Magdaia remain alive. The bleeding had slowed now, the vomiting less frequent, and by all accounts, it seemed as though the worst was over.

But Eheto knew that to be a lie.

It was _far_ from over.

They had gone through almost all the the towels provided, clothing heavily stained, and Eheto had made do with soaking the items in a small tub at the rear of the house, knowing that Red would be unable to meet her at this time, not with the pressure of elections and being such a visible face. The man had taken great risk whenever he ventured out to them, and Eheto wasn't about to stress the man any further than necessary. She had promised to handle things, and that she would do. And so Eheto had kept a neutral face, closing her eyes on occasion, swallowing at knowing that she had done this, for the greater good, not allowing herself to slow down even for a moment. Magdaia had cried, bled, lost and now, even as Eheto glanced over to where she slept, the woman still looked to be in pain despite sleeping. Eheto turned away and tried to push at the guilt that was gnawing at her. She was already beginning to dread how to face the woman once she awoke, but for now, there was quiet.

With a start, Eheto realised that she had yet to answer Red's question, but the man had remained on the phone, not saying anything.

Red understood.

He understood what they had done, the emotions she was struggling with, and Eheto was thankful the man did not push. After a few more moments, Eheto took in a breath and answered, voice low.

"Sleeping, for now. There-there was a lot, Red. So much _red_ , and-and, I did my best, truly." Eheto's voice was barely a whisper by now. She closed her eyes as a shudder went through her, remembering the agonsing wail Magdaia had let out when it dawned on her what was going on. The sound had been less human, more animal. Demonic, even - a shriek, ugly, heartbroken, enraged, that had shaken Eheto momentarily to the core. She had stood there, frozen, as the red blossomed, angry, looming at her, at Magdaia who seemed to crumble in slow motion, mouth wide, chest heaving as she let loose her fury amidst tears and the gnashing of teeth. It was only when Magdaia had slumped to the floor that Eheto had been jolted into a start, moving almost on autopilot, the weight on her actions almost sinking her to her knees. Running back and forth for clean water, soaking, cleaning, stemming the floor, it kept coming, from both ends, the foulness of it all, intertwined with Magdaia's grief, and Eheto's guilt.

"I Know it was hard for you." Red's voice was quiet, a little husky.

Eheto said nothing. Her chest was beginning to ache a little; Magdaia had lashed out in her rage earlier, striking her solidly in the centre, and Eheto had coughed painfully several times, the pain a welcome distraction from the horror she had inflicted.

"Keep a watch over her. As much I dislike Magdaia, she is going through nothing less than hell right about now. What she has lost won't sink in properly, not after a long while, and you, Eheto, need to be on your guard at _all_ times. If she was pissed before, well, she's nothing to lose now, nothing to hold her back, and you'll be her primary target. Hold on, keep both eyes wide open."

Eheto felt fear beginning to creep in, and her swallow was audible to both of them.

"It's good to be a little afraid." Red's voice was calm, but that didn't stop Eheto from detecting the slight edge in the man's tone. "It'll keep you on your toes, give you something to do instead of letting the guilt eat you up. Make sure Magdaia has enough to eat, drink especially - I'm not too concerned if she refuses to eat, but you gotta keep her replenished more than anything else. You should have enough pain relief and other sorts till I get there; is there anything else you need?"

"Cloth-" Eheto coughed slightly in an attempt to clear her throat. Her voice was hoarse, and a little weariness leaked in her voice. "Clean clothes would be nice. I know you can't come for a while, I understand, and for the time being, I am washing things by hand."

"I can't come just yet, not til things are tied up properly over here. Try and manage, you're doing well so far."

A pause.

"Hang in there Eheto. It won't be long now. For all its worth, none of this was your fault. As for Magdaia? Well, as long as she gets rest and fluids, then that is fine. Understand that for all she is, and the shit she's done, the woman has just lost a child, and that would be hard on _anyone_. Like I said, try and avoid provoking her, alright? Apart from the necessities, keep your distance if you have to, and don't take anything for granted."

It was Eheto's turn to take a pause, her eyes prickling.

"I understand Red. We'll speak soon."

With a click, Eheto disconnected the call. Inside she was trying and failing to keep it together, but for Red, she would force herself to remain calm. Eheto turned to the clock: two seventeen am. She desperately needed some sleep, but her mind wouldn't let her, not yet. Eheto pulled a chair towards the window and sank down into the old, worn seat. She curled in, hugging herself close. It was slightly chilly, but Eheto didn't mind. Turning her face back towards the window, Eheto let her mind drift, away from the red and the wailing that lurked underneath.

 

 

Jason rested his head against the glass.

 _God_.

Closing his eyes, he let the tiredness catch up to him.

Elections were over, one point for the win, but that was nothing. The team had celebrated a little, with boxes of takeout but that had been a while ago, and in Jason's mind, already forgotten as his mind looked ahead. The next couple of hours were downright critical - the results had to be sorted, counted, announced, and the selected representatives had to be escorted here to the IGC, knowing that all eyes were on them, scrutiny at an all time high, and expectations heavy on their shoulders. Threats to the new government had to be deterred, and the Ghosts knew they had their work cut out from them. Jason replayed Semeticai'a's words in his mind. He had been lulled into thinking this would be straightfoward, but things rarely were, and definitely not in a realm and culture foreign to them. As much as he wanted to deny it, Semeticai'a' had allies, powerful, wealthy allies, and that meant resources. Though the Ghosts and all those currently at the IGC had yet to face real antagonism, anything was possible. Even with all the media leaks about Sem's nefarious past, those who mattered had remained mute on the subject, and their silence spoke volumes. Sure, the general masses had been stunned, questioning, shocked, but as long as those whose wealth bought them control and power were not moved, then the leaks had made very little impact. They were tarnishing Semeticai'a's reputation, yes, but they weren't having any effect on what was really important - her influence, and her allies.

But Jason knew he could only do so much.

It was a hell of thing called arrogance that he and the Ghosts called walked up into this place, in a realm and peoples unknown to them, to think that they had any right to put in place changes to a culture that was not theirs, a history they did not shape, only to leave at the end. Semeticai'a' was right - they had no _real_ power. The fact that they had been able to continue as they had been doing was simply because they had been _allowed_ to. If the public had rebelled against their intervention, well, then- they were fucked. If those who held the cards decided that they didn't like the way things were going, well, then - they were fucked, again. So events, as they were, were either been looked upon with favour, approval from the people, or that those behind the scenes were bidding their time. Whichever it was, Jason couldn't be sure. The elections, announcing the results - all that meant fuck all if those that formed the new government weren't alive to see it. And even if they somehow managed to make it here to the IGC, to be sworn in officially, it was a matter of _staying_ alive to get the job done. Politics was a game; it was all flash and front, but those who were really in control knew that appearances were key. Resistance was easily set up, opposition financially placed, and the question was now the longevity of the new government.

Jason sighed heavily to himself. All this shit- Politics - none of this was his thing. It had been the same back with Bruce and all the WE board talk, schmoozing at the galas - the pretense, the falsity of it all - it had sickened Jason then, not being able to tolerate the bullshit, and now, as Jason yawned, resting his head against the wall, it was the same thing. Even back then, Jason valued transparency. The truth. None of that "hope", "love" crap that he associated with Metropolis, the city of flashing lights and stupid dreams, much like Superman, no. It was why he'd always felt kinship with Gotham, and why leaving had been so damn hard. Gotham didn't tolerate any of that. Hope? Foreign. Faith? Unthinkable. Fancy words dressed up nicely was easily torn down in Gotham's street corners, trampled in the waste bins where orphaned children huddled, spat upon in seedy nightclubs and ugly predators. Dick knew how to play the game; the slick bastard had always managed to insert himself in their whoring, ass-licking elitist circles, and Jason would always watch from a distance at a not-so brother, who clicked champagne glasses clumsily with Bruce, women with brassy tones hanging onto him for dear life, feeling disgust at the way that dickhead's mouth would laugh raucously at some stupid joke, mouth open like a damn fish. Just like Bruce, Jason had reasoned back then; though Dick hard hardly been around, but for Wayne galas, Jason could always count on the ass-sucker to show up, putting on a united front with Daddy dearest. Tim had surprised Jason a little; he'd only sneaked into one gala, back when he was gathering intel on yet another one of Bruce's disgusting pig-like associates, and Jason, in disguise, had found his respect growing for the replacement. Guests all over kissed up to him of course; Tim was VP of WE, it made sense to be in his good books, and though Tm tolerated the ass-kissing, Jason read through him like a knife sliced through butter. Feigned interest, cool demeanor, eyes sharp - Tim knew what was up, and whilst Dick revelled in the attention, Tim always shot it down with a distant smile and small sip of his glass. Jason had watched the boy in the near corner, impressed, and though Tim was nothing but the 'replacement' at the time, the respect, as tiny as it was, was there. Damian he had never seen in action; apparently the boy was a vicious little shit, reducing the scantily clad women to nothing but "cheap thirsty whores, degrading and lacking in all areas, subpar, and a disgrace to his very presence", something Alfred had regaled back to him over afternoon tea one day. Jason had laughed and laughed till tears came, and though Alfred remained stoic, his eyes had twinkled, and Jason could detect a slight upturning at the corners of his mouth as his abuelo sipped on his tea.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Yena's voice cut into Jason's thoughts, and Jason turned to grin at the man, who leaned against the wall opposite him, also staring at the window.

"Really got the hang of that, haven't ya?" Jason chuckled, and Yena simply smiled, handing his friend a drink.

"I'm afraid it isn't beer, but it'll make do for now."

Jason raised his drink, and the two men clicked their bottles before taking a drink. None of them said anything for a few moments, and Yena took his time to assess his friend. _Tired_ was the only the conclusion he could draw from the assessment. Out of all of them save Yellow, the man had been running himself ragged for days now, flitting between the coup, the elders, the Ghosts, and a whole host of people here in the IGC. If it wasn't a conference call, then it was a meeting. If not a meeting, then it was something to review, commands to be given, information to analyse, responses to assess - inbetween overlooking them all, and it was tiring work. Yena had caught sight of his friend one day, leaning against a column, tiring to catch a few moments of rest. Yena himself had been about to go over to the man and all but force him to take a few hours and just _sleep_ , and just as he'd began to make his way over, another indistinguishable lackey hurried over to him, adjusting her glasses as she spoke, pointing at something on her apiliwe, and the two of them had left in a matter of seconds, shoes echoing down the hall. Yena didn't know how much longer than man could go on like this, especially at this rate. He, like the other Ghosts, had noted the man's disappearances on two separate occasions, and while he hadn't approached Red directly, it was obvious Red was up to something. Red of course, said nothing, Yellow had refused to elaborate - to be fair, the excuses he'd crafted were excellent ones, and the rest of them had left the matter at bay for now, but Yena hadn't forgotten. 

It was a while before Jason spoke again.

"Ever get the feeling that no matter what you do, things will never change?"

Yena cocked his head at his friend, but Red continued to stare outside the window. He frowned a little, opting not to take another swing of his drink but fold his arms slightly, watching his breath midst on the glass.

"And if you decide not to do anything? To leave things as they are? Is that any better, Red?"

It was a good question, and Jason found that he couldn't answer. He took a break from the outside and instead looked down a little at his feet, swirling the bottle in his hands. The liquid looked like a black hole, dangerous and Jason felt as if his eyes were being sucked in slowly. He closed them, willing the dull throb of his headache to subside already. His voice when he spoke next was a little uncertain, but he couldn't be bothered to hide it, not in front of Yena anyway.

"I can't be too sure." Jason swallowed in his throat as he looked at the ground. Semeticai'a' had gotten to him and he _hated_ it. Yena said nothing for a long time, and Jason looked up in surprise when his friend's voice suddenly cut into the silence.

"I didn't know my father, Red. He left when I was young, a baby I think, though my Mother has always refused to talk about him. But one day, one very strange day, when I was walking back home from school, bag in hand as my friends and I stuffed our faces with the pastry that Ghebe the fat baker used to make especially for us, I saw in the far distance, my mother and a man. She was agitated, crying a little as the man seemed to plead with her. I left my friends then, running at full speed towards my mother, but the moment I met them I grounded to a halt. I stared at the man, and he stared back at me. Same colouring. Same eyes - I just _knew_ it was him, my father, and do you know what he did, Red? His mouth was a little 'o', and he bent to his knees, beginning to reach for me, and then something stopped him. There we were, two statues in time, me with my eyes wide, and my father with his arms out at his sides. I stepped towards him, wanting him to reach out, to do it, but the man was so... _afraid_ , Red, as if doing so would shatter some sort of illusion, that reality would crashing down."

Yena took a break and shook his head a little, opting to take drink a little, distracting himself from the anger and frustration that were beginning to cloud his thoughts. He could feel his friend's eyes on him but the man didn't say anything, giving him a little space. Yena let the emotions dissipate before he attempting to speak once again.

"It was surreal, really, watching this grown man back away in fear, and all I could do was stand there, eyes welling up, my mother having already drawn me to her side, her hand on my head. I remember looking up at her, unable to stop the tears from falling, mouth open because I wanted to question her whether it was because of _me_ , something _I_ did, that caused all this, but she stopped me, Red. Took me into her arms, hugged my tightly. I'll never forget what she said. My mother had me stand before her, eyes fierce - I'd never seen that _look_ on her face and it was unnerving, but she made me stand there and listen. That day she asked me a simple question. ' _Do you know what is the biggest killer of men, Yena'a't_?' I had no idea - I think I trembled something about dying or something and Mother smiled at me, wiping my tears away before she explained. _Fear. Fear kills people, Yena'at. It kills the start. It robs men of their goals, their desires, and it kills everything that could have been, should have been, and ought to be. It strips away potential, and grounds purpose into dust. Don't ever let that be you, Yena'at, not ever_.' 

Yena took another swig, allowing the words to sink in.

"It sounded like poetry, Red. I remember how afraid I was, of _fear_ , something that I couldn't really put into words, and how it could have an effect on such people. I wanted to ask why _fear_ , what made it so horrible, but Mother stood up too quickly, and she marched us home. She never spoke again of the incident, and for some reason, I didn't have the heart to ask her about it, but I gradually came to understand. Father had let us down, but that wasn't all - he had let him _self_ down, and I saw it in his eyes that day. The shame in his scramble to back away, the lack of eye contact, my Mother's disappointment. Fear had prevented him from _trying_ , and it was a pity. He had potential, but his fear of _what if_ held him back. The point is-"

Yena broke off and Jason found himself a little taken aback to see his friend's eyes abruptly switch to him, hard.

"-I have no idea what the future of this realm will be like. Not even the next few years, months, not even in the days to come. I haven't a damn clue as to whether our actions over these last few days will last, Red, but one thing stands out to me - we have to _try_. I am aware of how politics work, Red - though I was never part of the inner circles, there are always players behind the scenes, those with strings and connections, who do things according to their best interests. Whether this new government will take form and stand is something that a. only time can tell and b. relies on those around us, and the people too, to hold them accountable. We can do everything right and things go well. On the other hand, the opposite might also be true. We can make all the right moves, speak to the right people, put those who will do good in place, but at the end of the day, we cannot predict the future. All of us here have tried to set up something that is fair, that tries to represent us all - tiny steps that have essentially interrupted centuries of longstanding tradition and culture. We cannot expect change overnight, but as long as we make the efforts? Well, that's the best anyone can ask for."

There was among silence after a while. Jason closed his eyes, thinking deeply. He had come to a similar thought when he'd concluded his last conversation with Semeticai'a', but he had to admit, the doubts had been nagging at him, undermining him slightly. He hadn't been as motivated, he knew it in his speech, and even his recent demeanor had raised a few eyebrows amongst his men. Semeticai'a', in an effort to destabilise things, had seeded her poisonous barbs in him and they were digging their claws him. But Jason breathed a little in relief. Thank heavens for people like Yena, the Ghosts, who knew what it meant to _try_ , to put in their best, and give their all. Men who didn't recognise the word 'can't', or refused to accept the impossible. Good men with whom he'd defied logic countless times. Jason looked up at his friend, but found that he didn't have the words. Yena smirked a little, understanding, and Jason, thankful, moved forward to hug his friend tightly, to which Yena responded, hugging back just as tight. None of them said anything, for there was no need to. They remained like that for a few more seconds before breaking apart, with Yena using one arm to steer Jason away from the window.

"My friend, it is time to rest."

Jason opened his mouth to protest, but on seeing the _look_ Yena levelled at him in response, clamped his mouth shut.

"You're such a mother hen, its ridiculous." Jason grumbled slightly as Yena laughed, both knowing fully well that Jason was _just_ as bad and the two made their way back to the halls. 

All they could do was try, and that was more than enough.

 

 

Clark tossed his sheets to the floor with a sharp kick, heart thumping.

This was the fourth time he'd been forced awake through a flashback, sheets drenched, teeth clenched, and chest absolutely _pounding_. Clark lay on the bed, air chill to his skin, and he closed his eyes, trying to stop the painful thundering, but it was no use. He hadn't had one night of continuous sleep since...Clark gulped, mind already struggling with free itself from pained sharp nails and unwelcome touch, and each day had seen him slightly deteriorate. 

Clark wasn't sleeping, and though he tried his best to limit his interactions with the League, he knew they had noticed his tiredness. And the more he tried to shrug it off, to avoid any mentions of anything even remotely connected to Xan, the worse it became. His under-eye bags had bags. His skin was a little sunken, and Clark found himself bumping into things on more than one occasion, a result of acute sleep deprivation. His vision had become slightly blurry at times, and Clark realised, with slight despair, that he was having trouble concentrating on things. Simple things, like following the text on a page, falling asleep mid-day, only to be awoken a short time later under the worried gaze of Jae or Meir, whom he politely brushed off. They had respected his space, but Clark had the feeling that Lielr would be paying him a visit very soon. The doctor checked on him regularly, assessing his injuries, and Clark found that the lead up to every visit was nothing short of horrendous for him. The anxiety, sweat beading at his hairline, the _fear_ at having to looked at so closely - many a time, Lielr had spent the first half hour of his visit just trying to get Clark to relax, calm enough that the man could at least make eye contact with him. Lielr had mentioned that these breaks in sleep, the flashbacks, nightmares, feeling trapped, his lability of mood: fluctuating changes- frozen, happy one minute, crying, and breaking down the next -apparently these were all classic signs of PTSD. Couldn't be cured, no, and Clark had shot down the "seeing someone" route, but there was always symptomatic control. The insomnia for instance - Lielr had offered Clark medication a few times, a little something to help him with the anxiety, enough to sleep, and though Clark had declined the first times, his 'no thank yous' had become more agitated and clipped, and the last time Lielr had offered, Clark had promptly broken down, much to his embarrassment. Lielr had stayed with him that whole day as Clark had finally been forced to admit the truth:

He wasn't coping well.

Clark had denied it all at first. Initially, things were fine, yes, with his little trips with each friend, enjoying the sightseeing, all the different activities, and it was the truth - things _had_ been going well. He'd spent the first few days at home and also out with Klose, or the others, not too much at one time. Clark had loved it, and things were looking not so bleak after all, especially with the good news of his screening tests: all negative, and Clark had wept a little our of sheer relief when he'd found out. He laughed, smiled, joked a little, and his friends were pleased to see him this way. The insomnia hadn't been too bad either - one or twice waking him up, but Clark usually caught a few winks to make up for it, and he was fine. But as time went on, the flashbacks increased in frequency, and they would leave Clark too shaken to do anything else for a while. Then the nightmares started, and that was hellish. It would be as if he'd ever gone to bed, and the longer the two evils continued, the worse Clark became. The League visits were a nice distraction, but the more tired Clark became, the less he wanted his friends to see the state he was in, particularly as he knew they would want to talk to him about it, and he simply wan't ready to do _that_ , not for a good while anyway. Those that did try to push -Diana, Bruce for instance - Clark had been sharp with them, tears stinging, shaking and though they had backed off, Clark knew that their give wasn't going to last. Lielr had suggested talking to someone, just a little, but opening up in his present state of mind was akin to torture. His friends knew but most had been reluctant to push, knowing Clark would isolate himself further than he already was. 

It was a horrible state to be in. A catch-22, if one could label it.

He wasn't improving, not really, and it had come to the point that Clark was having near breakdowns almost every day, sometimes more than once. He would be sitting, reading quietly, or eating, and then it would start. 

A low voice. Lulling, venomous, false and Clark's eyes would grow wide with alarm, his body rooted to the spot. If it wasn't the voice, then it was the thought, whether bright flashing lights, or painted nails, sharp teeth and the eyes of a predator looking down on him. The triggers, and Clark would know it had begun.

Then came the sensations. The touching, the biting, his skin going hot and cold his arms heavy and useless, his legs nothing but logs of wood, and down below, where _she_ was, a centre of his betrayal and hatred for himself. Here Clark would close his eyes in shame, tears leaking out as the flashback took hold of him, the rhythmic rocking, hard and _painful_ , the way his body would react every time, giving up his seed, giving _in_ , despising the fact that he was pleasuring _her_ , that he more he pleaded, the harder she went, gripping and pulling, sucking forcefully and taking, just _taking_ what didn't belong to her-

And then Clark would break here. Muscles shaking, hair on edge, he would weep silently, that no-one could hear, that he was all alone, and that nothing could ever be the same again.

Damaged goods.

Lois would never want someone like him, never. Disgusting, soiling himself like that. A weak, pitiful disgrace.

Clark never knew how long it lasted. Probably no more than a few minutes, but to Clark, well, - it seemed like forever. Most his breakdowns had taken place in his bedroom, solitary, but he'd had one once in the garden, and Jae had caught him. He'd neglected dinner that evening, unwilling to face her, and that's when Lielr had been called in, his kind face a mirage of worry and concern. After that, Clark had practically taken into hiding. The triggers would make themselves known, and that would see Clark excusing himself into privacy, under the gaze of whomever he was with. It had happened once with Barry when they'd been out in the town, and Clark had fled the area, barely making it to Jason's place in time before the sensations took over, paralysing him, swallowing him whole in the darkness and gloom-

 _Tick_.

Clark was drawn into the present by a noise. He turned his head weakly towards the sound, and saw that it had emerged from the clock: three fifteen am. He'd had a grand total of one hour's sleep, and that had been since retiring at around eleven pm.

" _My pet_."

The voice broke into the darkness of the room. Promisingly warm, but Clark knew the insanity that lay hidden underneath, and now his heart rate sped up, the shadows already beginning to loom over him.

It was happening.

"No." Clark closed his eyes, despairing, but it was too late now. Once it began, that was it.

His breath began to quicken, and for the first time, Clark heard himself calling for help. Meek, voice hoarse already, but he needed help. The realisation fueled him a little, and he staggered off the bed, sinking to the floor with a heavy thump, shaky fingers clutching at his hair as he cried aloud for help, for anyone. Someone whom he knew fought against monsters and nightmares, and still somehow had enough to keep going.

" _BRUCE_." Clark gasped out weakly, heart ready to burst. " _someone_..."

" _Bruce cannot hear you, my pet. Don't you see? You're all alone. You have nothing_." Magdaia's voice filled the room, and Clark felt himself becoming trapped now as the phantom hands took hold of his body. His mind was shutting down, unable to hear if Bruce had-

" _You are mine, dear Superman. Haven't I told you this already? There is no escapin_ -"

 _ **WHAM**_.

The bedroom door burst open, and Clark was about to collapse at the sound. He tried to speak, his eyes frantic, but nothing came out. He was solidly ground to the floor, face flushed, skin slick with sweat, and Bruce was suddenly in his face, hands out the side of his face.

" _Clark_? _**Clark**_!" Listen to me, Clark! Whatever it is, it's not real, believe me." Bruce was trying to aim for calm, but his voice betrayed him. 

Clark looked terrible. Whatever he was caught up in had him completely in its grasp, paralysed. Clark seemed to registered that it was him, that he, Bruce was here, but not much more than that. The man's mouth grew wider still, but nothing came out apart from tiny gasps, like a tiny kitten dying. Bruce felt his heart drop, heavy. This was one hell of a panic attack, and judging by what he was seeing, Clark din't have the strength to break out of this, not yet in his present state. It meant that all he could do for now was to sit by and watch his friend break to pieces, watching the tears fall. 

And so Bruce did exactly that. Eight minutes, fifty seven seconds, he'd kept one eye on the clock, but finally, Clark was let go, and the man slumped down, Bruce barely catching him in time. The man was shaking, soaking wet, and his voice an incoherent mess.

"Bru-Bru-Bruce-e-e?"

Bruce swallowed. This was awful, and he hated that Clark had been clearly going through this by himself. He had spent the last couple of nights stationed on the hilltop outside Jason's house, watching his friend battle with the demons that toyed mercilessly with his mind, wanting to respect the man's privacy, but this was Clark.

Friend. 

_Brother_.

Bruce had known the man wasn't coping, that he was putting on a front, and the more he stayed away from the League, the more his theory was proven correct. Bruce had therefore taken guard outside Jason's house, binoculars on hand, monitoring his friend's progress. Diana had frowned, disapproving, warning him that Clark would _hate_ this, but she hadn't spoken out against it either, and that spoke volumes. Clark would have been pissed if he'd found out - a true understatement if he were honest, which was why Bruce respected his wishes for privacy in the first place. But tonight had been different.

He'd never seen Clark like this, not ever - hell be damned, his friend needed him. The man had called out for help, audibly, his cry cutting through the stillness of the night.That was more than enough for Bruce, already standing up on seeing Clark slump to the ground, already running towards the house. Clark would realise later, of course, that Bruce had been there, outside, that he'd been there all along, and Bruce knew his friend would be furious with him, maybe even throw him out. But Bruce was stubborn, and for Clark, he'd be damn rock solid unmovable if it meant helping his friend get through this.

"I'm here, Clark. I've got you."

In that moment, hearing Bruce, realising that it was _Bruce_ , his friend, one that was real-

Clark broke down.

The two men stayed like that for a long time, Clark barely holding on, and Bruce closing his eyes, heart heavy at hearing his friends painful cries, before the man gave into his exhaustion. Checking that Clark had actually passed out, Bruce hoisted his friend back onto the bed, shoulders already straining at the weight. He made sure to tuck the man in lightly, opening another window, and made his way out of the room, though leaving the door slightly ajar in case Clark needed him. Bruce made his way downstairs, sinking into the chair. His face was lined, eyes sore with his patrol duty over his friend, but tonight his friend had needed him, and it was all worth it. Bruce closed his eyes for a few moments, intending to spend only a couple of minutes to unwind from the emotional trauma and stress-

 

 

-and opened them again.

Only to meet Clark's angry glare towering right over him, sunlight streaming through the room.

Clearly he'd slept a lot longer than thought, and Bruce swallowed, knowing that he was in real shit with his friend.

Neither man said anything.

Clark was _angry_ , and the man didn't even try to hide it. It radiated through his frame, across his being, and his eyes, devoid of those stupid glasses, seemed to _burn_. Bruce knew for a fact that the man's heat vision wouldn't have returned yet, not with all the mental shit that Clark was going through, so that burn was not heat vision, but _rage_. The man's face was set in stone; this had been a violation of his trust, and both men knew it.

Bruce steadied himself. He had done the right thing, he was sure of it, and though he had known how much Clark would hate him for it, Bruce wasn't afraid to do it all over again. He shifted slightly in the chair, ready to-

Out of nowhere, a bundle of clothes were flung right into his face, and Bruce let the confusion dwell for an instant before shaking it off. Clark glared at him, pissed, and walked out of the room without saying a single word. Bruce didn't want to admit it but for a moment, he'd been afraid. Now, as he looked down at the clothes, only to look back up at the kindly middle aged woman who gestured for him to come, Bruce was certain he'd done the right thing last night. Now that Bruce was awake, he began to take note of the house. Large, spacious, well furnished, and stepping into the bathroom, Bruce knew exactly who'd had made their mark here.

 _Talia_.

He didn't even have to pick up any of the shampoo bottles or what else to pick up that subtle, vanilla spaced fragrance. It was obvious that she was part of Jason's life, an important one too, if she had visited Gerebeta and Pepo with Jason. Swallowing painfully, he took a quick shower, changing into his clothes, and made his way downstairs. Part of him had been curious, wanting to explore, but this was _Jason's_ house, and Bruce knew the man would not take too kindly to him being in his personal space. It was _also_ dawning on him that Clark was angry at him being here for that very same reason too, and that left Bruce pausing mid-step. Somehow, Clark and Jason had forged a bond, enough that Clark would want to protect Jason's privacy like this, and Bruce recalled how Clark seemed to like Jason. It unnerved Bruce, and the longer he thought about the two, the more the guilt began to creep in, about his own relationship with the man. Jason had never been close to Clark, not even paid the man much attention, but here it was, and Bruce realised that a little jealously was beginning to form in the pit of his mind. Another helper appeared suddenly into view, and Bruce left the matter for now, not wanting to push things. He was on thin ice with Clark, and now was not the time to push when it came to Jason, especially in said man's house.

Bruce approached the table with a little trepidation. Clark hadn't looked up at his approach, head burrowed in a book, nor had he offered a greeting. Clearly pissed, though trying not to react, and Bruce for the first time in all this, felt a little ashamed at his behaviour. Clark was trying his best. Breakfast was eaten in silence - it seemed as though their heartwarming reunion and light hearted visits to the town and lunchmaking had all but been forgotten, and Bruce found that the food wasn't going down. Even the helpers seemed to take note of the atmosphere and had wisely left the two men to their own devices. Bruce was still pondering all this when Clark stood a little sharply, clearing his plate away. Meir appeared then, fussing over him, and Bruce caught a tiny smile on Clark's face at the attention before it disappeared again. He had caused that, and Bruce looked away, guilty. Clark made his way from the table, not looking at Bruce, straight through the garden, towards the gated rear. The man hadn't slowed down in his stride - clearly they were going to the Yamatao treetop at the back for a private conversation, and it was Bruce's turn to stand now, pocketing some fruit, intent on following. Meir had returned, and she'd stepped towards him, squeezing his shoulder knowingly before walking away. It was clear that Clark was both upset and glad that Bruce was here, or else he'd have been thrown out by now. Bruce watched Meir go before following Clark, who was already nearing the top.

Finally Bruce reached the top. Clark was gazing out in the distance - the man had steadfastly ignored his ascent towards the top, and still refused to pay him any attention even now. The silent treatment? Bruce couldn't stop a smile from appearing, and he sat down next to Clark, stretching out his feet. Leaning over slightly, he placed some fruit in front of the man, who cast a slight downward glance at the items, before resuming his forward gaze into the open. For a awhile, neither of them spoke, and then Clark began, voice quiet, but clearly angry. 

"You knew why I didn't want to stay with any of you." Low, but it was there. Bruce knew he had to tread carefully. 

He opted to remain silent.

"Not only did you know, but I asked specifically for some space. Lielr, too, told me he had explained that I would be here, in Jason's house for the time being, and that you all understood. That you respected my privacy, and that you wouldn't push."

Clark's tone had grown in volume, but it was laced with bitterness, accusatory, and Bruce wasn't about to defend himself. He hated that he had hurt Clark like this, even at the expense of helping him. He was about to speak now, but Clark surprised him with what he said next.

"If our positions were reversed, and it was _you_ going through all this _shit_ , would you have been pleased to find out that your best friend had done something like this?"

Clark's voice was chilly, and Bruce was stumped into silence. They both knew the answer: Bruce would have blown a gasket. Already, trying to help and injured Batman was, for the most part, like playing with fire. Their relationship had improved considerably even the years, to the point that Clark and Diana were the only ones Bruce allowed to see vulnerable, particularly when injured, and they had put up with much to get to that state. Cold glares, rebuffs, insults, and yet they hadn't stopped trying to help. 

Bruce swallowed painfully, his throat dry. "You know the answer to that."

"Yes I do." Clark's voice was sharp, and the sting of the retort couldn't be softened. Bruce looked away, speaking gently.

"But even then, when I hated any of you, especially _you_ trying to help me, what happened?"

Bruce turned to face Clark, but the man was stubborn, jaw clenched. He continued regardless. "You _still_ offered your help. Always. You never gave up, always letting the insults roll off you. It was the same every time, and you didn't give up til I gave in."

"This. is. differe-" Clark was practically growling now but Bruce cut him off.

" _Bullshit_." Swift, and now Clark turned to look at him, his eyes a mixture of hurt and angry. He turned away again. 

"The bottom line is, you're hurt. I won't pretend to imagine what you're going through, I won't insult you by trying. But back then, and over the years, when I was beaten up, broken down, left for dead, limping, bloody, or concussed, or any manner of injury that left me wounded, and any ordinary man dead - it was always the League, you, Diana, who would always try and help me. I hated it and first, Clark, absolutely _hated_ it. You said that you understood, but you couldn't have, Clark. You didn't know what it was like to be human, _not_ infallible, prone to illness, fatigue, muscles that ached due to overwork, bones that could break with force, age. You didn't get it, even when you said you did, and though that pissed me off, you still kept trying. Never gave up on me. Didn't complain, didn't lash out, even though I knew you wanted to. You were frustrated, many times. Angry even, that why the hell was I stubborn, that couldn't I just _see_ that you were trying to help, that if only I could _accept_ it without feeling like you were trying to one-up me. But my pride got in the way, Clar-"

"You think this is all because I'm being _proud_ , Bruce?" Clark whipped round to face Bruce now, angry. Bruce squared up to him, not holding back.

"That you can handle it by yourself? That you can do it all on your own, that everything's _fine_ \- fucking yes, Clark, you're being proud, and you know it."

"Don't start, Bruce. Just-just, don't, don't _fucking_ start with me, not on this." Clark's shoulders were tense now, and the man stood up, glaring down at him, but Bruce wouldn't be deterred.

"You don't believe me, Clark? Fine. The whole fiasco with the Red Hood, that's one. Getting you to call off the warrant to stop giving Jason the attention he so clearly craved - but you wouldn't see, couldn't even, and that's why I left you out of it."

Bruce was up now, and the two men were facing each other, voices raised. "You're such a-"

"Then there was _also_ Jason, back at the watch-tower. Him being the only one who could help us, with his skillset, and you, hung up on your personal history, too proud to be even willing to work with him."

" _Fuck you_ Bruce. Seriously, just _fuck you_." Clark looked like he was about to punch Bruce in the face, and Bruce stepped forwards now, ready to drive the point home, daring him to do it. 

"No, because you need help, Clark. You're doing it again, letting a little pride get in the way. I know its not your fault-"

"Oh, really?" Clark's voice was spiteful now. "And where you _you_ in all this, Bruce? You bring up Jason, but pot calling the fucking kettle - your pride was the one that that kicked off the shit between you two _in the first place place_ , wasn't it? Not willing to listen, comparing him to Dick, thinking you know best, because let's face it, you're Batman, and far too good for anything else- I could go on and on, couldn't I?"

" _ **Clark**_." Bruce felt his nostrils flaring, and his voice had dropped a few tones, dangerously low. He moved, and they stood, almost nose to nose now, the alien's head bent as he glared down at him.

A warning.

Clark went for it.

"And then there's this whole mess, Bruce. You, the Batman, the great and mighty detective- how the _fuck_ did you miss all this shit, Bruce? How could you miss Xan and Gol conspiring to use us, to draw us in? And not just once, but twice? It was all there - Jason played it in front of the League, the looks, the whispers - how did _you_ , Batman, miss it?" 

Bruce stepped away, just a tiny bit.

No way had Clark thrown that back in his face. A personal failure, one that Clark had assured him many times that _wasn't_ his fault?

But Clark didn't stop there.

"Look at me, Bruce. Just look at me. I'm a fucking mess. Tortured to hell, drained of all my powers, but none of that held a candle to being _r-raped_ , Bruce."

The air had gone silent. Bruce felt as though he couldn't breathe. Even Clark seemed momentarily shocked at himself, but he continued, voice beginning to hitch.

"I tell you - I would have taken the torture a hundred times over if it mean't I didn't have to be _ra-ra-raped_ , Bruce. Because what she-she _did_ , Bruce, what she _did_ , and-and-" Clark ran a trembling hand through his hair, visibly distressed. Bruce moved towards his friend but Clark took a step back. 

"She-she didn't stop, Bruce. Even when I was in pain, bleeding - she kept going, and _going_ , and and _God_ , Bruce, it _hurt_ so much, so, _so_ much. She didn't care - the more I hurt, I cried out, the more it turned her on.-" Clark gulped now, clumsily wiping the tears away but his movements were uncoordinated, and he stuttered over his words.

"The worst part of it all, was that I kept giving it-it to _her_. The more she went, the more I-I-gave. So dis-gusting, so-" Clark couldn't breathe. Bruce attempted to reach out but Clark smacked his hand away, shaking his head as the tears coarsed down.

"Clark-"

"So now I'm here, Bruce. I get flashbacks and nightmares, I can't sleep, I'm so fucking tired, and worn out. My head pounds all fucking day, and I can barely sit down and concentrate on even the smallest things. My-my hands shake, all the damn time, and even food is like sawdust in my mouth, it tastes of barely anything. When I sleep, its becau-because I happened to doze off, out of sheer exhaustion, but that's not all. Because whether I'm sleeping, or awake, it doesn't matter. The moment I hear her voice, or a thought pops up in my head, its game over, Bruce. She's there, and-and- I can't get her out, not out my mind, I can't _stop_ her, Bruce, -she just goes ahead and takes, and takes, and leaves me so fucking broken a the end."

"Clark please."

"I said _**FUCK OFF**_!" Clark screamed, and the sound cut through the air like a knife. Bruce held his palms up, trying to reach Clark. "Clar-"

"This is your fault, Bruce."

That stopped Bruce right in his tracks, and his heart stuttered to a stop.

"If only...if only you'd seen this-this coming-" Clark broke off, face in his hands as he cried now. Bruce stared at his friend, and then he moved. Slowly, heavy, until he reached him. Without saying a word, Bruce sank down and pulled Clark in close. Clark tried to fight him, but the punches were feeble, and Bruce held his friend, struggling to compose himself as Clark wept.

"I can't go back there like this, Bruce, I can't. Not as Superman. Not when I can barely function. How am I going to face everyone again? How do I tell _Lois_? I don't even know if-if-if I can be intimate like that again." Clark's voice was hoarse as he spoke, and Bruce said nothing, letting his friend cry on his shoulder. After a while, the tears subsided, and there was nothing heard but Clark's sniffs and wet inhales.

Bruce began, speaking in a hushed tone.

"You need help Clark."

Bruce could tell Clark was about to argue so he continued quickly, wanting his friend to listen.

"Whether its me, Diana, or a doctor, an outsider who doesn't know you, Clark - _you need help_. And not because you're Superman. Not for any of us, not out of duty, or responsibility, but for _you_ , Clark. You can't go on like this, barely sleeping, barely eating - yes, go ahead and look at me like that. I _have_ been watching and taking note, and you're not improving Clark. The longer this carries on, the worse you'll get, and I won't let that happen."

Bruce paused here, but Clark remained quiet. He took that as permission to continue.

"Even if that means you hate me, Clark - so be it. If getting you help means you never speak to me again, then I'm willing to do it. I can't stand by and watch you spiral into this madness, I can't. You wouldn't do it for me, so you better get used it. I'm not budging Clark, never. So either you shut me out, or work with me."

Clark said nothing.

"It doesn't have to be every day. As long as you talk, just a little. A minute, five, ten - for however long you think you can do, you have to try, Clark, for yourself, for your peace of mind. Remember how I was with Jason, right after he died?"

Clark inhaled sharply, surprised that Bruce had dared to bring that up, and Bruce smiled sadly to himself. No-one could forget. The memories plagued him at night. 

"You're right, Clark. I was stubborn, and proud, and I almost killed myself but not listening to all of you to _get some help_. If you hadn't intervened when you did, then I know for a _fact_ that I would have died that year, whether at my own hands or at those of someone else's."

Clark looked up at Bruce now, but Bruce was looking into the distance, eyes wet with tears. Clark said nothing but to reach out and take Bruce's hand lightly, giving it a gentle squeeze. After a while, he received one in return. 

"Don't be like me, Clark. Don't do what I did and shut everybody out, close yourself in, deal with it in your own way. You can't, not really. You can tell yourself that you can handle it, that it'll be alright, but the mind is a funny thing Clark. It can be your greatest strength and your worst enemy, all rolled into one, and your mind knows how to use your past and failures against you."

To his side, Bruce head a small chuckle. Quirking an eyebrow, he looked over to Clark, who was gazing across the fields. Clark turned to look at him, and smiled a little, before looking away. "Jason said the same thing."

Bruce was left speechless, and he sat there for a while, unable to speak. Clark knew that it would, and the man had thankfully sat there in the silence, not saying any more. After a while, Bruce tried again, his throat a little tight, but Clark beat him to the punch this time.

"Fine."

His words were soft, but Bruce didn't need to hear them again. He started to smirk to himself but then Clark cut in again.

"But on one condition."

Bruce looked at Clark, questioning, but the man seemed lost in the view.

"Talk to someone about Jason."

The air went silent again, and Bruce found his mouth dry. He had to force himself to stay put, to remain seated on the ground, and it was Clark's turn to smile at him. He scrambled inside for the words but none came.

"That's the deal. I get help about my trauma, and you get help about Jason. I'm not talking about trying to reconcile, or anything like that, but to talk to someone, anyone, about the way you feel about him, about your past together. As soon as you find someone whom you can open up to- me, Diana, an outsider, _then_ I'll start with mine. But we do this together. We _both_ get help, or none of us at all."

That was the deal, and Clark's tone indicated he would not be swayed by anything else.

Bruce knew that Clark would know if he were lying, or pretending to have found someone. He closed his eyes, trying to get a hold of his breathing. Jason was a ...difficult subject to talk about, one that held for him a mixture of love, hate, confusion, and a large dose of uncertainty, for their past, and especially now as a young man who had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with him. But then there was Diana, and what he had already agreed to. He swallowed painfully. Clark wouldn't budge on this, definitely not. As much as Bruce was apprehensive on seeing Jason again, Clark couldn't continue in his current state. The man had played his cards well.

"Fine."

Bruce didn't care to elaborate, and Clark didn't push him, knowing the gravity of what he had asked. 

The two remained outside for a little while longer before Bruce took his leave. They were both about to do what they'd been afraid of, too daunting for words, but the fact that they had agreed to do it together. _Well_ , Bruce thought to himself as Bruce walked back towards Lielr's house: _things were already at rock bottom_.

 

 

What more could go wrong?


	38. Under the surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new government is formed, but Semeticai'a' has something else in mind. Clark and Bruce go head to head in stubbornness, but only one must concede.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed slightly, I forgot Clark was staying in Tim's room!

Thursday afternoon, two forty pm.

"Of the planet Meitu: Rena Ioui of the capital city Kle, Papa Samrat of the town Nudeas, Hetfe Humo of the town Warck, Esuqi Ogret of the town Jana and finally, Dempre Golemba of the town Mopo. That concludes members of the new Congress. The house will be chaired by Hon Ule Yamei, members from each planet are as follows..."

Jason wasn't paying attention.

He couldn't believe it - _this-this is happening_ , Jason thought. He turned to look at numerous people in the Council Arena, many of whom were hugging, crying, cheering, and holding each other as they stared at the screens in disbelief.

They had done it.

A new government. Forty in Congress, each planet represented by five of its own. Eight that made up the House, the overseer of Congress. Eight main committees, ministers who governed over finance, industry, health, agriculture, law and ethics, education and the arts, housing and employment. 

No more solitary group of ancient individuals who made all the decisions, distant and unaccountable.

It was a landslide of a victory, a momentous change in history, and it was only just beginning to dawn on the hoardes of people in this very room, lawyers, political correspondents, writers, the Ghosts - all who had come together in an effort to make their realm a better and safer one, one that cared for the people, that served in their best interests. People who had longed for a difference, a real change, transparency and fairness, equality, and today, their dreams had come true. Jason found it hard to accurately describe the atmosphere of the room; a mixture of joy, amazement, and sheer relief, with men and women crying, news anchors reporting the live feed with tears in their eyes and wet cheeks, people in the streets cheering and hugging one another. Jason had caught Yena's eye earlier, and the two of them hugged it out, Yena weeping for his people, for the change, that his family was safe, that Kaprech had a better and brighter future to look forward to, and all Jason could do was to hold his friend, a little speechless that he and his small band of merry men had managed to pull this off. Odds heavily against them, an army loyal to the state who could have easily shot them down, people who could have refused to co-operate, calling for their heads, and yet everyone had pulled in together, wanting to make a difference. Hours upon hours spent in meetings, frustrated faces, tension in the air and sleepless nights as all walks of life worked as one to save their peoples.

It was incredible.

For the first time, good, solid people, ones that had a track record of actually working for those they claimed to serve, people who'd worked in communities and local town halls campaigning for justice, for transparency - and here they were, forming a new government, to put those promises to the test. 

Jason stared at the screen in the upper left corner. Name after name; media outlets had been recounting the history of some of these men, brave, honest individuals, some of whom had had to struggle for decades, and it left a lump in Jason's throat. _If only Earth could be like this_ , he thought a little to himself, and for a few minutes, Jason had excused himself into the hall, walking up to the quieter second and third floors of the IGC, staring out of the window. A few of the Ghosts had watched their friend go, understanding that the man needed some time alone. Of all of them, Jason had worked tirelessly, forgoing sleep, opting to keep things running even as he was dragged from one end to the other. The man had put on many hats, and it was a downright miracle he'd been able to continue for as long as he had. Their efforts had finally paid off, even with their collective weariness, but as Jason leaned against the wall, staring out of the window, he knew that this was only the first step. Yes, a new government was now here, real, and it was a great victory, but it was not the only victory they would need to win. The battle had been won for now, but the war was not yet over.

The coup would have to stand trial for their actions, everyone knew that, but the question that was Jason's mind was - _what would happen next_? The Elders were to form part of Congress, and one or two even on the House itself, so they were safe. They had messed up somewhere along the line, but many, including Jason, believed that at the heart of it, they had the realm's best interests at large, even despite their stubbornness and unwillingness to accept change. It would be foolish to exclude them from being a part of this new change; the elders were a wealth of knowledge and experience, and their oversight would be very much appreciated in the running of things.

The coup however?

A different matter altogether. 

Jason had given the order that the coup be escorted to the sub-level basement cells for the meantime, the same ones those fuckers had held the elders in. A couple of them had protested, Lierna had been downright venomous, and Buri shoved along with teeth clenched, but Semeticai'a' had said nothing, head high and chin jutted as she was led out in the midst of cameras flashing, cold glares all around. The woman walked gracefully, as if nothing was amiss, and the crowd was silent as they watched the vile woman saunter past, a traitor of great magnitude. From beloved and highly regarded, only to be revealed as a cruel, callous woman, bitter and scheming, and the truth had stunned many. At one point, Semeticai'a' had slowed her walk of shame through the crowd to look directly at Jason, and the two had locked eyes for what seemed like hours. Unflinching, unrepentant on Sem's side, and thoroughly repulsed on Jason's. Semeticai'a' had held her gaze a little longer, a tiny smirk forming and a glint appearing in her eye, before she was tugged along via the chains that kept both wrists bound in front of her. In that moment, Jason felt a surge of rage rise within him, that someone so evil, a heartless entity, could still find nothing wrong with her actions, arrogance in her very steps, and pride in her stance. The Ghosts had noted their interaction but had wisely remained silent, letting Jason go as the man walked out briskly, his long strides a warning not to be followed.

That had been hours ago.

And now, as the initial jubilation of the results were beginning to subside, the tasks ahead was arguably the most important of all. The new government were to be sworn in tomorrow at noon, the whole realm watching, and the Ghosts knew from first hand experience that a few hours were more than enough to orchestrate chaos and throw the new found stability into the fire. Congress, the House, the Committees - all the new members would need protection right away, which was why the Ghosts, after learning of the results three hours before the official announcement to the realm, had dispatched several highly trained army units to guard those appointed, along with their families, and take them into temporary locations until Friday afternoon. The IGC was a target, and it would be easy for anyone who viewed the results with displeasure and with the right arsenal at hand to take out their anger on the IGC, destroying the entirety of the new government in one central location, all in one single go, and Jason wasn't about to let that happen. Apart from the Ghosts, and those under Yellow's command, the safehouses were unknown, and would remain that way until their official swearing in. 

Then there was the matter of the coup standing trial, and the whole realm were waiting for _that_ most of all. The event would be publicised, open to all media, no arguments there. Already, two large rooms in the IGC had been dedicated to a number of lawyers, those who'd banded together since Jason's broadcast a number of days ago, and had been preparing exclusively for the trial. No-one was certain of when said trial would take place, but Jason knew it would have to imminent, or else the momentum for seeing justice would lessen, and the coup be able to weasel they way out of what they fully deserved, and the new government look weak in the process. People wanted to see justice done, the new government at work, and that meant taking a hard, firm stance. The new government, therefore, and the House, particularly chairman Ule Yamei, were under much pressure to deliver, and deliver well. 

Jason recounted things so far: keeping the new government safe, the coup imprisoned, the trial, but that wasn't all.

The League.

Jason knew he could easily wrap up things here without the League even being considered, but that wasn't the way he worked. He wasn't kidding when he'd told Bruce flat out that his work with the League was part of his work's _portfolio_ , a reflection of _his_ skills, as a Ghost, as a private mercenary, his tenure, and his work spoke _volumes_. Leaving this unfinished was _not_ acceptable, and in this case, that meant making sure that the League were absolved of all blame, that their work on Xan, and on "Gol" was completed, (though Gol had clearly manufactured that excuse as a **cover** for the League's disappearance when they were really being tortured to to hell and back), that contractual agreements had been met to the fullest. In other words, Jason was going to make sure that there was _nothing_ tying the League to this mess any longer, that they were not to held accountable for their involvement at the start, one that had been orchestrated deliberately by Xan and Gol to make use of their powers. Nothing linking them to this - the last thing Jason wanted was for Earth to start getting those scary-as-fuck IGC summons, nope. This wasn't for the League, or for their well-being, not out of concern or that he gave two shits about them, but this was out of complete professionalism. The Ghosts were the best, their work flawless and that applied to everything, a standard in all areas, and Jason was determined to hold up this code of conduct. Jason would somehow need to arrange all this separately away from the Ghosts, a private hearing maybe. The less they knew about his involvement here, the better.

He would not let the Ghosts down, even if that meant going above and beyond for the League.

"Red?"

Jason was drawn out of his musing by Fuschia, who was stuffing a couple of biscuits into his mouth without disregard. Jason couldn't help but smile; Fuschia was the kinda guy who just didn't give a damn really, and that little note he'd left on his ship had pertained to that. The man grinned back, uncaring of the partially digested food that as beginning to emerge at the corners of his mouth and Jason mock-rolled his eyes in disgust.

"Jesus Fuschia, mind warning a guy before you do that shit?" His tone was sarcastic, but Fuschia saw right through him and swallowed before laughing heartily, mirroring his friend's stance on the wall.

"What's got ya panties in a twist, mate?"

Jason shook his head slightly, laughing inward at his friend's cockney accent. It was a strange one for sure, but that didn't stop women from all around flocking to the man like moths flocking to the light, and Jason was jealous. Add the charm and the wolfish grin, and the man was a babe magnet. A hell of a wingman, Jason had to admit, though he'd never say it aloud - Fuschia's head was big enough. He sighed a little, turning his attention to his boots as they scuffed away at the floor.

"Just got a lot ahead of us, ya know?"

Fuschia nodded, looking out of the window. His voice was quieter when he next spoke, thoughtful even.

"The first step is just that, mate: the first. We've always known that its what comes _next_ that's the hardest." 

Jason smiled a little to himself. "So I shouldn't be surprised."

"Of course, you're a Ghost, that's just what it is." Fuschia turned to his friend, offering a brief smile. "Take the little victories as the are, Red. You never when the next one might be. You keep tryna jump ahead and eventually you'll get overwhelmed. There's always something that needs to be done, but if ya wanna stay afloat, then its step by step. One day at a time Red, and it'll be easier to manage that way. Or else, you'll get wrinkles, and you don't look old enough for that."

Jason chuckled. Fuschia was right. He stared out of the window, watching as people clinked glasses on the lawn of the Pantheto, groups of people dotted around, taking animatedly. "Take the little victories when you can, got it."

"Atta boy."

The two remained like that for a while before Jason spoke again. "Thank, Fusch."

"Don't mention it."

 

 

"....As chairman of the House, and overseer of Congress, I thank you for your support, your trust and belief in our system, in justice, and what is fair and right." 

Ule Yamei began, his voice firm, unwavering despite the bulbs of cameras flashing at his every word. He took a moment to steady himself before delivering the next load of news. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. _Everyone_ was watching him, the House, the Congress, and the expectation was almost palpable. The new government had been secretly moved to IGC early that morning, introducing themselves to one another and discussing the plans in motion. Oaths had been sworn amongst themselves, and now, at one thirty pm, they'd done so live, televised across the entire realm. They had discussed their first order of business, and that was removing the number one threat to the new found stability of the realm: the coup. And so Ule cleared his voice, back straight, and faced the cameras directly, eyes hard.

"There has been a lot of commotion over the last few weeks. An attempted coup, bloodshed that runs in the thousands, uncertainty and fear, and that must be addressed with great speed. We will not stand for anything that threatens the future and well-being of our realm, not for a second longer. Therefore, as chairman, I and my fellow colleagues, on the advice of the lawyers present who have been amounting evidence ready to present, have decided that our first order of business is to charge the group known as _Dunamis_ , led by Elder Semeticai'a', to trial, over their unauthorised, unsanctioned, violent take for power, the nuclear strikes commissioned, causing the deaths of thousands in Elek and Plaei, many still unaccounted for. Justice must be served without delay, and the trial will begin one week from today. By the law, the coup can choose legal representatives to argue on behalf of their case, or in the event that none are available, the state will provide one for them on their behalf. Though we are all witnesses to what has occurred, if we want our realm to stand, to flourish, for people to have faith in the justice system, then we must respect the law, and that applies to _all_."

Murmurs filled the room. Some surprised, some displeased, and many uncertain. Even the Ghosts were taken aback, just a little. In countries that were run amok with corruption, the first line of play for those who took power were to dispatch of them almost instantly, and that usually meant a bullet to the head. But for a supposed democratic country? Then yes, this was a short notice, and though it was great having a government who respected the law and all sorts, Jason couldn't stop the unease settling in. A week was more than enough time for the coup, particularly Semeticai'a', to reach out to powerful allies, one that could work downright magic on their case. They had to be on their guard, that much was clear. 

_Shit_ , thought Jason. He knew the Ghosts were thinking the same thing. Trying to sway the government for something a little sooner was also out of the question - they had conversed in the morning privately, the Ghosts uninvited, and Jason had respected that decision. They weren't politicians, fair enough, but this...this he wasn't sure about.

Chairman Ule continued, his voice growing more determined.

"As the coup publicised their takeover, so we shall publicise their "dethronement", their _fall from grace_ , and the media, all outlets, are invited to attend the IGC. This is is monumental step in our realms history, and every citizen, adult and child, have the right to watch the proceedings with eyes wide open. The people want change. They want justice, they want order, to do things that our right and fair, oaths that we have sworn to uphold in their best interests, and we as their government have pledged to fufil all of such promises with every fibre of our bring, with integrity and in truth. No longer will we tolerate anything that goes against this system, and our peoples. I have given the order, and I do so with the full support of the House, and of Congress, and to all the peoples, I, Ule Yamai, bid you a _very_ good afternoon."

Robust applause, but the Ghosts could detect the slight tension in the room, a few audible swallows. On the news, the surface was good. A no-nonsense government, publicly denouncing the attempted coup led by a traitor, openly declaring peace and justice, to uphold a system that promoted equality, that would actually promote the best interests of the people?

It was unheard of, and they all knew it.

But the law was to be followed, that same law that allowed Semeticai'a' and her group of cronies to use to their advantage, working behind the scenes, and making their play for power. Yena locked eyes with Jason - they both knew that things could easily work out in the coup's favour, but they no longer had the leeway to prevent otherwise. All they could do now was to appeal to Congress, to the House, reminding them of whom they were facing, the allies that these people associated with, and trust that they would make the right decision. Jason watched from afar as Ule and the members of government were congratulated, cameras in their faces as security led them out. As soon as they left, the smiles plastered on the faces of those present became strained, and the worry was evident in their voices.

These next seven days would determine not only the longstanding of the government, but the future stability of the realm at large.

 _Anything_ could happen.

 

 

Clark cleared his throat.

Next to him, Bruce shifted in his chair, face drawn, clearly unhappy. Whether that was due to sitting in Jason's living room, or with having to do this, Clark couldn't be sure. Probably both, he surmised.

Clark ran a hand through his hair, not wanting to give in, but his eyes were already heavy. As much as he didn't like doing this to Bruce, they both needed help. He had already made his stance clear; until Bruce also dealt with his issues, then Clark wouldn't be dealing with his. The sleep deprivation was taking a toll on him; keeping awake was a struggle and a half, and it was hard to even do the simplest things without yawning and his mind drifting. Clark could feel Bruce's gaze on him, a mixture of concern and irritation at his current predicament, but Clark was too tired to respond. They had agreed on their current deal two days back, yet neither had made any real move to follow through with the agreement.

That, of course, meant that Clark had refused any and all sleep aids, that would both aid his sleep and relieve anxiety.

But things had worsened.

And now, to Bruce's displeasure, Clark wasn't eating. His appetite had lessened since his arrival, but Bruce had continued to keep a close eye on his friend, and apart from a few slices of fruit here and there and a cup of tea, Clark wasn't eating anything of proper sustenance. He declined visits with the League, opting to keep to himself. The man drifted off mid-reading, only to awaken minutes later, chest heaving a little, clearly to prevent himself from re-living another flashback. Even Clark's movements were slower, sluggish even. At one point, Bruce was sure he'd seen bags under his friend's eyes, and the tea Clark had drank this morning had slurped over the side of the mug due to the tremors of the hand that held it.

Enough was enough, Bruce decided. Clark was punishing himself by trying to help him, and Bruce couldn't stand it anymore. So Bruce had swallowed his pride, and knocked on the door that very afternoon, shifting a little on his feet. A warm welcome from Meir, and Bruce found himself ushered into the living room where Clark currently sat, eyes bloodshot, skin pale, hair limp.

He looked awful.

Even the smile Clark gave was a shadow of its former self. It was lackluster, almost painful, and failed to reach the eyes. Bruce masked his worry away and sat next to his friend, and the two had sat like that for almost twenty minutes now, the only gentle ticking of the clock in the midst of silence. Meir had kindly made him a hot drink but even that sat undisturbed on the table, and Bruce was sure it was stone cold by now. Bruce knew he was stubborn, but Clark could surprisingly out-match him, and they'd sat like this, nerves wracking, uncomfortable, until Bruce, counting Clark's fifth yawn, watching his friend rub his eyes clumsily, gave in.

"Alright." Voice soft, but it wasn't voluntary, not really. 

Clark breathed a sigh of relief, actually slumping heavily against the couch.

Out-lasting Bruce had driven him almost insane. He'd managed a pitiful two hours of sleep in the last forty eight hours, and Jae had caught him mumbling to himself on two occasions now, much to his flushed face. His head was throbbing, and Clark knew that he was about to keel over at any moment, but if Bruce was going to remain resistant, then so would he. Thankfully his friend had finally given in, and now Clark closed his eyes, exhausted with the effort. He waited for Bruce to continue, knowing that the man had probably sent him an angry glare in the few moments he'd sat like this with eyes shut.

It was Bruce's turn to move now, sitting forward, head in hands. He didn't want to do this, dreading it, but it was a long time coming, and for good purpose. For Clark, and if Bruce dared to admit it: for himself also. He'd never truly moved on from Jason, from his death - part of him felt that he deserved to be tortured like this-, and much as he _hated_ psychiatrists and counsellors, starting from a boy who'd lost his parents, maybe confronting his past out in the open would be of benefit. He sighed, irritated.

"I...I think I've found someone. Or someones, I don't know. Probably. Unlikely."

Clark still remained as he was, keeping quiet. Bruce was working through this, and he didn't have the heart, nor strength, to force him along. 

"I was going for an unknown, someone completely detached, but we all know that's nonsense. No way could an outsider even begin to understand all this _shit_." Bruce gritted his teeth at the last word, and it made Clark wince, scrunching his eyes and curling a little. Bruce looked up at the sound, feeling guilty that he'd caused his friend pain, and lowered his tone to a more gentle one.

"I'm planning to see them soon, tomorrow if possible."

Clark raised an eyebrow, and Bruce, fully irritated by now, lobbed a pillow at his friend. The offending instrument caught Clark right in the face, and he let outright a strained chuckle before finally opening his eyes to face his friend, questioning.

"No."

"But-"

" _No_."

"You're not telling me out of spite, aren't you?"

Bruce refused to confirm or deny anything, but he looked at Clark smugly, and Clark shook his head with a smile. "I've put up with you for far too long." he muttered, ignoring the grin on his friend's face. The silence returned, and for a while, both men sat, comfortable, Clark fighting off sleep, Bruce out of the window, before he spoke once again.

"She."

That was all he said, and Bruce didn't need to look to know that Clark's eyes were wide open now. He let his friend work it out by himself. They both knew that he, as private was he was, would be unlikely to seek out the therapeutic services of someone from Gerebeta, no matter how kind they were. Bruce wasn't as trusting as that. That left the League, and there were only two who fitted the description, one of whom happened to feel _very_ different about Jason, and would likely find it hard to remain neutral on hearing how Bruce felt about his former son.

That left one other, and it caused Clark to sit up, surprised. 

"Didn't think you two were on terms like that." His voice was quiet.

Bruce continued looking out of the window. "We're not. But I trust her to remain objective, without taking a side, and that's a start."

Clark leaned forward. _A start_? he thought to himself. Bruce read him easily, and answered his question despite Clark not saying a word.

"There's also someone else in mind, possibly, but that won't be until our return, and not for a while I suspect." His voice gave nothing away, and that had Clark curious, but Bruce knew he wouldn't push it. 

Clark sat back a little on his seat, fiddling with the cushion absent-mindedly. "Kinda hoped it would be me, if I'm honest." His voice was quiet, almost childlike, and it was Bruce's turn to swivel round to Clark, but Clark refused to make eye contact, finding the couch more interesting. Bruce looked at his friend a little longer before turning away, voice distant.

"You were my first choice. But I'd much rather you get better first than burden you with what should have been, or could have been, or the _if onlys_ of the past. I want you to focus on getting better first, and then we'll take it from there, if you're still willing."

Clark was touched. He swallowed, feeling the tears sting.

Apart from Alfred, Clark knew he was the only one Bruce opened up to. They were best friends, Clark an uncle to the kids, and they trusted one another. There were deep, personal things they knew about the other, and the trust was always there, the confidentiality, the 'this remains between us and only us' - implicit, and that had only become more evident throughout the years.

Bruce remained quiet.

Clark struggled a little to compose himself, but he found the words, eventually.

"I'll get better, I'll make damn sure of it. And if there's someone else, then go for it, whether that's here, or back home, you can talk to both of us. I'm _always_ here, you know that."

Bruce did. "I know, Clark." He looked round now, catching Clark's slightly watery gaze, and smiled. The silence returned, and for a while, neither man spoke. 

It was Clark's turn. "I-I think I've got someone. They-they'll be able to get what I mean when I can't find the words." It was hard to speak, and Clark wrung his hands a little, throat tight.

Bruce understood. He knew who it was, someone who could understand the meaning behind the pauses, the tears, who could read the emotions without speaking. Nor was Bruce was offended that Clark hadn't chosen him. They both knew he had difficulty when it came to the emotional stuff, something Bruce felt regret towards, and in Clark's case, it was crucial that his friend receive the right kind of help in the best way possible. Bruce only wished he'd taken Jason to see the same person, one whom the boy had liked right from the get-go. Maybe things would have turned out differently.

"He will, Clark. He's good at getting to the heart of the matter, and I know he'll help you." Bruce's voice was firm, though he'd closed his eyes at the thought of a little brown boy, with freckles and curly hair, who laughed too loudly, and cried silently in the darkness. Clark seemed to understand, and spoke quietly, voice soft.

"You did your best, Bruce."

Clark said nothing more, wanting Bruce to understand, and Bruce did, or at least he tried to, but the pain and the guilt was too much and he swallowed it back, staring out of the window. He knew trying to speak now would be futile, and he was grateful Clark left it there. After a while, Clark spoke again, voice warm, and Bruce could only nod, not wanting to fall apart.

"Lunch, Bruce. Some lunch would be good."

And so the two of them made their way over to the patio, sitting in Jason's garden, eating, comfortable in each other's presence even without much conversation. Later, Bruce stayed as Lielr came over, and all, Meir and Jae included, breathed a silent sigh of relief as Clark accepted the medication from Lielr with a shaky nod. Half an hour later, tablets taken, Clark's words became more slurred, and his eyes unfocused.

"Time to rest, Clark." Bruce had murmured, looping an arm round his friend's shoulders, and Clark hadn't protested, only to loll his head to the side, eyes growing heavy with sleep as the pair made their way upstairs. Before Clark even hit the pillow, the man was asleep, and Bruce thanked the heavens for Lielr. Now in the room, and in the light of the afternoon, Bruce took the opportunity to look around. Suddenly Bruce was met with a wall of photographs, black and white, sepia, ones with different filters, those that belonged in a 1940s movie set.

A shelf _full_ of snacks. The tech laid out on a table at the other side of the room, and if Bruce peered hard enough, a series of _Star Trek_ volumes in the corner. Numerous artifacts dotted at various places, gadgets of all kinds, rust, gold, some showing evidence of tinkering. He moved towards the opening in the wall-ah, a walk in closet. A couple of checked shirts, T-shirts with witty one-liners and snarky quotes, one or two sweatshirts. A row of sneakers an the far end.

Tim's room. 

Tim was part of Jason's life, the closest to Jason. The two read one another effortlessly, they even moved in unison, understanding the other perfectly.

Bruce felt his chest stuttering, constricting painfully as he took a moment to gaze at the photographs. His eyes rested on those that contained Tim and Jason, bright eyes, even bigger smiles, arms over shoulders, two that contained Talia, one with her eyes closed, hair swinging in the wind behind her, and the other with her next to Jason, expressions so similar Bruce had brought a palm to his eyes, trying to stem the flow tears. 

They could pass for Mother and son, even despite the differences and the realisation blew him away.

Both of them dark colouring. Green eyes, though Jason's had a hint of blue, and Talia's were sea green emeralds. Twinkling-

-it was too much for Bruce, and he closed the door now, leaning against the doorframe. 

Talia had watched his boy grow up.

The one that had been taken from him, and that woman had kept his son away from him, thousands upon thousands of miles away, a boy who wanted his father, and a father who was driven to insanity by the loss of his son. She had done so deliberately, unwavering, completely repentant, and it cut Bruce to the damn core.

A wet inhale, but then he thought he heard Meir's call, and Bruce straightened quickly, wiping away the evidence, stoic face returning. 

There was another room, and Bruce knew it was wrong to pry. Really he did. This was Jason's house, a person he'd given up on long ago, someone he had no right to care about, to concern himself with, but it was oh so _tempting_. And as he walked closer, Bruce could tell who it belonged to, even before opening the door.

 _Her_.

Lightly furnished, simple, and yet held an air of elegance. A line of books on the window sill-Bruce thumbed through them now, two in Arabic, one in French, and the other, Spanish, Jason's mother tongue. A row of perfumes in expensive looking glass bottles. He glanced into the walk in closet - two sleek bags were stationed proudly on one end, various scarfs, dresses, hung airily, heeled sandals tucked in the corner rack and on the table, pairs of earrings, necklaces laid out. All doubts were tossed into the fire now - Talia was part of Jason's life, an important part, enough that the man would have a bedroom, just for her, in a house he _built_ , in a multiverse far away.

Bruce left the room. Just thinking about her and them together made his heart beat erratically.

There was one room left.

The room inbetween Tim's and Talia's.

Jason's room.

Bruce didn't want to do it. 

Really, he shouldn't have.

But he found himself drawn to the room, legs moving of their own accord, trying to reach out to a man who saw him as nothing more than a stranger. With a deep breath, Bruce walked in.

And stared.

He expected shelves of books, maybe a couple of shirts lying here and there, but no. The room was much like Talia's, though it contained far more clothes. Light oakwood furnishing, rich, elegant, very well lit, fitting for someone of Jason's stature.

A little painting on the wall. Beautiful, and Bruce let his mind adrift in the hues of gold and pink before turning to survey the rest of the room.

But that wasn't what drew Bruce's attention.

It was the the little stand by the bed, holding two frames, and what looked like a little book tucked behind them, as if propping them up.

Bruce was afraid to sit down, and so he bent, fingers a little shaky, to pick the larger frame first.

Jason and Talia. Close, cheek to cheek, bright and beautiful and smili-

Bruce put the frame down with a _thump_. It was as if Talia was rubbing it in his face, that he had lost and _she_ had won, succeeding in turning Jason from him, and it was too much for Bruce to handle now, and so he put it down, struggling not to lose control.

A few breaths, cheeks now wet, Bruce picked up the second frame.

Jason and Tim, somewhere on Pepo judging by the landscape behind them, ever so happy, and for the first time since all of this, Bruce was _glad_ Tim had someone who made him smile as so, even if that person was Jason. He owed Jason everything, the life of his son, and Bruce knew that nothing he could ever do would repay the man.

Last of all the book, but Bruce already knew who it was from. A book he'd seen under a little boy's pillow, treasured, worn, taken on long car journeys and alongside monthly visits to Diana.

Alfred's copy of _Pride and Prejudice_. He knew that this was Alfred's only copy, one given to him by his Mother. Bruce opened the front page, and he found his vision blurring with the words that came next.

.... _and that one day, you too will be able to read this to your child_.

 _My boy, my grandson, now and forever_.

 _Alfred E. Pennyworth_.

 _One day_. A time where Jason might become a father, and Bruce could see it now, a little girl maybe - she'd be a princess, spoilt to high heavens by all of them, curly hair, and doted upon. Maybe a tiny little boy, wanting to be like his father, and Jason would put him on his shoulders, or hold him close to his chest as they read together. Jason tall and strong, tucking his little children into bed whilst his baritone voice lulled them to sleep with a bedtime story. And in that imagination, Bruce would be the doting grandfather, the children's Abuelo, and these beautiful children would enter the Manor happily, rushing towards him for a hug, wanting to be swung high into the air before Bruce would pepper their faces with kisses. Bruce could see it now, the high pitched giggles ringing in the air, eyes bright with happiness, and Jason standing a little far back, arms folded across the chest, smiling at the scenario.

But it wasn't real, for Bruce had given up and Jason, and Jason on Bruce. They'd let each other down, and in the process, lost one another.

Bruce snapped the book shut and walked out of the room, failing to notice that in his mindless drift, a tear drop had escaped and fallen onto the page, leaving a dark mark on the already brown tinged sheets.

He continued down the steps, oblivious to Meir calling him, out of the house, down the street.

Bruce kept walking.

And walking.

 

 

Magdaia stared at Eheto.

Her mind had been blank ever since _that_ evening. Her night of reckoning, she'd termed it. She saw red everywhere. Whenever she closed her eyes, it was there, staining her sheets with a metallic odour. When she opened her eyes, the sunlight harsh to her dull face, there it was, soiling the bed, spilling over to the floor, mounting the walls, and mocking her. Merciless and cruel, and Magdaia had nothing left to give. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, unfocused, and Eheto had spent hours close by, watching her, as if she were some caged animal about to attack. Her appetite was shot, water was poison, and her belly-

-empty, that's what it was. 

The baby was gone.

Magdaia cast a small glance at her stomach, and then she stared fully at it, expecting that someone, a miracle would occur, and that the flat plane of her belly, jutting a little at the hips due to her recent weight loss, would somehow bloom and swell and mount, and that if she closed her eyes and wished hard enough Magdaia would open them again to see a soft, noticeable swelling, plump. Her little one cozily inside, safe and sound. Already, her breasts had grown larger, tender, but now that reality had set it, they were mocking her, her loss, prepped and primed to serve, to feed and nourish, but with nothing to receive them.

The _baby_ was _gone_.

Magdaia tried to cry, but her eyes were dry. Her tears were finished, their storage depleted. Moving became a chore, her limbs heavy, and sleep was the one thing that could take Magdaia out of her misery, at least for a little while. In her sleep, Magdaia saw her baby, small, chubby cheeked blued eyed child, rosy and round, gurgling, one that would become strong, invincible perhaps. Her prince. Of the house Damaes, of the house Targeya, born into royalty, powerful, and unstoppable.

That was no more.

Magdaia closed her eyes, sinking into the sheets. Eheto had been sedating her for sure, Magdaia knew the sluggishness was more than just tiredness.

That bitch had caused this. Eheto had caused this, the woman, in her stubbornness, had let her baby die. That vile creature had put it down to a missed period, had tried to be warm and comforting and Magdaia had let her, allowing the woman to be falsely deceived by her mute acceptance.

But Magdaia knew the truth.

 _Eheto_ killed her _baby_.

And Magdaia, now almost fully asleep, vowed weakly to herself: she would make her pay. Eheto would pay dearly for this. Not yet: the woman watched her like a hawk. But when Eheto lowered her guard, relaxing just that little bit, thinking the danger over - _then_ Magdaia would strike.

Slowly, not too quickly. The skin first, then her fingernails, her eyes, her breasts, all fed to her, to prolong and intensify the agony of her suffering, till the woman could beg no more, and only when Magdaia was satisfied, that the woman knew what she had _done_ -

-well, then Eheto would just suffer some more.

A life for a life, and that was that.

 

 

It was late now, the guards tired, but Semeticai'a' didn't care.

"Again." she ordered, voice crisp, but the guard now stood firm. 

"We have tried countless times Ma'am, but no-one is responding. Face it, bitch - no-one wants to help you." The guard grinned wolfishly.

Semeticai'a' turned away, teeth clenched. So far, most of the top legal firms in the realm had refused her calls, and it was the same for the rest of the coup. Clearly they was bad for business, but that was their mistake, for Semeticai'a' was not like the others. In their snobbery, they had failed to appreciate just how powerful Semeticai'a' Targeya was, ruthless and undeterred, like a dog with a bone, and Semeticai'a' knew that they were due for a little reminder. The rest of her Dunamis colleagues were of no concern to her - the moment they'd started talking to those Earth men and the Elders, they became dead in her eyes, and when it came to Semeticai'a', well, the dead just that, dead.

"Fine." Her voice was quiet. Anyone who knew Semeticai'a' knew this spelt danger, but the guards were foolish, assuming that the old woman had conceded defeat.

"Send me one of the state appointed teams." The guard began to protest, that it was late, and that the cells would be closing in less than an hour's time, but Semeticai'a' put her foot down. "They will make it in time, now _send the order_."

The guard swore angrily, muttering under his breath, but Semeticai'a' folded her hands, bidding her time. She'd have liked to have done this over the phone, but she knew those upstairs would most likely be monitoring the calls, and for this to work, _they_ needed to remain in the shadows, unknown. Forty eight minutes later, a disgruntled legal clerk appeared in the holding room. Semeticai'a' looked him up and down distastefully; young, wrinkled suit, sweaty - clearly she was being mocked by being sent one of their lowest, an inexperienced member of the team. The law was being followed, it was a slap in the face. A message, in other words: _you haven't a shot in hell_ , but Semeticai'a' masked her disgust by the insult with a sharp smile. The young man began, dismissive of her presence, and started in an arrogant tone, already indicating that he cared neither here nor there for the state of her well-being, that she was doomed anyway, and Semeticai'a' let him, smiling to herself.

 _The arrogance_ she thought, biting her cheek a little to stop herself from laughing out loud. Semeticai'a' didn't mind an arrogant person, but only if they were _worthy_ of being proud. This useless being in her presence - well, he hadn't the skillset, the experience, the power to hold himself so mightily, to carry himself the way he did, and Semeticai'a' interrupted the little peacock's speech with a sharp voice, halting the man to an embarassing, red-faced stop.

"This is a message for whom it may concern." she began, and the man began to voice his protest, that _no_ , he was certainly _not_ a message carrier, but Semeticai'a' carried on as if she hadn't been interrupted.

"Knock one brick, Meurla, and the _entire_ wall comes crashing down."

Absolute silence.

The man stared at her, completely bewildered. He didn't know whether the bitch had given him a name, or what not, but Semeticai'a' sat there, calm as ever, hands folded, before suddenly bringing her guards to attention with a sharp clap.

The guards stared at one another, before one finally took the plunge and walked towards the disgraced Elder, apprehensive. The woman turned her head to his side, nose wrinkled, before sending a final glance to the clerk seated in front of her.

"Take me to my cell."

And with that, Semeticai'a' left. The state had given her a message, well, she'd sent one back. 

Semeticai'a' Targeya would not go down _that_ easily. And if she were to go down?

Well - they'd come crashing down right with her.

An eye for an eye, or so they say.


	39. Out in the open, hidden in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The coup is sentenced, but there is one last surprise in store. Magdaia makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, added a little bit more at the very end! Refresh the page guys!

_Thursday evening, eleven twenty one pm_.

Ule shuffled the papers on his desk, stifling a yawn. The House and Congress had been hearing evidence from all sides for the past week, and the final trial, a collective summary of all that had been presented, along with the sentencing, would be held in the next couple of hours. This week had been tense for all of them. Media cycles had been updating the realm every day with live feeds of the courtroom, their take on what was heard, and the peoples were exerting pressure. The legal teams representing the coup had argued as well as they could, but the facts could not be denied - murder, treason, civil disturbance, and much more, and they all knew the accused didn't stand a chance in hell. People were talking everywhere; the minimum that was expected was life imprisonment, and that was at the very _least_ \- it seemed as though most were advocating for the death penalty, and Ule couldn't blame them. Semeticai'a's hearing had been very surprising however - many in Congress and the House were certain that the elder would be represented by the best of the _best_ , and yet the news that law firms at the top had refused to offer their services on taking her case had been a giant relief felt by all. As a result, Semeticai'a' had been offered a mediocre state legal team, poor in comparison, and yet the elder turned up every day to court, calm, elegant despite her shoddy jail-serving clothing, bearing through it with refined distaste whilst the young legal counsel serving her case forgot files, stumbled over words, failed to cross-examine thoroughly, and showed themselves thoroughly inadequate to the other teams representing the remaining members of the coup. It was a disgrace, a mockery designed to rub salt in Semeticai'a's wound, taking pride in her downfall, and Ule had watched the proceedings a little smugly, that their new government would be making history by dealing with corruption, exposing the lies, the deceit, the back handedness of their stench, and he was pleased.

But, in their pride, their premature thinking that they had "won", they had forgotten one simple fact:

Semeticai'a' was no ordinary person. 

Yes, the elder was being dragged through the mud left and right. Few had come to defence, her precious "allies", not wanting to be publicly associated with such a person, and for all intents and purposes, it seemed as though Semeticai'a' had well and truly lost. A great downfall to witness, from mighty to pitiful, and it was a wonder to behold. Ule and the House, in their private quarters on evening, had toasted the success of the hearings so far. Bad people and their despicable actions were finally being brought to justice, and everything that pointed to a new and better order, a safe and peaceful realm, was right on track. The Ghosts were the same; Jason and Yena had presented their case to the court one afternoon, about their initial suspicions, how they came to discover the coup, the attack they made here in the IGC, and many had applauded them for a job well done, smiles all around. Jason had relaxed a little, Yena too, that this government was a good one, that they would do the right thing, Mag la bitch and Semeticai'a' reputation trashed to the hills, and after their hearing, the Ghosts had ventured into town for celebratory drinks that evening, laughing and toasting one another, to _teamwork_ , and _staying alive to see this shit through_.

But Semeticai'a' _was no ordinary person_.

In their prematurely assured victory, the House, Congress, the Ghosts, Jason - many, if not all, believed her to be redundant. Isolated, shunned, spat upon by the people, and no-one coming to her aid, Semeticai'a' was done for. They had forgotten that the person who they were facing was of the House of Targeya, the House of Damaes, who grew up and worked bedside and mingled with other prominent houses, Jacqu, Uioe, Lkoe, Papae, Mecicra and more, powerful, wealthy, who had ties to _everything_ and _everyone_ , from politics, to the law, finance, industry - all of it, and Ule was to be reminded of such a fact that Thursday evening, after a long day at court. Organising a little paperwork, he made to switch off his desk lamp when the phone suddenly rang, cutting into the stillness of the air. Ule had halted momentarily - his assistant Sonja had long since left, and incoming calls were usually connected to her desk first, before going through to him. Whomever was calling, at this late hour, and directly to him therefore, knew how to bypass that, and that had left him staring at the phone in wonder, before picking up hesitantly.

"..."

Ule raised an eyebrow at the phone - so they weren't going to speak then, after disturbing him this late? "Hello-"

"Turn on your apiliwe."

The voice was calm, even pleasant, the tone deep, and all at once, Ule became afraid.

"I'm sorry, who is this-"

"I don't like repeating myself, Ule, but since you seem to be hard of hearing, I'll give you one last chance. _Turn on your apiliwe_."

Ule hesitated, and then after a few moments, he did.

And almost dropped the phone. "Wha-what-" he gasped, eyes wide with terror, but the voice chuckled lightly, smoothing over his shock. 

"Swipe to the left."

Ule brought a trembling finger and did as he was instructed, shaking his head as he whispered his _no_.

On each pass, Ule was confronted with a woman, or man blindfolded, kneeling, tied, and at the peripheries, armed gunmen, masked and decked in black. Beside the, were children, some as young as two, some in their earlier twenties, university students, and one or two a little older.

Ule knew who they were, despite not having met many of them before. These were the families of his House colleagues, taken at gunpoint, their location unknown.

His heart began to beat faster as he swiped faster across the screen, looking for his own wife and two sons, but there wasn't any sign of them.

The voice laughed again, as if they _knew_ what he was doing, and Ule felt a chill run down his spine. He sat there, frozen, hairs standing up, desperate for the ground to swallow him whole.

"Yours are noticeably absent. Curious, isn't it?"

"Why?" Ule breathed out, shaking, his glasses becoming misty.

"After our conversation, your phone will begin to ring. Your colleagues, friends, the other members of the House - they will ring you, crying, screaming; eventually they will all make their way to your office for an emergency meeting where you will gather to decide what to do next, and who to turn to-"

"Please-"

"Understand that you have no-one to call. Not security, not the police, the army, no-one. They cannot help you, for if a single message or phone call, a call for help of _any_ kind goes out - all the people that you have seen will _suffer_ , gradually, one by one, and I'll make you watch, all of you.. And if you can't face your apiliwe, then I'll have the broadcast transmitted into your office, into the halls, at your desk, in the _sky_ if it needs be. Children, Mothers - it doesn't matter who goes first, child or adult; they will suffer, unbearably, and then we will kill them, one by one."

Ule stood up abruptly, shaking, tears leaking out. "How _**dare**_ you!"

"Be careful how you speak, Yamei. Of course, none of this needs to happen _at all_ \- if you make sure that Semeticai'a' remains alive, and sentenced to imprisonment."

"What?! You cannot be _serious_!"

The voice turned cold, dangerous, and Ule took a step back despite being alone in the room. "I am _very_ serious, Ule. You see, Semeticai'a', as much as she has brought this on herself- that bitch is far too valuable an ally to simply be "disposed of."

Ule closed his eyes, growing hot. "And if she goes down, _you_ do too." His voice was bitter.

The voice laughed. "Of course! Now you see, we're on the same page. Semeticai'a' is a very resourceful woman, still very much in demand despite her... _public_ standing, and she must remain alive."

"What you're doing is _wrong_ , and so _selfish_ -" Ule began, furious, but the voice cut him off.

"Wrong for who, hmm? For the realm? For the House? Did you, any of you, truly think that you could just _waltz_ into power, just like that? Don't you know how this works, Ule? Politics, government, law - its a game, Ule, a front. None of you have any real say, not really. You _think_ you do, but don't you know who controls the narrative- have you not learnt by now, truly? The media, the message, the resources, the allies - the wealth of the realm - without our bank accounts many of the realms economies will collapse! Oh, Yamei."

Laughter.

Ule felt like throwing up, but he held in the bile, as foul as it was. "You disgusting, evil creature." He hissed, voice hitching.

"Don't take it too personally Ule. Having a peaceful, stable realm _is_ good for business; it is not in my interest to disrupt things, nor am I or any other third party willing to step into your shoes. The peoples were growing increasingly dissatisfied with the elders; it was time for them to go anyway, and the coup had made a mess of things, especially with the nuclear attacks. _That_ is why we allowed the attack overthrowing the coup to take place, to stand, and _that_ is why you all are here today, in your shiny new positions. _We_ allowed all this to happen - don't you realise we could have easily turned the events into a different narrative altogether? Understand this - _nothing_ , not a decision, a law, a _step_ even, takes place without our knowing, and without our approval. We have eyes everywhere, and it would be wise for you to bear that in mind."

Ule gripped the phone so hard his knuckles turned white. " _What do you want?_ " he ground out, unable to stop the hatred from leaking into his tone.

"I've warned you how much I dislike repeating myself, Ule." The voice was low, predatory, and Ule gulped, hating himself. "Semeticai'a'. Have her imprisoned, at least for now. I don't care what any of you have to do, or how much convincing you'll need, but make it happen. If I might humbly suggest - have Lierna and Buri take the fall for the greater part of it - give them the death penalty, that will appease the people on some level. The rest - do as you like. Understand this - I am holding _you _responsible, Yamei, that the House votes Semeticai'a' to be imprisoned for her involvement in the coup. I hold _you_ , Yamei, responsible for the lives of the spouses and children begging and whimpering pathetically on your apiliwe tonight. Should Semeticai'a' receive the death penalty, or exile, harsh labour - anything other than imprisonment, then what happens next is on you. And let me make it clear - should you decide to be bold and take a stand by not giving in, then your colleagues, the ones whose wife or husband and/or children you deliberately let suffer and die - they will resent you, forever. They will hold you responsible, and they will _hate_ you, deeply. They will turn against you, against the House, destroying this pretty toy structure you call government, justice - they will _burn it to the ground_ even before you've had a chance to see it grow and blossom, and in turn, the people will revolt. They will _hate_ you, the House, the government, what you stand for; they will remind you of your failed promises, that you misled them and lose faith in the "justice" system you nauseating syncophants have bleating about."__

__Ule failed to hold back a sob. The voice on the end seemed satisfied at the response and spoke more calmly._ _

__"I'm glad you are beginning to appreciate the gravity of the situation. So, for the final time: my... _guests_ will remain where they are, unharmed and taken care of _so long as Semeticai'a Targeya is sentenced to imprisonment only_. Arrangements will be made as to her accommodation and private quarters, all expenses taken care of. There is no need to be afraid, Yamei, its only for a few hours. Your colleagues will be arriving shortly; convince them of the decision, and all shall be well with you, and the peoples. Remember that we are watching, and we hear _everything_. I expect that this conversation will remain between us, and you and your colleague's current predicament stay within your group. You know the consequences should you not comply; in case you forget, we will helpfully remind you. In any case, I and my friends look forward to working with you in the future. I bid you good evening, Chairman, and the same to the House."_ _

__The line cut off._ _

__Ule would spend the several hours locked in a private meeting room with the rest of the House, men and women who were struggling through the tears, that the lives of their loved ones depended on turning the other cheek to an individual who had brought the realm to its knees not so long ago. It was a shock to all, a sombering thought, that _just_ when things seemed to be looking up, a change, a difference-_ _

__-they were back to square one._ _

____

__

 

 _Friday, just after two pm, IGC Arena_.

__"...We have spent the last week hearing evidence from all sides, and so today, with the power and support of the House, I, Ule Yamei, along with my fellow colleagues, announce today the final sentencing for the coup known as "Dunamis". Lierna of Cersei, and Buri of Stark - for the charges amounting to treason, perpetrators of the coup, manslaughter, of Plaei and Elek, abuse of resources, including selfish use of the military at your disposal and the severe disruption of the peace and stability of the realms, we find you: **guilty** , and as a result, award the **death penalty** , effective immediately."_ _

__Lierna fainted. The screen showed Buri's face drain colour, and he was barely caught as he slumped heavily backwards onto the stand, begging, pointing at Semeticai'a', that _she_ was responsible, that old hag was the one in charge, that he was being _set up_ but his pleas and protests were drowned out by rapturous applause from the entire court. _ _

__Ule continued._ _

__"For Mehibosh of Efrege and Junio of Otobretchek, we have heard that you were the administrators in charge of liaising between those turned against our realm, against the peace, helping staging the Xanderian riots, and you too are also charged with the severe disruption of the peace and stability of the realms. We therefore find you guilty on these counts. As the court has heard, though your duties were more behind the scenes, you were, in the end, complicit in the manslaughter of thousands, though we acknowledge that you were not entirely in favour of the idea, nor did you order the attacks. In light of this, we have decided that your sentencing be appropriately assigned to complete exile to Faesder, home of all current jailed prisoners of the worst calibre, where you will serve life imprisonment and harsh, unyielding labour for all of your days."_ _

__Applause, but not _quite_ as vigorous as before, and the hesitancy could be detected amidst the murmurs and frowns. The Ghosts looked at one another, a little on edge, and at Jason, whose face was currently unreadable. They understood the reason behind the sentencing, but still, it would have been satisfying to have the two academics also face the death penalty since they were also part of the coup, and were responsible for this mess, directly or indirectly. The persons in question looked petrified, stuttering a little and Jason crossed his arms, assessing them. He had never heard of Faesder, but it seemed like hell, and as long as Mehibosh and Junio hated it, then Jason could live with the decision, though he, like many others, would have preferred a more _permanent_ nd._ _

__Chairman Ule paused here, adjusting his collar. Jason leaned in close; Ule was sweating a little at the temples, and the man seemed to swallow in his throat before continuing._ _

__Odd. Ule had been pretty confident the past week, and even up till a few moments ago, so what had chan-_ _

__"As for the elder Semeticai'a', house of Targeya, we today..."_ _

__Another pause. There was silence now, and the Ghosts leaned forward, ready to hear what this evil bitch rightly deserved. Jason held his breath, heart hammering away._ _

__"...the charges brought against her are numerous, as the leader of the coup, for treason, manslaughter. Allegations concerning her involvement in several deals made over the years with various parties across the realm, though nefarious, _have_ resulted in much peace and cooperation between different peoples, which many, if not all, have benefited from today. In light of all we have at hand, and for the..."_ _

__Another pause. Ule seemed to have a little trouble speaking, and an attendant nearby hurried over to pour him a glass of water. The court watched how Ule's hand seemed to tremble a little as he held the glass, and his gulp was audible in the microphone, echoing a little across the room._ _

Jason sat up now. _Shit_ , he thought. _Something's wrong_.

"My apologies. In light of all we have at hand, and for the safety of the peoples, we today sentence Semeticai'a' Targeya to-to.. _life imprisonment in_..."

_**WHAT __**_ _?_

__Jason didn't hear the rest. He was too busy reeling back into his seat, shocked to the core. Beside him, the court was the same, in total uproar, people shrieking, completely incredulous on hearing the decision, shouting angrily, protesters on their feet, that no- _it couldn't be_._ _

____

__Semeticai'a' Targeya, proclaimed "leader" of Dunamis - that fucking cow had given a broadcast across the bloody realms, the head organiser, the one who'd given the charges, the orders - and all she was getting was _life fucking imprisonment_?_ _

____

It was the biggest slap in the face. Justice? _Yeah fucking right_.

____

__Semeticai'a' sat in the pews, a tiny smirk across her treacherous face, calm in the chaos surrounding her. Above her, the House sat, faces grim, unable to meet the eyes of those whom they claimed to serve._ _

____

__Someone had gotten to Ule, to the House. Lierna and Buri had been set up to take the worst of the fall, and _everyone_ knew it._ _

____

__Jason felt himself shake with rage as he bowed forward, shoulders on fire. Eyes blazing, absolutely _furious_ \- Yena too was on his feet, shouting, fists pounding on the table, the Ghosts behind were rigid, taking in the commotion whilst cameras flashed, and Ule called for order. Jason tried, he really did. Head bent, eyes screwed tightly shut, he tried to practice those breathing techniques he learnt long ago. Talia's, Bruce's, All Caste's - he called on every one of them, and not a single damn one made any difference in the end. He stood up now, arms braced on the chair in front, struggling to keep it in, to stay in control, but he was losing. In the background, Purple called his name, and a hand was placed on his shoulder, but Jason brushed it off, unable to control his frustration any longer. The Pit was beginning to emerge, hot, fiery and devouring, and Jason knew that staying in court a moment longer would unleash downright hell._ _

____

__And so, in the midst of angry voices, tears, reporters stumbling over one another, Jason left, striding down the hall, out of the main doors, away from the cameras outside that captured his every movement, round the corner to the right, up the first set of doors, another left, until finally - finally, he reached a quiet clearing, relatively free from noise. The few that were present seemed to note his distress and scattered, muttering something or other but Jason wasn't in the right frame of mind to listen. His vision was blurry, mouth dry, but that didn't stop the rage from uncurling within, and now Jason braced himself against the wall, trying and failing to control himself._ _

____

__" _Fuck_ " Jason whispered, shaking his head. The tears began to sting, and he raised his head to the ceiling, a fist pounding against the wall. A series of heavy thuds and then a kick, and suddenly the man was shouting, downright furious angry and frustrated, exhausted, and deep down, if he dared admit it - disappointed._ _

____

__But he had to have known, truly._ _

____

__Semeticai'a', for all her faults, _had_ told him the truth. Honest, warning him of what was bound to happen, and Jason, in an effort to block out her poison and prevent doubt from creeping in had turned his back on her, choosing to have "a little faith", in the people, that they would do the right thing, what was good and fair and well deserved, but Jason knew he should have learnt by now. Faith had let him down before, with Catherine, with Bruce, -the justice system? A load of crap. The same justice system on Earth that let men like Felipe Garzonas and Black Mask walk free, that saw powerful, wealthy, and ridiculously corrupt officials, politicians, mob bosses in bed with corporate heavyweights, men who used people, _children_ as playthings, fulfilling their unholy perversions, and if they were ever caught?_ _

____

__An apology._ _

____

__Sent for rehab._ _

____

__Taking leave from their positions, and if there was enough to charge them? Well, then it would all amount to a pathetic slap on the risk, community service at best._ _

____

__And these men would continue their foul actions, behind the scenes, business as usual, protected by their "friends", those who ran in the same perverted circles, hiding behind their money and their status, buying silence, bullying the accusers, and destroying lives without a damn care in the world. It made Jason _sick_ , sick that none of these men would or could ever be held accountable, and _that_ was why he became the Red Hood. He did all those things to the rapists, murders, psychopaths, paedophiles, the fucking predators - the Hood showed people, heck the "justice system" that these men were more than able to get what they deserved, that they _could_ be held accountable, and it had fucking _worked_ , that Jason was sure of. But the League never understood, or that they did but were unwilling to _do what needed to be done_ , so Jason did. _He_ soiled his hands, fingernails stained with dried blood and dead skin trapped underneath - the Hood did what _ought_ to have been done, and Jason didn't regret it, not one bit. Had the League not made his life such hell, chasing him around the continent, almost driving him insane, always having to look over his shoulder in case Superman was there, ready to swoop him into the light to face "justice" - Jason knew he would have continued. What the League _didn't_ know was that many - not just the people, the public - many in _government_ actually supported the Red Hood. Of course, they couldn't say it publicly, but they did. People who wanted better for their country, those who were tired of watching criminals get away with their hideous crimes yet again - these people recognised that what the Hood was doing was downright effective, and they supported him. Jason had heard them, the comments in private hallways, in meetings, as Red, those who wished for more people who would take a stand like the Hood did, those who would even like to see his return. But it didn't matter in the end, for as long as people were fucking _unwilling_ , to take a stand against injustice, as long as there were those high up who worked behind the scenes, orchestrating events for their own purposes, to reap sole benefit, then it would always be the same scenario, whether that was back on Earth, or another multiverse, it was the _same thing_._ _

____

__Jason ran a hand through his hand before swearing loudly. Deep down, if he were truly honest, he knew this would happen. Semeticai'a' was from a powerful, wealthy house, not to mention her late husband's family, and then there was all her friends, allies, those whom she knew and made deals for, who knew each others secrets. It became clear to Jason now, as he stood in the hall - whoever "they" were, those behind the scenes - they would have never allowed Semeticai'a' to go down, not whilst she could take them down with them. A liability, yes, but a useful liability, if what Jason knew about her was correct. Semeticai'a' was well connected, with a vast array of resources at her disposal - sure, her public image had taken a big hit, but that hadn't meant that she'd lost power among those who truly mattered, the same ones who were truly in charge, or the realm, and her affairs, and Jason knew it. Known it all along, but he'd chosen to trust the people, the system, "change" - but in the end, nothing changed. The corrupt and the wealth had gotten away with it, just like Earth, and they would do so again and again. Ule and his mates had a chance to get rid of the parasite, just a little, but now Jason saw the truth for what it was - Semeticai'a' was not the only one. Yes, he and Yena and Purple had tried to locate good, upstanding men, those with a history of fairness and justice, but being _fair_ and _ just_ means fuck all when you've got the power and the means to do whatever the fuck you want. Fair and just didn't run _shit_ \- ruthless people, those who were cunning and thought five steps ahead - people like Semeticai'a' - they ran things.

____

_It was all going so well_ , Jason thought to himself, as he sat on the window ledge, mind adrift. He could hear a set of doors opening, hoardes of voices speaking over one another, reporters most likely, and they were angry too, accusatory- "no questions, no questions" being directed right back at them, and then a pair of footsteps heading up to his location. Jason stared as the middle aged face of one Ule Yamei came into view, and for a moment, the two stared back at each other before Ule moved away and entered into his private chambers, not wanting to look any further. Jason allowed him a few moments before entering the same room. He stood at the entrance, watching the Xanderian move slowly around the room, almost absent-mindedly.

____

Jason said nothing for a while, processing his thoughts, and then he spoke, voice low. He already knew the answer, anyway.

____

"They got to you."

____

It wasn't a question - it was a straight ass fact, and if Ule had the gall to deny it, Jason would have tossed him right out the window there and then.

____

Ule slowed to a gradual stop by the window, back a little stooped, and for a few minutes, there was silence. Eventually he spoke, taking off his glasses and cleaning them, bringing them up towards the light. It was as if the man had aged years over the past week, and the stress lined his face all over. Ule cleared his throat, unable to look Jason in the eye.

____

"It was for the good of the realm." He began, unconvinced, but they both knew that was a damn lie.

____

"Bullshit." Jason spoke, not hiding his anger. "What was it? Money? Skeletons in your closet? A bad deal gone wrong-"

____

"Why?" Ule cut Jason off, staring outside the window. _They_ were watching, and listening - it was wise not to test them, but he wanted the human to come to understand why without giving it away.

____

"Why what?" Jason stared at the man, irritated, before it gradually dawned on him. "Why-why is Sem-la-bitch going scot free?"

____

Ule didn't answer. Jason took that as a _yes_ \- it was obvious from the Chairman's reluctance and choice of words that they were being overheard. _Somebody's got you real good_ , he thought, _enough that you and the House would give that hag a slap on the wrist, knowing all the shit she's done_.

____

Jason moved a little closer to the window, thinking. "Friends in high places," he came to the conclusion, but Ule didn't respond. "But having her die would take care of their prolems; getting rid of her, and anything tying those known to be associated with her, all their shady deals and secrets exce-except..."

____

It was coming to Jason now, and he stood straight, breath fogging the glass. "They need her, for some reason. Enough that she be kept alive rather than going to the grave with all their secrets or risk her taking everyone down on her way out."

____

Ah. So an _asset_ , then. It made sense in a way, but it wasn't right, and it sure as hell wasn't fair.

____

Ule said nothing. Not even a head shake and Jason was _pissed_ , bordering on angry, about Semeticai'a' and her joke of a sentence, that once again, the rich and the powerful were getting away with _literal_ murder. Jason leaned in close, dropping his voice a register, and spoke venomously, his voice barely above a whisper. 

____

"Whatever they have on you, the House...it better be _muthafucking_ good that you would throw away something like this. A damn fucking shame- I, we all thought...for once, that something _good_ was happening, that the right people were in the right bloody places, but here we are, back to square one, with strings being pulled in the dark, a whole _fucking_ front, cause that's what always happens in the end, isn't it? The people who we _think_ are gonna come through for us _don't_ , and once again, the innocent are let down, and they lose faith and the whole fucking thing of _right_ and _wrong_ cause we've got spineless, weakass shits who _refuse to grow a bloody backbone_. And so, despite _everything_ , _everything_ \- its all gonna be just the same, just another charade, and those who have the real juice, those perverted behind-the-scenes shadowy depraved psychopaths have the sway to get what they want, _when_ they want, and they're prepared to just _fuck things up_ if it needs to be. Just _great_ , Yamei, just fan- _fucking_ tastic. Ita betta had been worth it cause I swear, I _swear_..."

____

Jason shook his head, feeling the rage mount in his veins and fire burn in his eyes. Ule had looked up at him towards the end of his speech and Jason had let the Pit cloud his eyes, wanting nothing more that to roast this useless fucker, but to his surprise, Ule stood there, taking it, as if he... deserved it, and Jason stopped, letting the Pit melt away. Ule held his eye for a long time, and then he turned back to staring outside the window. 

____

"The House has approved your request for a private hearing concerning the League's contract with the IGC. Please present yourself tomorrow morning at council room two, eight thirty am sharp."

____

That was all Ule said, and Jason stared at the man, a little speechless.

____

No apologies. No explanations.

____

Jason turned on his heel and walked out, thoughts racing.

 

 

In the end, nothing had changed, and he, like the others, had been damn fooled for thinking this time, on this fucking alien planet - things might be different. It was the same everywhere, really. Greed, money, power - corruptible to the soul, and Jason left the IGC, lump in the throat. As he made his way back to Prepo, Dancu, the private gated residence (Villai) housing visiting officials, where he and the League had stayed during their time on Xan, now home to Ghosts for the last three days, Jason thought about Bruce. It had been a while since he'd thought about...him, about the WE galas, Bruce having to laugh and smile and preen his way through drinks with men and women who were twisted shits, despicable A-type assholes who got off on making people fear them, welding their power and all. Jason remembered how at one event, he'd been so _sickened_ by all the pretense, the falsity of the ass-kissing and rubbing shoulders, that he'd escaped onto the roof on the Manor on the South side, enjoying the cool air. To his eternal surprise, Bruce had joined him, and Jason had almost fell off the damn thing in shock, much to Bruce's amusement. Apparently Dick was entertaining the guests, giving Bruce a bit of a breather - _apparently_ "Brucie" required a hella lot of effort, and _Bruce_ needed a few breaks every now and again. Jason remembered that night, staring out into the garden as he'd asked Bruce _why_ , why Bruce had to pretend so much, why, with all that they knew and had, couldn't they get rid of many of the people downstairs, those who stole and bribed and coerced, the same ones that were eating cheese and clicking champagne glasses. Jason had felt Bruce glance at him then, blue eyes bluer than normal, before joining him in gazing across the garden. _One day you'll understand, Jason, what it's like_ , Bruce had began, voice sombre. _As much as I'd like them put away, its not that easy. It goes far deeper than than that and their wealth...the power they have, Jason, its everywhere...in everything, and to go after them means the system..the system, it comes crashing down, everything.._. Bruce had struggled with finding the words before letting out a weary sigh and Jason had let it go for the time being, but he'd never forgotten those words, and unknown to him, Bruce hadn't forgotten their conversation either.

____

As it turned out, Bruce had been right on the money.

____

 

____

 

____

_Saturday, eight twenty am, outside council room two_.

____

Jason adjusted his collar, the nerves creeping up on him. Besides him, Yena chuckled, eating a handful of grapes. "Relax, my friend. Things will work in our favour."

____

Jason crossed his arms looking away. "Yeah, well yesterday doesn't really lend much encouragement."

____

Yena nodded, not saying anything. Last night had been a little downcast for them both, though the Ghosts had celebrated on a job well done. A new government, the coup punished satisfactorily on the whole albeit for one, and they had eaten downtown amidst plenty of food. Yena and Jason had put up a good front, Jason in particular, though he kept replaying the courtroom scene in his mind. The Ghosts would be out in town exploring today whilst Jason and Yena were summoned to a private hearing - the Ghosts assumed this had something to do with their friend's mission before their arrival, and so kept questions to a complete minimum as per their Vegas protocol. The two friends had prepped into the early hours of the morning, going through their testimonies, and making sure nothing was left out. Jason had managed to obtain copies of the IGC contracts the League had signed through one very helpful Traecao and Jufriyi, his stoic second in command, back in the CRNA. The originals, along with many things Jason had brought to Xan, had been removed from Dancu as part of the "clean-up crew" the coup had hired to cover up the League's absence, using their work on Gol as the perfect cover.

____

Now, as the two sat here waiting to be called in, Jason went through his checklist one last time. The League's initial visit to Xan and Gol, the conflict, the contracts, the work and timetables scheduled, their disappearances and torture in Fewuity and Ikisi laboratories, Magdaia Damaes and her work, Eheto Mehept and her help, and finally, to have the House sign off on the work achieved, their contracts complete, - if possible, to have the League cleared of wrongdoing, though Jason knew that would be a stretch. He hadn't forgotten about Dr Ghersha and his shady past, including his liking of adolescents- Jason made sure that much of the man's work had been leaked to the media, and they had responded in turn, denouncing the man, and calling for his licence to be revoked, which was currently in process. More victims had spoken out, shaming the man, a criminal investigation now opened into his activities, and now the pig was reported to be facing financial ruin, his investors having pulled out in the face of negative publicity, and Jason thought it sweet, _sweet_ justice - and he didn't even have to kill him! Jason didn't mind that last prospect - sometimes watching everything a person worked for burn to ashes was _more_ satisfying than killing them outright, and it felt damn _good_ to witness the fall of some of these people.

____

"Red, ambassador to the League of Earth, and Yena'at Suke, please come in."

____

And with that, the two stood, making their way inside.

____

 

____

 

____

_Prepo, Dancu, seven pm_.

____

There was a whole lot of laughter going on, and Jason found that he was right in the thick of it, joking along side his friends whist stuffing his face with shriomupkel. Fine - Semeticai'a' the hag had walked, but if he was going to have a victory, then the League was it. As Yena had predicted, the House had ruled in favour of the League. They _did_ clear the League of wrongdoing officially, on the record, something that had taken Jason back a little since he'd thought written confirmation was a hopeful stretch. The League's involvement and subsequent damages remained, but in terms of the contracts?

____

Signed and completed.

____

Met to the fullest.

____

Gol's part of the contract was outright annulled, since the coup had used Gol to cover for the League's disappearance. As it turns out, the Ghusalem had completed the work rather quickly by themselves a few days before the League's arrival to the IGC, but it didn't matter now. The most important bit was that the League were all in the all clear, no hidden ends, and best of all?

____

A formal apology.

____

That's right, on paper and everything, signed by all the members of the House, supported by Congress, and on behalf of the peoples.

____

An apology to cover the League's treatment and torture, though the House wouldn't take responsibility, but it was on record, and Jason knew that formal, written apologies were rarer than a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The League were _formally_ thanked for their work and cooperation on Xan, the realm offering their "sincerest apologies" and extending their "warmest thanks" for all that had been achieved. Furthermore, the League were given special all-lifetime invitation passes to Xan and the rest of the realm should they ever consider visiting in the future. Jason had bit his cheek in at this bit - _fat fucking chance_ he'd thought, but still, the gesture was a nice one, and they were trying to make amends by setting a good official example. A pity that they couldn't extend this to sentencing Semeticai'a' to death, but, as Yena had said on their way back from the IGC - the new government might not have looked on them so favourably _had_ they taken the law into their own hands and dealt with Semeticai'a' and the coup by themselves. Keeping them alive had worked out well for all of them - the League were cleared, apologised to, and invited back once again as "honored dignitaries", whilst the rest of them were to be honored by the Chairman of the House, in front of Congress, and that was a real something. The Ghosts were definitely excited at the prospect - their first alien medals, Yena was being honored and promoted to Commander General of the Xanderian military, Eheto Mehept given full sponsorship into any research institution in the realm of her choosing and Jason to be "Special intergalactic ambassador". Jason had smiled back thinly at the House on hearing his brand new title, but that's all it was, a title, and titles meant nothing without substance. Ule, the House - they were trying to appease him really, to get him on their side, to make him understand why they had done what they'd done, and Jason, under Yena's advice, had accepted their efforts with politeness. They would be leaving soon, and Yena had told it outright - burning bridges was not a good idea, not when the future out there. Sure, Jason didn't have to like any of this, but for the _sake_ of connections, of _professionalism_ , then it would be better that Jason do his part and accept it, however palatable.

____

So Jason did.

____

He smiled through all the speeches, clapped when of his friends were honored, medals around their necks, special invite cards indebted to their person. He bowed when it came to receive his, and he and Ule had made eye contact for a brief movement before Jason was ushered along, shaking the hand of each House member. Photos were taken, announcements made, and then-

____

-then it was all over, and they were free to go.

____

Job done. 

____

Work complete, the League safe.

____

A realm at peace, a new government, and hopefully, a future to look forward to.

____

All in all, it wasn't _that_ bad, if Jason was honest with himself. New friends, another accomplishment as a Ghost, and as Jason and the Ghosts sat with Yena and his family, Kaprech chirping away in between Blue and Fuschia, it was good to have friends, no matter the circumstances. They'd be spending one or two more nights here before leaving finally, but Jason vowed to himself to visit Yena, Hele and Kaprech sometime soon.

____

Then there was Magdaia to deal with.

____

Magdaia's work was now coming to light, former colleagues giving interviews, and a number of highly regarded, well-respected publications and journals that had published her work were now issuing retractions in light of the revelations, denouncing her behaviour and sickening activity in an effort to save face. But he needed to deal with her. Yes, her bitch of her Mother was going to prison, a damn shame to be let off so lightly, but Jason had her daughter, and at least Semeticai'a' would know what a little "payback" felt like. A few hours, no more than that - Jason had been reminded of a place in this realm, that would allow him the space and _time_ to air out his grievances, a place where Magdaia would come to realise the horror of all the atrocities she had committed. He would leave first thing tomorrow morning, early, and be back in time to join his friends in the afternoon for a day out. Then there were the goodbyes, going back to Earth, re-stocking the ship, before going to Gerebe-

____

"Red! Stop sulking for God's sake! You look like you're about to take a shit!"

____

Taupe stabbed his fork at him whilst the rest of the group burst into noisy laughter, and Jason turned red, embarrassed to be caught so out of it. 

____

"Bet it was a girl."

____

"Yeah, deffo, look at his face!"

____

"Cover your eyes, Kaprech, no child should have to witness such a cruel, cruel thing." Cue a tiny child giggling and more laughter.

____

The teasing continued, and Jason couldn't help but smile at the ribbing. These were his friends, his brothers, the old and the new, and they had made it through this hell, together, bruises, wounds and all. They continued dinner like that until late, with Kaprech sleeping on Purple's chest, his new favourite person, and the clicking of bottles that rang late into the evening.

____

 

____

 

____

Magdaia stared at the screen.

____

No, this couldn't be.

____

It was all over, the coup, the sentencing - the trial had been shown live, and though Mother's life had been spared, she was going to be spending the rest of her life in _prison_ , unjust and cruel, and Magdaia had held her face in her hands at the news, drowning out the shouts and protests as she forced herself to remain calm. Eheto had said nothing, opting to clear the plates away, and afterwards, excused herself, giving Magdaia some space. The woman had been less hawkish this week, reverting back to her distant self, and that was good.

____

Very good, because it meant that the bitch was letting down her guard, and Magdaia knew that she would be able to strike soon.

____

A few hours later, in bed, Magdaia stared at her surroundings in the near complete darkness, resolve hardening, eyes focused. She looked down at the bunched material that drenched her thin frame, folding in multiple layers at her ankles. Magdaia had lost weight, and her face hollowed in concentration as she shifted on the bed, careful not to draw attention to her movements. She smiled sharply as the glint of something small and metallic caught in the moonlight, momentarily shining in her eye.

____

_A little parting gift for her favourite bitch_.

 

 

"Right this way, Ma'am."

Semeticai'a' took hold of the attendant who had offered his arm. She looked back at the prison that had housed for the last few days before making her way down the dark path and into a private Timuelan, armed guards flanked on all sides. Semeticai'a' chuckled at the sight of her old friend, splendidly dressed in a dark velvet suit, her voice dry, and the man smiled back at her, raising a glass before ordering another for his guest.

"How you manage to end up in these situations is beyond me, Sem." He smiled, brown eyes twinkling, and Sem took hold of the glass, dainty in her clutch.

"I knew you wouldn't forget, M." Semeticai'a' raised her glass to her friend. She didn't know how M, or Meutairla 'Meurla' Cax'tas had managed it, but he had, and she was neither thankful nor grateful, but simply expectant. Birds of the same feather, after all.

"I do apologise for the delay." Meurla began, wanting to smooth things over, but Semeticai'a' cut him off, tone a little sharp under the cool front.

"Nonsense. You and the others wanted to see which way the wind would blow. I'm glad you all have come to your senses; it would be wise to remember just how resourceful I am, if I set my mind to it." Semeticai'a' smiled at Meurla, and he offered a brief one in return, hiding his disdain behind another sip of his glass. 

Semeticai'a' Targeya was a dangerous woman, and now they would have to pay for momentarily shunning her, but Sem, like the bitch he knew her to be, would take her sweet time, waiting for _just_ the right moment to strike, making her point clear: she would maim, but not kill, for she knew the power of allies and _that's_ where they had made a mistake. Having her killed was the original plan, but Semeticai'a' knew too many and too much - her hand was in _everything_ , and imprisoned, sentenced to die or otherwise, the woman would have found a way out. After all, nearly a quarter realm was financed single-handedly by the House of Targeya and Damaes, and if they wanted to continue living in wealth, powerful and free to do as they wished, then Semeticai'a's support would be vital.

"Once again, on behalf of all of us, I do apologise, truly I do." Meurla was giving a performance of a lifetime and they both knew it. "We mistook the situation as unsalvageable. It will _not_ happen again." Meurla couldn't stand to look at himself, having to grovel and beg at the hand of this witch.

"It is of no concern now. What matters is that things continue running as normal. I hope you have made Ule Yamei aware of his standing?"

"Of course. He, the House - they now that all they are is for show, Semeticai'a'. They now know who is really in charge."

"And long may it continue that way."

The two friends raised their glasses, and Meurla began to bring Semeticai'a' up to speed with current events.

Business as usual.

 

 

 _Five fifteen am, Sunday morning_.

Eheto was forced into wakefulness by a _thump_. Grumbling a little, she tossed in the bed before another _thump_ was heard. Eheto muttered angrily, throwing the sheets over the bed. She was tired, irritated, and now she had to deal with what was probably Magdaia stirring up trouble. Walking towards the door, Eheto forgot the little things she'd do to keep her distance, alert and on guard, like knocking on the door and assessing for movement inside the room, leaving the door open, taking a few steps at a time.It was the fatigue, the wanting this to be over already, and that was why Eheto, momentarily letting down her defences, walked into Magdaia room, only to find the woman crouched in bed, a pool of blood beginning to stain the sheets. The woman was wide-eyed seemed to be gasping for air, rocking herself, and in that moment, Eheto forgot who she was dealing with.

Eheto ran to Magdaia, almost skidding, and reached out to the stained bedsheet.

"Magdaia-" Eheto breathed, already panicking, but then something sharp entered her belly.

Sharp.

Twisting.

Eheto looked down, and was stunned to see that there was blood on her top, coming from her belly in fact. The stain seemed to blossom faster, angrier, and Eheto was rooted to the spot, a little numb when something shiny, out of nowhere, entered her belly again.

And then it hit her - 

she'd been _stabb_ -

And Eheto backed away clumsily in shock, heart pounding, the pain setting her belly alight. Her eyes became a little unfocused, breath panicky, and now she was sweating a little, terrified.

On the bed, Magdaia was now sat up, uncurled, and watching Eheto calmly, eerily silent, but Eheto wasn't looking, not at her, the room, no focus _whatsoever_ , her eyes darting back and forth. She backed into the wall and slumped heavily to the ground, feeling dizzy, her mouth dry. She tried to call for help but her mouth felt heavy, her legs weak, and Eheto knew now, with sinking horror, that _this was it_ , her final end, her last moments, her mummy and her friends and home and so _cold_ and-


	40. Sweet Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason deals with Magdaia. Clark and Bruce go about with their therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning! Sensitive topic ahead**!

_Sunday, eight fifty am_.

Jason held his head in his hands.

Of _all_ the things he'd imagined, this- _this_ hadn't been one of them.

He sat in the waiting room, oblivious to the quiet chatter around him, a few curious glances thrown his way, coffee cold and stale on the floor by his right foot. The lights were a horrendous white, luminous and mocking, and the whole thing made Jason ill.

He _hated_ hospitals, and being here, having to wait on whether the young woman whose life he'd now fucked up was gonna make it or not, was a bloody nightmare.

Jason raised his head to the ceiling. Would it do any good if he were to pray - and to whom? He ran a hand through his hair - what a _fucking mess_ , _fuck_ , _fuuuuck_ , his mind taunted, as the events of the last few hours were replayed back to him.

Jason had arrived to the safehouse sometime after five thirty in the morning. He'd planned for an early start, especially as he and the Ghosts were supposed to be going to the city square and park festival in the afternoon for their final outing. The plan was straightforward; get Eheto home - the girl was about to embark on a promising future career after all, spend no more than a couple of hours dealing out some well deserved justice before taking care of Magbitch, permanently, then clean up and back to Dancu to join the rest of the gang chilling and eating before dinner, _farewell_ and heading back to Earth.

That was the plan. That had _been_ the plan.

Except, he was Jason _fucking_ Peter Todd, and past experience should have taught him better by now: Things were _never_ straightforward for someone like him.

So Jason, ready and raring to go, had departed Dancu a little after five am, a set of clothes for this very special purpose, leaving quietly. He had contemplated calling Eheto last night, informing her of his arrival in the early hours, but Jason had been caught up with dinner and friends, and exhaustion caught up with him quickly, lulling him asleep even before he'd even hit the pillow. Jason had called Eheto in the ship on the way, but the woman didn't pick up. There had been this nagging feeling, at the back of his mind - that _something might be wrong_ \- but Jason had put it aside; he wasn't about to have any distractions now, not when it came to Magdaia, especially as her Mother had pretty much all but walked free. But even as he'd approached the safehouse, his gut had grown more uneasy, and Jason had felt his hairs standing on edge. His gut instinct was more than often right, and even as Jason began to descend and make his way to the ground, he couldn't ignore it any longer - something was _fucking_ wrong, and he'd made his way cautiously inside, looking for signs of life. It was _too_ quiet, dark-

And then, it had hit him.

A smell. Not heavy, but distinct, and more importantly - _metallic_.

And that's when Jason knew-

 _blood_.

His breath caught in his throat, and he'd began moving faster, only to hear a slight scratching in the background, irritating, as if a saw was in use, cutting fibr-

 _ **FUCK**_ \- Jason had dashed to the room, skidding, the door kicked open with a _bang_ , only to find Eheto, pale, on the floor by the wall, bloody handprints, in a pool of blood, and a thin, disheveled creature hunched over the bedposts, sawing away at the chains that tied her at the wrist, one that let loose a scream of fright at the noise, and Jason put it all together then, that this had been Magdaia striking back, catching Eheto off guard, and Jason moved-moved then, almost on autopilot, heart racing, tackling Magdaia to the floor, knocking her out in one savage motion before switching his attention to little Eheto, so tiny and glassy-eyed, lips a little blue, skin grey, and blood, so, _so_ much blood, wet and sticky and warm, and Jason had barely remembered the basics of CPR, shaking and swearing loudly as he counted breaths, _blew_ , pumped and pushed, feeling the _snap_ of a rib of two, praying for movement, _anything_ -

almost - he'd _almost_ contemplated giving up, but Jason wouldn't, _couldn't_ , not Eheto, not this one, the one who'd helped him with Clark, naive and innocent to be caught up in this fucking _shit_ \- so Jason had continued, furiously, brows soaking up sweat as he pumped, counted, forced air, cursed an-

 _Splutter_.

A wet cough, a painful heave, and Eheto came back to life, gasping, clawing at Jason's shirt, confused, agitated, and Jason held his friend to his chest, praying and thanking everything under heaven that this strong ass lady had made it, she'd done it, and Eheto had cried, tiny, strained mews, before Jason remembered that Eheto needed surgery, like _yesterday_ , that there was internal bleeding, infection that could still very well kill her, and Ma-fucking _Magdaia_ who needed taken care of, the same one who seemed to be stirring now from being knocked out.

So Jason had proceeded to lift Eheto gently, hushing her as he tried to hide his fear, the way his voice shook, walking quickly to his ship, ignoring her tears and cries of pain, ribs broken, lying her gently on the sheets, sweeping her damp hair back, searching his shelves for the first aid kit, hands trembling a little as he drew up whatever sedative he couldn't be bothered to verify, and dashing back to the house, ignoring Eheto's pleas not to be left alone, swallowing a lump down his throat as she begged and reached for him, coughing up blood _don't leave me_ , _don't leave me_. Jason went back inside, furious now, thunder mounting in his every step, only to see that venomous creature coming back, smiling, grinning even, ready to spew her shit, but Jason wasn't having it. A swift jab of the needle in her foulsome neck, and seconds later, Magdaia was out, and would be for quite a while, but Jason didn't care about that - his mind was racing as he _ran_ back to his ship, the hostage on his shoulder, throwing her uncaringly into the corner and chaining her tight enough that the skin broke and bled in protest. _Hospital_ , _nearest fucking hospital_ \- that's all Jason could think about as he typed away furiously on the keys, getting the ship into motion. _Co-ordinates located_ the ship announced, in a proud tone - _Currundo_ , the city hospital - he could make it there under eight minutes, Jason was gonna do it under five _so help him God_ , and he did, bursting into the emergency department, words tumbling over one another as medical personnel rushed to his person, already shouting orders. Someone had been speaking to him, a nurse maybe, an arm had steered him gently to the waiting area, but Jason had been a little numb, mumbling out answers to _name_ , _next of kin_ , _emergency contact_ and so on. Eventually he'd been left alone but not before a shock blanket had been draped around his cold, stiff shoulders, and a cup of coffee pressed into his hands. Jason had just about managed his thanks, but the coffee had remained undisturbed, his eyes glued onto the set of swinging doors that Eheto had been wheeled through.

That had been a good three hours ago, and Jason still sat, shaken, that she just _had_ to make it, that no, not after everything, that Magdaia and her mother couldn't win, not this time, not agai-

" _Eheto Mehept?_ "

Jason was snapped out of his musing by an older voice. He looked up to see a middle aged man in scrubs, weary, tired. He nodded once, confirmation.

The surgeon.

Jason felt his mouth turn as dry as sandpaper, and he tried to stand, really, he did, but his legs wouldn't work properly, and he found himself staggering, having to be helped to sit by the surgeon, who looked at him, a mixture of kindness and pity across his face. Jason swallowed a few times, and the man seemed to understand, turning his head for a moment to call out to a nurse, and a few seconds later, a cup of water was in his face, and Jason was urged to _drink_ , and to _take it slowly_. Jason started at the cup, bringing it shakily to his mouth, the liquid cool, and Jason drank, more and _more_ , until the doctor took the cup away gently, waiting patiently. Eventually Jason nodded for him to continue.

"We've managed to stop the bleeding sir. Eheto received some blood whilst in theatre, and for now, she's stable."

Jason couldn't stop himself from slumping backwards in his chair from utter, sheer relief. _Eheto was alive_.

But the surgeon was finished. "However..."

Jason snapped his eyes open to see the doctor momentarily pausing, removing his cap, and looking down at his hands. The man looked back at him and spoke softly, his voice regretful. By the end of it, Jason wished he'd kept quiet instead.

"However, due to the location of the blunt trauma, and the delayed presentation, along with significant bleeding loss, the team had no choice but to remove the damaged fallopian tube and ovary, known as a _unilateral salpingo-oopherectomy_. We wanted to preserve at least one working fallopian tube and ovary, especially in a young woman of child-bearing age, but the next few hours will determine whether the other set and uterus will need to be removed in case of severe infection, uncontrolled bleeding, and significant risk to life.

Jason closed his eyes.

Eheto was alive, at least for now, but the next couple of hours would dictate whether she'd be able to conceive and carry children of her own.

Magdaia had dealt one hell of a blow.

Jason forced himself to keep the bile down, but he failed, and he vomited, only just turning his head away in time.

What had he done?

The doctor said nothing for a while, rubbing Jason's back as he threw up a little more, and a kind nurse helped to clear away the mess. A little gargling and rinsing with water, a few deep breaths, and Jason nodded at the man to continue.

"Eheto is currently in ICU; she'll needed twenty-four observation. She's on a strong dose of antibiotics to combat any infection, and is receiving another two units of blood to last over the next eight hours or so, along with fluids and other vital measures. We are of the belief that an optimal outcome is likely, that is, Eheto will _not_ need to undergo any further surgery, but as I've said, these next couple of hours will tell. In the case that infection has set in and is unlikely to be treated effectively with antibiotics, or that internal bleeding re-occurs and is life-threatening, then it is in her best interests to have a total hysterectomy, and that will include surgical removal of the other fallopian tube and ovary. I understand this is... a _lot_ to take in at the moment, and we have notified her immediate family members as you have requested to be present. We understand that-"

"Do..do whatever you have to do." Jason's voice was scratchy, and he winced to himself. Eheto's family, her _mother_ \- they'd be arriving shortly, and they would need to be filled in, but he couldn't be here, not to face them, to explain their connection and how Eheto managed to be caught up in all this. How his cover story would hold up, Jason didn't know. The doctor nodded, understanding. 

"I thank you for bringing her in so quickly; a moment longer and Eheto wouldn't be here with us, or we would have needed to perform surgery to remove all the affected organs in question. For now, I must go and attend to my other patients; please, if you have any further questions, just ask one of the nurses around or at reception, and they'll speak to you. Have you got a number we can contact you with updates?"

Jason muttered something about having already provided the nurses with the relevant information, still in disbelief. The doctor didn't push it any further and stood now, placing a gentle hand on Jason's shoulder and squeezing it once. "Do not despair. For now, we are hopeful. If anything changes, we will make sure to inform you."

Jason nodded his thanks as the doctor took his leave. For the next few minutes, he sat, calming himself. It was bad, _really_ bad, but there was a chance, and he just _had_ to have a little faith, though faith had been letting him down this last week. Eheto was a good woman, kind and caring - she didn't deserve this, and as Jason sat, composing himself to focus, he vowed to make sure that Eheto was properly avenged.

Magdaia. The one still out in his ship, which was currently cloaked on the rooftop of the hospital, just _waiting_ for his brand of justice

Her time had come, and this time, Jason told himself as he stood, straightening - he would finish the job.

 

 

 _Gerebeta, West central meadow_.

"And then, what happens Clark?" 

J'onn kept his voice purposely low as he gazed over his friend, who looked more like a child, hugged into himself, staring out into the fields where the children below were taking turns in paddling down the stream. He waited, not wanting to push Clark. Ever since the man had approached him a few days back, shyly, wanting to talk, J'onn knew he'd have to tread carefully. Trauma, of any kind, was a difficult, sensitive topic to approach; there were many different wavelengths interwoven in the mind; fear, shame, shock, anger, humiliation, anxiety, and any wrong move could set the subject off, or even worsen the very idea of attack. J'onn had masked his surprise very well, keeping calm as Clark had asked quietly, red-faced, whether he could talk to him. J'onn had _hmmed_ in agreement, a small kind smile on his face - it was about time that Clark begin to address his trauma, though that was not for him to say so. They all knew, of course, what Clark was likely to have endured, and they were proud that the man could even find the strength to wake up every day, despite his difficulties with close contact, among other things. The man hadn't been sleeping - the signs were easy to see; bags under the eyes, a sluggishness seen more in tired humans than the man of Steel, whose powers were returning, slowly but surely. Short temper, easily irritated, prone to outbursts, at times agitated - Clark had been been spending less and less time with them all, making excuses at first, but as he'd deteriorated, keeping away altogether without any word. J'onn's telepathic skills were also returning, and he'd spent the last week listening to Clark relieve his terror through panic attacks, at least one every day, and as _much_ as J'onn had wanted to help him, to reach out and steady the man, serve as his anchor - intruding into a mind relieving a nightmare, and one as gripping as sexual trauma, feeling trapped and powerless - was a dangerous thing to do, and such an intrusion could cause irreversibly damage.

So J'onn had listened, quietly, as Clark would hear the voice in his imagination, a low, predatory cruel voice, mocking and sensuous. If not the voice, then it was the feeling of straps at the wrists and the ankles, preventing Clark from escape, and then the sensations would begin. Light touching, bites-J'onn would always break off here, privacy was something highly valued to humans, Clark even, and their feelings tightly guarded within themselves. It was interesting; J'onn's people, Martians, valued connection, being able to reach out and understand on a deep mental level, to open to one another, and J'onn missed the intimacy of that connection dearly. The attacks themselves wouldn't last long, no more than a couple of minutes, but J'onn knew that in Clark's mind, it seemed like hours - hours of no-escape, of the worst kind, degraded and humiliated, a mere _toy_ to be experimented with, discarded lazily without remorse, and J'onn felt for his friend. As he was beginning to realise - it was one thing for a human being to go through something like this - the one and only time J'onn had dared to go through a little of Bruce's mind, he'd shut down the connection as abruptly as possible, hating the darkness that threatened to overwhelming him -but for Clark, his friend - the man of _Steel_ as he was so popularly nicknamed, _the_ Superman?

J'onn couldn't imagine it. To go from arguably the most _powerful_ , to absolutely powerless?

No wonder Clark wasn't coping.

And so Clark had approached him, _finally_ , shuffling his feet, hair lifeless, skin dull, voice uncertain - that if it might be possible, to talk, just a little, as if J'onn would refuse him. J'onn had said nothing but to stand, slowly, as so not to alarm his friend, and had laid a light hand on the man's arm, conveying a little of his understanding though a small but discernible telepathic wavelength. Clark had looked up in shock, that J'onn had a little of his abilities, and J'onn had sent him a _look_ , daring him to tell the others. They'd smiled at each other then, Clark chucking a little, before taking a stroll through the town, to the numerous quiet meadows, where J'onn had proceeded to select one in the far distance, in the sun, where they'd be able to converse without Clark feeling trapped. That had been their routine so far, and now, on the third occasion, Clark had brought a picnic basket, and the two had eaten lunch before Clark started.

J'onn always allowed Clark to start - it was important that those affected be allowed to feel in control, to take the lead. J'onn explained a little of this to Clark at the beginning of their sessions - that each would last for however long Clark desired, and on whatever he felt like discussing. Clark had smiled a little tearfully, grateful that J'onn just _understood_ without him struggling to find the words. J'onn watched his friend now, pale, not wanting to answer his question about _what happens when he hears **her** voice_ , and though he was tempted to give a little telepathic nudge, doing so would put Clark on edge, and he last thing he wanted was his reclusive friend to stop opening up to him. 

" _I freeze_." Clark eventually whispered.

Part of J'onn hated himself, that he was asking something that made his friend like so, but he knew, as did Clark, that it needed to be done.

"I..I can'-I can't move, J'onn. I...I'm trapped, _grounded_ , and its like- no- _no-one's_ there, and its just me, and _her_. And-and.."

Clark broke off to wipe a shaky hand across his eyes, and J'onn remained quiet, watching.

"She starts, and its light at first. All over me, its-its light, at first, but then it's with more force, sharp, and-and its all over, and then it, it gets worse, sharp, an-and then painful. And I can hear myself, J'onn, telling her _no_ and _stop_ , but she won't - she-she just ignores me and _laughs_."

Clark gulped, more tears falling now, but still, J'onn kept quiet. This had been the farthest they'd ever conversed before Clark would break down, and J'onn knew that in order for Clark to overcome his trauma, he'd need to keep pushing his friend, the boundaries, the things kept hidden and buried deep within. It was going to be ugly, _very_ ugly, for a long while, before things would start to get better, and as J'onn looked at his friend sadly, a little part of him realised that Clark didn't understand just how _ugly_ it would get. 

"She laughs, J'onn, she _fucking_ laughs, like its all a big joke, and she goes even harder." Clark's voice had taken a bitter turn, and J'onn wasn't surprised. Shame, shame of being taken advantage of, of considering oneself _weak_ , a disgrace, was something he'd been expecting, and J'onn knew he would be hearing much more of it - the _disgust_ \- as time went on.

"She-she- doesn't _stop_ , she-she just goes, and takes, and the worst bit-bit- I; I give it to her, J'onn, my whole _fucking_ body just _wants_ it, _her_ , that _bitch_ , that _devil_ , I -I found myself trying to _give it all to her_ , to go in deeper and harder and _take_ her from behind, and _God_ , I'm _fucking_ repulsive, so _disgusting_ -"

Clark stood up abruptly now, pulling his hair, agitated, talking over himself and stumbling over his words, and now J'onn knew it was time to reel it it. He was losing Clark to his own mind.

" _Clark_ -"

"A _fucking_ disgrace, that's what I am, that she was all over me, taking and taking and moaning and giving her all she wanted and there I was, such a _waste of space_ trying to _make her cu_ -"

" ** _Clark_** -"

"God she was so _good_ , better than any woman I've _ever_ had, and she _took_ and _bit_ and swallowed and fucking _sucked_ , _hard_ , all of it, pulling-pulling my hair and whispering in my ear and breathing down my throat and taking me again and again and _again_ -

" _ **Clark**_ you need to-"

"and all of it, so hot and wet and sweaty and everytime I think about her I think about _it_ , just how _good_ it felt and how _good_ and _hot_ and _raw_ it was and wanting her to go _deeper_ , _more_ , that if I could turn her over and _do her properly_ and _split her wide apart when I came in her_ and yet how much I _hated_ it, hated _me_ , _disgusting_ , _filthy_ , fucking _her_ -"

Clark was screaming now, shaking, face wet, and the ground seemed to tremble in fear. Below them, the children had stopped playing and were rooted in the spot in fright, staring up at the red faced, upset stranger. J'onn knew he'd needed to take control of the situation _now_ , especially that Clark's abilities were growing in strength, and before he destroyed the place, and so he closed his eyes, focusing on the children below; _Go back to the town_ , J'onn flooded their minds, placing in them the intensity and urgency to _leave_ and the children obeyed, skipping away as if in a trance. Beside him, Clark had deteriorated even more, unintelligible and the instability was radiating off him in waves - the man was about to _unleash_ , and now J'onn did what he knew wasn't right, and what he didn't want to do. 

Standing up, he placed both arms around Clark's to hold him steady, hating himself at the way Clark lashed out at feeling trapped, the begging and pleading to _stop_ , but J'onn focused on reaching inside Clark's mind, putting out the fiery heat and rage, brushing over Clark's confusion at his presence in his mind. 

_Clark, I'm sorry, but I need to do this. I have to get you under control. Your full strength is beginning to return, and I know you do not mean to, but losing control can pose great risk to the people, and most of all, to yourself. I'm sorry, my friend_.

They stood like that for a while, Clark struggling and fighting at first, before his movements became more sluggish as J'onn overpowered him, taking control of his mind, searching and putting out the fires. Eventually, it was over, and now J'onn opened his eyes, only to find Clark staring back at him, wide-eyed, and most painfully of all-

 _hurt_.

J'onn had betrayed Clark's trust by violating his privacy, and the silence was a long and difficult one. 

J'onn wanted to explain, to open his mouth now, but Clark suddenly moved, shrugging his arms away, and the wide-eyed fear had been replaced by anger, hate even. Clark stared for a moment longer whipping back and marching off, anger and tension coiling around his frame. J'onn let him walk away - there was no reaching him now, not like this. He watched his friend's figure disappear into the distance before sighing to himself, closing his eyes, and sitting back on the ground.

They had a long way to go.

 

 

 _Unknown location_.

Jason didn't have time for this.

Bucket of water in hand, he threw the entire lot in Magdaia's face. "Wake up, _bitch_." He hissed, voice cold.

Magdaia gasped away, shaking, gulping, eyes darting to and fro, before settling on Jason. Fear flickered across her face for a moment before the bitch masked it coolly, in an effort to hide just how fucking afraid she really was. Jason smirked to himself. She had no idea what was in store for her. He was decked in black, masked from head to toe, voice modulator activated, completely unidentifiable, but she'd know who he was soon enough.

"I take it Eheto the silly whore is dead, then?"

Jason froze for a moment, and Magdaia cackled, her thin collarbones visible underneath her shirt.

"I warned her, I did. She took away my child, well - now she can't have hers, hmm? An eye for an eye, or so I've heard." Magdaia grinned, teeth sharply, and Jason held in his rage. 

_The she-devil knew exactly what she was doing_ , he thought to himself, and Jason knew then that him losing control and lashing out was the **very** thing this woman wanted, but he wasn't going to give her that satisfaction. It had been an hour since they'd arrived on the hospital, and whilst Magdaia had been knocked out by the sedative, Jason had taken his sweet time setting up his "equipment", getting ready for what lay ahead. He wouldn't have any news from the hospital for a while, and a quick phonecall to Yellow letting him know that he'd be unavailable for a bit had him covered. Instead, Jason smiled at her, savouring the way her smirk faltered minutely.

"I'm sure you did, Magdaia."

The woman stared at him, confidence disappearing in droves, and she swallowed, shifting uneasily in her seat.

Jason's smile grew bigger.

"Before we begin," he started, voice calm, "I think a little something is in order." Jason stepped out of the frame to reveal a camera set up on a tripod.

Magdaia tried, bless her stone-cold heart, she really did. "You think that, any of _this_ is threatening? _Please_." She spat, tone hitching a little at the end, but Jason was far from convinced. 

"Oh no, sweetheart, this isn't- _no_." He laughed, genuinely, and Magdaia flinched at the sound. "See, this is a little..."gift", let's put it that way. Its only an intro video, no more than a few seconds, but I'm putting it out there. The whole realm will see it, but this is my parting gift to a dry old hag who thinks the world and everyone owes _her_ something."

Jason let it sink it. Magdaia's face began to drain of its colour. She opened her mouth to speak but Jason beat her to it, gagging her before moving behind the camera, and pressed 'record'.

"Semeticai'a' Targeya, I have something that belongs to you." He spoke in one of Xan's old dialects, native, lost long ago, disguising his identity even further.

Magdaia squirmed, shouting, but Jason continued, as if uninterrupted. "Don't worry, this isn't a kidnapping or hostage situation. I'm not asking you for anything, oh no. See, you made your decision long ago, wanting power and control, and now I'm here today to let you know alllll that _comes at a price_. Semeticai'a', traitor, murderer - this, right here, is your price."

Magdaia screamed, screamed and _screamed_ , and Jason who'd silently made his way in the darkness to stand behind Magdaia, brandished two knives gallantly in above his captive, before suddenly plunging them into Magdaia's hands and through the armrests of chair, speaking over the howls.

"Wherever you are, holed up away, as you and all your cronies continue to manipulate and twist and prey on the innocent, mocking what's good and right in the world, remember, dear Semeticai'a', what you have now consequently lost as a result, and that the last of your name, is here, with me, and with you, no more."

Jason, ignoring Magdaia's pleas and cries for fucking _help_ , bent in one smooth motion and plunged another knife into the top of Magdaia's foot. An anguished howl filled the room.

"Your only child, flesh and blood, just like all the mothers and fathers, children and siblings you gave the order to kill, in Elek and Plaei and god knows where else - what you hold dearest, despite your fronting and lies, well - today, a child will pay for the mistakes of her Mother, and you will _remember_ this, Semeticai'a', because we told you - **we** _told_ you that one day, you'd pay, that you would get what you rightly deserve, and today's the mutha _fucking_ day."

A knife into the other foot. Jason went slowly this time, watching Magdaia scream and shout, crying and sobbing, before he turned to look at the camera one last time.

" _Never forget_."

Camera _off_. 

The footage would be uploaded for the realm's viewing right _before_ he and the Ghosts had left Xan, just in case. He couldn't be identified, not whilst he'd taken intricate care to make himself almost one with the darkness, voice heavily disguised, all outside sounds drowned out -heck, they weren't even on _Xan_ any more.

Jason stood for a moment, letting the adrenaline die away as he watched Magdaia now, cursing and spitting. He sat back down in a worn leather seat, listening to Magdaia defiantly and brazenly declare that _she would never break_ , laughing, madness in her eyes. Jason took in the equipment he'd gathered for their session, before he spoke in a firm voice.

"Your baby."

Silence. 

Jason took his time in removing his mask, making direct eye-contact with Magdaia. He'd been masked that day when he and the Ghosts had broken into Ikisi laboratory to rescue Superman; masked on his solo mission to take Magdaia hostage from her swanky residence in the South of Xan. But she would know him _now_ , recognise him, and Magdaia did, the horror setting in as the man, the human, the one who'd introduced himself as "Red" on the the broadcast a couple of days ago, the same one who'd announced that the coup had been stopped and that elections were taking place-

that _same_ one, brown skin, dark reddish hair, beard, sharp green eyes - he was _here_ , _now_ , looking back at her, face serene-

"Your baby, Magdaia. I did that."

The realisation hit Magdaia. She began to scream, furiously, ignoring the way her skin and tissues tore at her knife-embedded hands and feet.

Jason continued, sat comfortably in his chair.

"I had to, Magdaia. You _raped_ my friend. You and your team _tortured_ him, tortured the League and _you_ , you Magdaia, raped him. You took advantage of his vulnerable state, weakened, in pain, and you overpowered him. You kept going and going, even when he looked so _detached_ from it all, and yet - you _continued_ , _purposely_ because that's what people like you _do_ , Magdaia, you and your Mother, depraved, heartless, psychopaths who don't care about anyone or anything except themselves, and _power_ , and what they stand to gain."

"Your "friend" should be so _grateful_! He _wanted_ it, _begged_ for in, in fact!" Magdaia hissed, ignorant of the blood pooling at her feet.

"Did he? Truly? How a person can be so _cruel_ , so _twisted_ , and _sick_ in the head- it was beyond reasonable doubt that you and others like you are pure evil, just evil, and now, looking at you-" Jason gestured to her "I _know_ I did the right thing. That baby was _not_ a baby, a child to you - it was a _tool_ , a _weapon_ , something to be observed and experimented on, just like all your other subjects in your other works, and I, Eheto, and our mutual friend Dr _Ghersha_ were in agreement that you couldn't be allowed to have this child, no, absolutely _not_ "

Magdaia was now frothing with madness. 

"Yes, Dr Ghersha knew all about it, of course - who you you think gave me access to your medical records? Better than that - where do you think I got the _pills_ from?"

More swearing, anguished howling, but Jason carried on.

"The baby is gone, gone for good. Eheto is alive, by the way. Alive, and she's gonna make it, and guess what - one day, she'll have what you'll _never_ be able to have: a _child_ ". Jason couldn't be certain of this, but that was _faith_ , and if faith was helping destroy this vile creature seated in front of him, then so be it.

"A child of her own, _hers_ , one that she'll love and cherish, hopefully with someone who will love and respect her, not like you Magdaia. She won't have to lie and cheat, twist and darken and prey to get what she wants. Won't have to buy people off, threaten to expose them, use them or try and ruin them - she'll have what you will _never_ have, and I gotta say - that makes me more happy than _anything_."

Wretched sobs and loud curses filled the air.

"Part of the way _you_ are is down to your Mother, I get that, believe me. I know what its like, but see, there comes a time when you, a person, can no longer blame _parents_ or upbringing, _childhood_ \- not _abuse_ or _addictions_ , not any of it. At some point, you've gotta take responsibility for your _own_ actions, and today -well, today's your day of reckoning Magdsy. See, I and my team have made sure that everything, _everything_ you've ever laid your hands upon, your research, has been thrown out to the _dogs_ , like the three month internship with UWO in Elek, or the six month accelerated program in Venick, Hunio, or the eight week biological cell manipulation and telpel phase growth cycle you undertook under Prof Hon Deco Uoifji back when you were twenty five in Leirsa-"

Madaia stared, open mouthed, and Jason smiled.

"Your _life's_ work Magdaia - we made sure that its _all_ been discredited. And we had help too, from your colleagues, like your partner Reumi Sescheun, who actually wrote more than three-quarters of the thesis in Gejro Heame actumen you submitted as your own - she was very helpful. Others like Master Qua Quioo of Demish, who was fired for not giving you the budget you wanted, that your Mother coerced the board into approving, or Prof Noue of Jan, whom you accused of discrimination and had struck off, medical license taken away, after you had false rumours about her sexually taking advantage of female students under her apprenticeship program floated about, despite the fact that you pursued her doggedly for _months_ , despite her turning down your advances every single time. See, Magdaia, what you gotta understand is that people watch, and they see things. They notice when you're rude, manipulative, arrogant, they talk when you gossip or use your way to coerce, and at any opportunity they get, they'll come together against you. Now your reputation is fucking trashed to the hills, the main body of your work discredited, institutions removing special titles from your name, all manner of sorts, Mag. Unwanted - being associated with you is like drinking _poison_ , and nobody wants that."

"You'll pay, I _swear_ , I _**swear**_ -" Magdaia seethed, spittle flying, eyes ablaze with fury.

"How? With who? Using what? You're own your own, woman. I don't think you understand; if my point with the camera and little message for your dearest Ma wasn't enough, then I'll spell it out for you: there's no way out of this. This is the end of the road for you, Magdaia."

Jason's voice was soft, and now Madgaia was stunned into silence.

Jason looked at his clock. If he wanted to at least meet his friends in town for a while, then he needed to hurry this along. "This won't take long, I'll give you that. There's still a second phase."

Magdaia looked petrified. 

Jason stood suddenly, his chair falling back onto the floor. 

"Let's begin."

 

 

 _Gerebeta, Yie's teahouse, Northern square, Pepo_.

Hawkgirl stared at Bruce, watching the man shift uneasily on his chair, stubbornly refusing to look her in the eyes. She sighed, extending a wing - the surgery had gone very well, and her wing was nearing full healing, but resting against a chair was was still sore, and Shayera wanted to move now, to go even, she did-

but this was _Bruce_. He'd corrected her on this, despite her reluctance to keep it _Batman_.

The man had surprised her when he'd appeared in her periphery last week, voice low, asking if she had a moment. Shayera had actually turned to look about her, sure that she was hallucinating - they _never_ spoke, barely on missions in fact. And now here he was, the Batman, wanting a word, and it was with _her_ \- there was no-one else around. Shayera had masked her shock smoothly, a firm _sure_ , but they'd both known how out of the ordinary it was, to be speaking like this. Bruce had gone on to explain, teeth gritted, that he and Clark had come to an "agreement" - that Clark receives sleep and anxiety aids, along with help about his trauma, _only_ if Bruce does the same as well, and talk. Not just "talk" however- Bruce had to _talk_ about his past, and by past that meant _Jason_.

Shayera had stared back at the man, absolutely speechless. Bruce-

wanted, sorry "had" to, talk-

about _Jason_.

Shayera would have burst out laughing, incredulous, had Bruce not shot her a poisonous _glare_ , clearly he disliked having to do this-understatement of the century- but if doing do meant Clark willing accepted help, then he would, and Shayera couldn't bring herself to tease him over _that_ , not when Clark so clearly needed support. She had swallowed her laughter and nodded, though the mirth was easily read in her eyes, and Bruce had glowered at the sight. Shayera had asked him _why_ , why _her_ , but Bruce had simply _looked_ at her, letting her figure it out. And she had - Diana was obviously a _no_ , conflict of interest, Barry, though with a past of his own, was too nice a man to be able to uncover the dark _complexity_ of "Bruce", John - Bruce didn't know too well, and they'd clashed on more than one occasion, J'onn Bruce trusted even less than John, and Clark? Well, the best friend was not currently available, and so that left her, Shayera, the outsider turned ally turned friend-not-so-friend, objective and able to call him out on his bullshit. Speaking to a Pepo town's member was out of the question - Bruce, space and foreign food didn't mix too well, the stubborn git. Eventually Shayera had agreed, and here they were, second session-

except, Bruce hadn't uttered a single _word_.

At least it was better than the first occasion, back in Lielr's large private study, where Shayera had put on her professional game face, and Bruce had sat there, staring at the coffee table, fists clenched, face growing redder by the minute. He'd muttered something, a curse, Shayera wasn't sure, but the man had walked out after a ten minutes, not bothering to relay his excuses. They were back again, this time in a small, quiet teahouse quite far out from the town, hillsides decorating the landscape outside. Shayera had come to know the owner, Yie, quite well - a welcoming fellow, understanding, and she'd spend an hour two every few days up in the bar, working alongside her new friend, as he showed her the art of tea-making with plates of biscuits and cakes in between. The man had understood her in spite of the communication barrier; Shayera was on much better terms with the League, Diana especially, but that didn't mean that things were back to how they once was, and she'd gotten used to being alone over the years. The afternoons were quieter up here, and after introducing Bruce to Yie as much as she could, her friend had directed them upstairs to a large attic style room, big windows letting in the light, spacious, but most importantly, _empty_.

Shayera debated her options. 

If she remained quiet, wanting Bruce to speak on his own accord - it would never happen, because this was _Bruce_ , a Bruce that one was to open up and make talking about _feelings_ and the past and _Jason_. _Impossible_.

If she pushed him, just a little? Bruce might talk, or he might shut down any and all further attempts, and they all knew this was for Clark. If Clark found out Bruce had gone back on their deal, the man would feel betrayed, pissed, refuse further help and in his current mental state, no-one wanted _that_ outcome.

They could probably sit here, in silence, half an hour, an hour or two, not saying anything, before Bru-

That was _it_ , Shayera realised.

Bruce, in an effort to avoid talking, would make it _look_ like he'd at least held up his end of the deal by staying an appropriate length of time with whomever he'd chosen to play therapist. And, knowing Shayera, Bruce would have been sure that Shayera would maintain confidentiality, and then once the time was up, Bruce would go on his merry way, and Clark would continue getting help, seeing that Bruce too was getting help.

Shayera smiled to herself, shaking her head slightly, and now Bruce looked at her, face questioning.

"Bruce." Shayera began, voice firm, face neutral. "These sessions are going to be _actual_ sessions. Not as cover - either you start, or I start. Whatever it is, its real, and its happening, otherwise I'll let Clark know what's really going on, and you _know_ how that will turn out."

Stone cold silence. "You _woul_ -"

Shayera simply looked at Bruce. "Try me." 

They held their gaze, stubbornly, before Bruce finally conceded, muttering angrily to himself. "Fine." He growled out.

Another round of silence. Shayera was just about to take lead when Bruce spoke, swirling his cup.

"I don't know how to feel about him."

Shayera clamped her mouth shut. She wanted to hear this, especially regarding a newly returned, strong, healthy Jason, who seemed to have done very well without him, Bruce, the Wayne name, without the Bats. Deep down they were _all_ intrigued, Bruce included. She waited, and her patience paid off.

"He-" Bruce started, clearing his throat, before sighing. "He-he's different. Better."

Shayera hmmed.

"I-I don't know. I wasn't...expecting him to be so well, so...stable. And with Tim- _Tim_ , I had _no_ idea they were even in contact, let alone that close."

Bruce hadn't looked up from the table. "How that boy managed it...to reach out to him, to _Jason_ of all people, so volatile...its baffling."

"Is it?" It was Shayera's turn to speak now, and Bruce looked up at her sharply before looking away. Shayera dared to press further. "Why is is so strange that _Tim_ could reach Jason?"

Bruce stared at her. "You're not aware that Jason beat-"

"I'm aware-"

"Then you should understand-" Bruce ground out "-that reaching out to your attacker in an effort to know them is _not_ normal." He seemed incredulous that Shayera was even asking.

"Tim was the third Robin, correct?" The question threw Bruce a little and and he nodded, eyebrow furred.

"A smart, intelligent little boy whom, if I recall, figured out _your_ identities pretty quickly, especially for someone so young. Which meant that he must have spent some time studying the _second_ Robin, which was therefore Jason."

Bruce's face was set like stone. "And?"

"Bruce, could you possibly consider that Jason, _not_ Dick, was the Robin Tim looked up to? If the timing is correct, then Nightwing wasn't..around as much, and so Tim would have observed Jason during this period-"

"If I wanted stupidity, I would have talked to Barry-"

"You still don't see why Tim reached out to Jason, Bruce?"

"Clearly we aren't going anywhere with this-" Bruce began to stand, tense, but Shayera cut him off.

" _ **Sit down**_ ". Shayera let her Thanagarian military General voice take over, and the effect was instant, at least for her well-trained eye. Bruce was a little taken aback, but he hid it well, and scowled before sitting. Shayera continued, tone softer this time. "Sit and think Bruce, just _think_. Yes, Jason attacked Tim, badly. And yet Tim reached out to Jason. No, it wasn't due to misplaced feelings of attachment to a captor or whatever you want to name it - why Bruce? Why Jason? Why reach out to him? Was is it about Tim that would make him _want to do that_?"

That last bit was a clue, and Bruce was only just realising _why_. "Tim...he's... _inquisitive_. Analytical, curious, likes to know things, and _why_..." Bruce started, gaining a little more force in his voice as he began to understand. "He wanted to know _why_ Jason hadn't killed him outright - it was more than just wanting to hurt me..and in someway, Tim must have seen something in Jason. Feeling...like an _outsider_..."

It was dawning on Bruce. Tim - he was the boy who'd pushed his way in. Not chosen, not like Dick or Jason. Not by birthright, like Damian. Forced his way in, practically begged to be Robin. Treated as a partner, not as a son, for the first few years, because Bruce had been terrified of losing _another_ child. Dick whom he'd almost completely lost, and by the time Tim was around, their relationship only just getting back on track, Jason who was dead, just dead - yes, Bruce saw it now: he had pushed Tim away, kept him at arms distance, not part of the _family_ , and the boy had grown up feeling like an outsider.

Just like the Red Hood, the black sheep of the family, outsider, ally at best, and those times were rare. 

Outsider and outsider. Birds of the same flo-no _wonder_ Tim felt kinship with Jason. It didn't help that Jason would call Tim "replacement" every chance he got, nor was it helpful that Dick had effectively pushed Tim out of the picture by favouring Damian, in an _attempt_ to welcome the child into the family. Even though Bruce knew the move was certainly _not_ intentionally designed to hurt Tim, regardless, Damian took great pleasure in rubbing this fact in Tim's face, often to the point of blows between the two boys.

Bruce closed his eyes. Things had been bad for a _long_ time; Jason coming back was simply the tip of the ice-berg.

Shayera opted to remain quiet. She could see that Bruce understood why; it had taken her a while too, after periods of reflection, to understand why the two boys, so very different in appearance and style, appeared as close as they did.

"It's alright, you know." Shayera started again, looking out of the window. "To feel unsure about Jason, where he stands - it's alright, it's valid and I'm not here to berate you into feeling otherwise. But he's back, Bruce, and very close with Tim. Whatever your personal feelings with him are, understand that if you try and _project_ those onto Tim-"

"He'll never forgive me." Bruce finished off, voice quiet.

Shayera nodded. They had spent almost an hour here, and the man looked sombre. 

"Speaking as someone with nothing, a bit of advice: hold on to what you have, and the people you are closest to. Trust me when there's nothing more valuable than the ones you love; betrayal is something you _cannot_ walk away from."

Bruce was staring at Shayera, hard, but it was her turn to play stubborn, refusing to make eye-contact. No matter what, despite heroic reasons, she'd betrayed the League, her friends. She had betrayed Thanagar, her home, her people. And to have nothing solid to hold onto, to call home, to take comfort in, it was _heart-wrenching_ , to be stuck in limbo, alone and Shayera felt tears filling her eyes before a warm weight found itself in her hand-

 _Bruce_. He was holding her hand, real, and Shayera swallowed now, wiping one traitorous tear away. She hadn't even heard him move. _Not in front of him_ she told herself, and Bruce seemed to understand, squeezing her hand once. 

"I've made many mistakes, Shayera, and its cost me." Bruce began, voice warm, understanding. "But I'm still here, and though its late, and the past is gone, I'm.... willing to learn, even if it means things will _never_ be the same, and even though opening up the past is painful. If I can do it, then so can you."

Another slight squeeze, and suddenly the warmth was gone.

Shayera would spend the next few hours staring at the landscape. 

Perhaps this so called "help" wasn't just to benefit Ba- _Bruce_ after all.

 

 

 _Gbretjy_.

"Final destination, Miss." Jason murmured as he parked the ship to a stop.

It had taken a couple of tweaks, searches but finally, they were here - _Gbretjy_.

Jason had found out about this planet on one of his earlier trips to Xan. A planet with a highly unstable atmosphere; pressures and temperatures that switched as quick as anything, from searing, intense heat to the blisteringly cold - most people, even the strongest and most experienced, could last no more than a handful of hours at here, and time was far slower in Gbretjy. Only a handful of people over the centuries had lived to survive the experience, and their tales were quite frankly, hellish. The changes were so extreme that they overwhelmed the body, sending it into distress, unable to heal and fend for itself, and so bit by bit, the body would break down, starting with the flesh, peeling, exposing layers of skin, fat, muscle, organ, with some areas re-growing faster than others. Jason had seen the photos of bodies found out here during one excursion to Xan's famous national Musuem, Clektrea, freakish nightmares that had made his skin crawl. He'd thought the idea crazy, to have to endure such agony. Apparently, as well as the physical deterioration, the senses would go, eyes blinded by piercing light and irreversibly damaged by periods of sudden darkness, the nose that would hollow away, the cartilage weak and pliable, a mouth that would pucker and eventually peel away due to dehydration. Touch, or sensation, was described as _pliers held in the fire and stripping away the skin square by square_.

Only fitting for the princess he had now in his ship, glaring back defiantly at him.

Contrary to popular opinion, the Red Hood was not, in fact, crazy. It was a convenient front, but it was a lie.

Jason was more often than not, methodical. Thoughtful, well-organised - the main differences between him and someone like Batman, for example was one. the Hood was willing to get the job done, permanently, and two. Jason was _very_ good at thinking on his feet. Yes, Jason was by far better trained, taller, probably as strong, if not stronger, but those things didn't separate him from the Bat - it was being able to make the impossible _work_ , to defy logic and what made sense, and get his hands dirty, that put him in a different League to the Bat. Back then, Jason had been an emotionally driven mess, and Batman had gotten the better of him many times. _Not any more_ Jason thought to himself, as he finished on putting on the Limpra suit. The same one he'd had copies of made for the League, the same one he kept in his ship -material from the planet Limpopo that could withstand a variety of extreme, testing conditions - the same one he was about to go out with now, the witness to Magdaia's final moments.

"You've done _nothing_ to me, you disgusting _worm_." Magdaia began, hissing, spitting, valiantly trying to buy herself more time, and Jason smiled to himself, back turned as he readied himself to leave. The woman had tried, he could give her that. No, his "torture" had been nothing more than sufficiently prepping dear Magdaia for Gbretjy and her wildness. It wasn't too hard; Magdaia had lost weight, though she put up considerable resistance, an admirable trait - probably learned from her mother, Jason surmised. She'd still suffer, unbearably of course, just like Clark and all her other subjects, how she'd tortured them mercilessly, delighting in their pain - it helped that time out here was _unnaturally_ slow - traveller's experiences approximated a single minute in Gbretjy to be more like _two to four_ hours back on Xan, and _fuck_ , that shit would be downright horrendous for someone in Magdaia's state, dying an excruciatingly slow, painful death.

Oh well.

Suit on, _check_. Large plastic conservatory set up, surrounding the entrance of the ship, material also limpra, serving as a see-though shelter where Jason could comfortably sit outside, with an optimal safe environment keeping him cosy and relaxed _inside_ in order to enjoy the play - _check_. Gun, camera, _check_. Biscuits and a cup of tea, a large helping of leftover shriomupkel from the restaurant last night, and Adam's _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ \- _check_. Folding chair and table, _check_ \- Jason arranged the food on the table outside, comfortable in his specialised suit. Set up complete, it was now the showdown he'd been waiting for.

"Well, Magdaia, its been a real pleasure. Any last words?"

Magdaia stared back at him. "You'll regret this, every bone and cell in your filthy excuse for existence. As for the Superman, your friend? I enjoyed him, and I _loved_ that he whimpered and cried like a useless dog. Weak, a pitiful excuse for a man - I _took_ him, _all_ of him, and I had my fill, and he will _never_ forget it, ever. It doesn't matter who he's with, he will bear the scars of our time together with everyone he attempts to lay with, and it will _mark his very soul forever_." She spat out, grinning.

Jason looked at her one last time, resisting the urge to finish her off there and then. Nope, that was Gbretjy's job.

"I'll tell your Ma you said hi."

In one quick swoop, Magdaia was hoisted out the ship, thorough the door, though the make-shift shelter, and tossed out onto Gbretjy's sandy landscape, where Jason could see the ground bubbling a little, a testament to the searing heat. Camera video set to record, a few moments later, after the bitch's cursing-

the _screams _began. Howling wails, torment visible as the woman strained, curled in, back lined, muscles on fire, tears that seemed to burn holes in her skin.__

____

On and on it went, but Jason paid no attention to Magdaia, who was in hell, suffering and in _agony_.

____

Jason ate, drank his tea, and read, all whilst Magdaia lay there, shifting under her torment, skin peeling, blinded, various areas of her body degrading, as the sky went from light to dark, and bubbling hot to ice frozen, changing between seconds to minutes. It seemed like _hours_ , but Jason knew it was due to time being exceptionally slow out here. Still, he made his way through his novel, eating and sipping his team every so often.

____

Finally, after _forever_ \- the woman stopped moving. _About damn time_ , Jason thought.

____

He looked at the clock before getting up. _Eight minutes_. That, in real time, equated to _sixteen_ to _thirty-two_ motherfucking hours of complete _agony_. Not bad, by all accounts. She'd held out far longer than someone in her state should have, but then again, Magdaia was born of the devil, so it really wasn't a surprise. Jason stretched, sighing. Folding the corner of the page, Jason slung the camera round one shoulder, and brought out the gun he'd tucked under a fold in his suit, waiting for the temperature to drop before venturing out. A few short steps over to Magdaia, and there she lay, a heck of a state; skin decomposed, almost completely bald, eyeballs sunken, dried out - _a little while later and they'd probably just roll out_ , Jason thought to himself.

____

__Still, he'd learned his lesson. The woman should have been dead long ago, right back in the lab, and Jason stared at her corpse a moment longer before unloading one to the head, and one to the heart._ _

____

_Just to be sure_.

____

Magdaia Damaes, dead.

 _Deceased_.

A fitting end to a depraved psychopath.

Her body would decompose entirely in the next couple of hours, and Jason took a snapshot with the camera. He would insert photograph at the end of this second recording, that Semeticai'a' would know for sure that her spawn was truly gone. No amount of money would bring her back. Of course, experts would recognise the landscape, the sandy ground as Gbretjy, and they would rush over here, but it would be too late. Magdaia would be bones, at the very least.

____

__But before doing so, he'd make another copy of the photo._ _

____

__But not for himself, he didn't need a reminder of what he had done._ _

____

It was for _Clark_ , on the days that big ball of blue scout and cookies was about to lose it, full of hatred at himself, and the bitch who'd fucked with his mind - this would be his consolidation.

____

Jason looked at the sky now - it was growing lighter, and that meant the heat was back on its way. Still, it was good to have this time alone, and Jason spent a little while longer replenishing his reserves with biscuits and sweet tea before calling it a day, calmer than he'd been in a _long_ time. He'd need to get back, destroy the safehouse, edit the two video recordings to include the photograph at the end, and then get ready for his day out with the Ghosts. 

____

__Magdaia had gotten what she'd deserved, no more, no less, and for that, Jason was satisfied. Clark and all her other victims would have the memories with them for the rest of their lives, but with help and support, they would overcome their trauma, not the other way round._ _

____

_Job done_.

____

 

____

 

____

_Xan, just before ten pm_.

____

The Ghosts were hugging Yena and his family, Kaprech tearful that Purple was leaving, and the group had all _awwwed_ away before struggling and failing to hide their laughter. Jason had stood back a little and allowed the Ghosts to say their piece; Yena was an honorary Ghost, and they'd given him the code _Maroon_ , the red-brown honoring his connection to their friend Jason. Yena had been a little speechless before accepting the title, along with a Vegas phone that Jason and Brown had tinkered with just before meeting Yena and his family for dinner. It was his _just in case_ , his invite to Earth whenever, and Yena had accepted the gift with a smile, before the hugs and cheers commenced.

____

__One by one, they'd said their farewells until it was only Jason and Yena left to say goodbye, the Ghosts on the ship, loading their gifts of foods, clothes and other souvenirs safely away._ _

____

__"Yena, I don't know what to say." Jason began, shaking his head, smiling at his friend. Yena chuckled lightly._ _

____

__"It is nothing, my friend, truly."_ _

____

"A damn lie and you know it." The two men laughed before Jason spoke seriously. "Right from the word go, you've had my back. Back at the IGC, when that dickhead Taenolot was dragging me through the mud with my past, to helping keep my guard up about the shit you thought might be going down, rescuing the League, getting the Ghosts, stopping the coup - everything, mate, you've done it, and I _couldn't have asked for a better friend_ , truly. _Thank you_ , Yena, for everything, for risking your life, even with gorgeous Hele and Kaprech here, even when you coulda gone back to them safe and sound - _thank you_ for sticking out your neck for me, for my friends, now _your_ friends, and for your realm."

____

__The two men hugged tightly._ _

____

"Make sure you visit, Red. You _must_ , all of you. It was my pleasure meeting you, the Ghosts, and I would do it all again if I had to. Thank you for trusting me at my word, despite only just meeting, and thank you for saving my life that day at the IGC."

____

Jason stifled back a tear. "You're ruining my street cred, you realise that? Of _course_ I'll visit, there's the city festival of lights in a few months, I'll give you a bell just before I arrive, Kaprech will have a blast with some of the things I'm bringing back from Earth."

____

__Yena laughed, loudly, and the two men separated now, smiling at each other. Jason moved to hug Hele tightly, kissing her on the cheek, before sweeping up tiny Kaprech into a throw mid-air and a giant bear hug, grinning at the child's delighted giggles. "Take care of your dad for me, alright? He thinks he doesn't need taking care of, but I know you and your ma will do a grand old job."_ _

____

__"I will." Kaprech whispered, his voice so young and innocent muffled in Jason's shoulder. Jason hugged the boy a little longer, giving him a kiss on the head, before depositing him gently into Hele's arms._ _

____

__"Until next time."_ _

____

__"Until next time, and safe journey, my friend."_ _

____

Farewells over, goodbyes said, and teary smiles all around, Jason saluted his friend before making his way onto the ship.

____

"Gonna miss that guy." Agreement all round. Jason allowed the chatter to linger a little longer before calling for attention.

____

__"Right". Jason straightened, turning to the Ghosts. "Seated and ready to go?"_ _

____

" _Yes sir_!"

____

__"Taken a piss? No shits allowed - I'm looking at you, Fuschia."_ _

____

" _Fuck you_."

____

The men laughed through their second " _Yes sir_!"

____

__"Good to know. Gotta a couple of hours to kill, so sit back and relax. It's time to go home, men."_ _

____

With that, Jason made his way to the cockpit. Setting up, he switched on the various controls, the lights dimming as the men settled down. Whilst the men talked, Jason used the opportunity to upload his video recording and photo of Magdaia to the realm's version of the internet, waiting for the confirmation, before sending a copy to himself, and then uploading the picture to his personal drive. Video uploaded, photo saved - Jason tucked the camera away into a hidden compartment near his chair, planning to destroy the evidence later. He took a few moments to himself. The hospital had called whilst Jason and the Ghosts had napped after their outing and before dinner with Yena; Eheto was going to be make it, and better than that - it was unlikely she'd need further surgery. _She could still have kids_ and Jason had breathed a long sigh of relief before ordering a Timuelan to the hospital. Eheto had been awake, though pale, and the two of them and hugged it out, Jason murmuring wet _sorrys_ into her hair as he kissed her forehead, thankful that she was alive. _Magdaia's all taken care of_ , Jason had told her quietly, and Eheto had looked up, smiling, eyes full of tears, before whispering _Good_ , and the two had gone on to discuss news of Eheto's award of sponsorship in academic research, much to her delight.

____

__Magdaia, dead. Eheto alive. Realm safe, Yena alive._ _

____

_And away we go_ , Jason said to himself, as the ship took off.

____

 

____

 

____

_Sometime after three am, Earth. A private hangar, a few miles from Danver_.

____

__"Wake up ladies, we're here."_ _

____

__Jason flickered the lights on, earning him a few curses and irritated glares his way. He stuffed down his laughter at Blue's interesting display of bed-head and made his way to the ship door, turning on the lights in the hangar. One by one, the precious gifts were unloaded, packed, till the Ghosts were standing in the hangar, coats on, ready to drive back home. Jason faced to turn them all, and for once he didn't have the words, wringing his hands a little, his voice soft._ _

____

__"I dunno what to say-" but he was soon cut off._ _

____

__"Come off it, woman."_ _

____

__"Don't start."_ _

____

__"Not this again."_ _

____

"It's three _fucking_ am for pete's sake!"

____

__"Save it, redhead, we were always gonna come rescue ya fat ass."_ _

____

__Jason smiled, shaking his head, and tried again. "Honestly, thank you-"_ _

____

"Sweet _Jesus_."

____

"Here we _fucking_ go."

____

"Can you _believe_ this shit?"

____

"So damn inconsiderate, mutha _fucka_ it's _three fucking am_ , hug it out already!"

____

__They wouldn't let him apologise, Jason knew it, they all did too, smiling, laughing at his embarrassed reaction. Jason tried one last time and this time they let him, his voice cutting into the darkness._ _

____

"Seriously, thank you. Thank you, all of you, for coming out here on such short notice, and risking your lives for me and a whole lot of people. You had my back the whole way through, and you didn't push it, even when you wanted to. You met me on a foreign planet, fighting a war that wasn't yours to fight -it's a long story and one day, I'll probably tell you more about Xan and where we've just been, but for now: _thank you_. You went above and beyond and I _couldn't ask for better friends, or brothers_. Thank you _all_."

____

__Silence, and then-_ _

____

__"You done?" That was Black, casually chewing on what was definitely one of Jason's cereal bars._ _

____

__Jason groaned loudly, audible even through the bout of laughter. "Alright, alright, speech over."_ _

____

"Thank _God_."

____

__"Already getting blue balls over here."_ _

____

__"Jesus Orange, keep that to yourself will ya?" Taupe looked mock-disgusted._ _

____

One by one they hugged, clapping each other on the back for a job _bloody well done_ , and Jason made sure to thank each of his friends as best he could before seeing them off. His friends, his brothers - they had come through for him and _beyond_ , and Jason knew he could never repay them. He owed them, big time. He waved his goodbye as he stood outside the hangar, seeing them off, before he was left alone, in the darkness, at his empty ship that would need tidying, re-stocking, and prepped once more to pick the League in a short while.

____

__Jason smiled to himself._ _

____

__All things considered, they'd done a fine job, even despite disappointment here and there. Jason turned back to his ship, beginning to work._ _

____

__He was bringing the League home._ _

____

 

____

 

____

_Early hours of Xan, unknown location, private gated residence_.

____

Semeticai'a' was awoken from her sleep by an attendant, whose voice was far top irritating at this hour. His pleas to _please come downstairs, to get dressed_ were grating, and just to shut him up, Semeticai'a' did so, flinging a satin bed robe over herself. The attendant beckoned her to follow, and Semeticai'a' did, frowning at the anxiety of the man. Downstairs in one of the lounges were a number of her _friends_ , rich and powerful, though unable to make eye contact with her. Meurla himself was up, face pale, cigar absent, and he made his way towards her, asking her to sit, that this...this-to-to _remain calm_ , that they would find out whoever had done this, but Semeticai'a' shooed him away now, only to find a video on the screen.

____

__Semeticai'a' stared at the room, currently engulfed in heavy silence. "What is the meaning of this?" Her voice was dangerously low._ _

____

__No-one answered._ _

____

__Meurla tried, poor man, trying to get her to sit, but Semeticai'a' cut him off with a glare, and ordered the video to be played._ _

____

__No-one moved._ _

____

__"Fine, if I have to myself." Semeticai'a' spat out, angry, and took it upon herself to play the video._ _

____

__It was Magdaia._ _

____

Semeticai'a' felt her heart stutter to a stop. Her vision grew blurry, and her voice seemed faint, far away in the distance. " _Magdaia_...?" 

No-one spoke. There was nothing to say, anyway.

It was _definitely_ Magdaia.

And for the years to come, Semeticai'a' would wish, with all her heart, that _that_ fateful night, when her whole world had come crashing down right before her eyes, sending her into shock, tearing her to pieces, and rendering her mute for the remainder of her years, silenced by grief and grave loss and the unspeakable horror of her sins, paid for by her dear Magdaia, first and only, namesake and her strength, vigour and ambition, that she had all but _rotted away_ in that prison cell, for that night-

____

__that was the night she, Semeticai'a' Targeya, died._ _

____


	41. We meet again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason arrives in Gerebeta.

Chad yawned, eyes closing as he slumped against a shelf. _Fifteen minutes_. he thought wearily. 

Only fifteen minutes into his shift and already, Chad was flat-out exhausted.

He knew Bob, his manager, would probably cuff him round the ear for lazying about, ranting about the do-nothing whiny millennial youth of today, but Chad was too tired to care. There were boxes to unpack, goods to record, items to stock, re-organise, shelves that needed tidying, and the luminous white lights weren't helping. Already, the _doo-doo_ of that God-awful store music could be heard floating above the store speakers, and Chad muttered irritably to himself, knowing that by the end of his shift, that stupid melody would be stuck in his head. He shifted against the wall, growing frustrated. It was just after six am - who the _fuck_ came into Walmart this early, Chad had _no_ idea, but early-ass shifts with annoying-ass managers and rattling carts were what paid the bills, and ensured he survived through college. Tiring, teeth-grinding, temper-flaring, monotonously-painful days, but there were a handful of times, sprinkled in-between, that would make Chad's day.

Luckily for Chad, - he opened one eye to glance lazily at the clock: six eleven am- today would be one of those days.

Hefting himself up from the steel frame, Chad bent to dust his already stained slacks, and rose to catch sight of a tall man, broad chested, leather jacket and all, walking into the store, doors practically scrambling to make way. An impressive figure, he had to admit - the kind that girls would go crazy over, movie star in the making, and Chad narrowed his eyes a little, slightly jealous. _Some people have all the luck_ , he thought to himself. But what made Chad straighten and take notice was the way the man held himself, determined, as if on a mission. Long strides, dark glasses, the man steered a cart with practiced ease, seemingly uncaring as boxes of sugary snacks, colour pops, biscuits, and all kinds of diabetes-filled delights entered his cart. Out of _nowhere_ \- and now Chad found himself drawn to watching - another cart appeared, and this one quickly filling with other materials, building tools, workmanship, electrical goods, price be damned. There was no-one else around, and Chad all but began to follow the peculiar figure, who continued his endeavour without so much as a glance. As Chad approached closer, he noticed the man was muttering to himself, as if debating whether the chocolate-sprinkled doughnuts were somehow more nutritious than the lime coated biscuits held up in one hand, and after a few moments, both were tossed in the carts, as if the decision making was far too strenuous. Chad stared, wondering who the fuck this guy was, and why the fuck did he need more than a cart's worth of sugary shit at fucking six thirty in the morning-

" _Cream or chocolate?_ " A deep baritone broke into Chad's musing abruptly, and he stopped where he stood, a few feet away from the man, who'd yet to look in his direction.

"Who, me-me?" Chad stuttered out, voice a little high as he glanced around him quickly, checking to see if the question had been directed at someone other than him. 

The man simply sighed, as if the stupidity was nothing more than a convenience, and Chad gulped, moving closer, only to find the man staring at the Hershey's shelf, arms crossed, deep in thought. Chad dared to move a little closer, now at arm's length away from the man, who jerked his head to the two offending items: Hershey's cookies'n'cream, and the cookies'n'chocolate.

Chad stared at the man, then at the chocolate. Hershey's wasn't a particular favourite of his, but sometimes there could be such a thing as _too much chocolate_ , and Chad stuttered his response, opting for the white version. The man nodded, approving, and proceeded to clear the _entire_ row of chocolate bars into the cart, before turning swiftly to left and walking away. A few metres down, the man stopped, and raised his voice, the sound jolting Chad into action.

"I don't have all day, Chad."

Chad's mouth was now ajar. How the _hell_ -

"Name tag. Hurry up and get another cart."

A direct order, and Chad, now slightly fascinated, found himself actually moving, sneakers squeaking across the shiny floors as he hurried to bring another cart, meeting the stranger a few aisles down. Once again, the man didn't look up at his approach, and instead gave him a list, which Chad saw was already half crossed out. 

"Finish this lot, I'll do the rest."

And with that, the two men got to work, reading item after item, filling their carts. Not long after, Chad met up with the man, and they began to work side by side, the stranger asking his opinion on a couple of things now and again. Chad had been tempted to ask _why_ exactly, _why_ all the treats - was it the munchies? However, on seeing a small selection of childrenswear, along with books, colouring kits and other similar goods, Chad decided to keep it to himself. It was for kids, that much he was certain, but _which_ kids? Primary school? Possibly, but the guy didn't look like a teacher, imposingly tall, deep voice, but Chad couldn't be too sure, and was not about to start putting labels on a guy who looked like he could snap him in half. Orphanage maybe? There was something...calming about him, almost _protector_ like, and Chad felt himself relax a little, especially on hearing the man's chuckles at a few of his suggestions now and again. 

Eventually, tasks completed, the two men made they way to the checkout-tills, where the man had helped Chad to scan the items through. The price was enough to make Chad's eyeballs fall out of his head, but he kept his cool, much to the smirk of the man, who simply shook his head a little, smiling. 

"Do..do you want some help with that? I could-"

"Thanks Chad, but no. I've got it under control."

Chad nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Carts loaded, the man turned to survey his goods once more before extending out a hand to Chad, who shook it hesitantly, before a little firmer, feeling a little weight in his palm.

"For your help."

Chad looked down to find a large roll of notes was now comfortably wad in his hand, and he opened his mouth in protest, a little disbelief, _shit, was this a year's rent in here?_ he thought, numbly, but the man was already halfway down towards the exit, the carts trailing in front of him. Chad hurried, wanting to do the right thing, even though it was killing him, his mind scolding him to _take the mouthafucking cash and don't be such a dipshit, not about this_ , and he skidded to a stop at the entrance of the store, only to stop, staring at the sight before him.

The man was there yes, as expected.

Carts being unloaded, yes.

But there was no _car_.

No _fucking_ car - in fact, as Chad turned his head to take in the sparse car-park - apart from his and a few others, the damn place was empty.

And yet - this man was busy unloading his precious goods, lifting them into the air , and as Chad realised, completely rooted to the spot - they were disappearing, _mid-fucking-air_.

Chad shook his head, breathing out a _what the fuck_ as he stared at the scene before him.

The goods were disappearing into thin air.

Chad rubbed his eyes and tried again.

Yep, thin air.

Was-was anyone else seeing this? _Nope_ , Chad concluded - not a single other person was around, and so Chad continued watching the spectacle, mouth falling even lower as the man, inbetween goods, would too _disappear_ for a few seconds before re-appearing, as if he were climbing a set of invisible steps. Chad thought about recording all this, this motherfucking _magic trick_ , and the thought prompted him to action, lowering his head to pat his pockets, in search of his pho-

Chad groaned.

His phone was in the staff room, in the lockers.

No phones whilst on duty. 

He lifted his head now only to find the man looking _straight_ at him, grinning.

The fucker _knew_ , _knew_ what he was trying to do, _knew_ what it must'a looked like, and Chad found himself cursing aloud, trying and failing to hide his grin at the absurdity of it all, that on the days of _all_ days, it just _had_ to happen to him. Chad crossed his arms over his chest, berating himself, and the man smirked once more before continuing, whistling even.

Finally, carts empty, the man arranged them to the side before turning to Chad once more, giving him a two-fingered salute before disappearing into thin air _altogether_.

Chad stared.

_Wha-what the fuck?!_

He raced to where he'd seen the man, arms flaying about mid-air, but there was nothing. No signs of the man, the goods, no-fucking-thing, and Chad placed both hands on his head, eyes wide, laughing breathlessly to himself, before a sharp, clearly irritated voice rang in the stillness of the car-park.

"Chad! What in the _hell_ do you think you're doing? Get back to work!" Bob swore angrily to himself, muttering as he turned his attention away from his lazy employee, shaking his head at the downright laziness of the young people of today. 

Chad, arms behind his head, tears falling as he laughed and _laughed_ , failed to notice a large ship hidden above him, and Jason chuckling to himself at the scene, before moving away, mind drawing to a focus.

 _Gerebeta_.

 

 

_Three hours earlier_

Jason waved to the back of the last retreating Ghost before slumping against the side of the hangar.

He was _exhausted_.

Pressing the heel of his palm to his eyes, Jason felt his shoulders sag. The events of the last few weeks had run him ragged, from playing ambassador to overthrowing the coup, and travelling through different multiverses to arrive back on Earth had done him little favour. He needed rest, a few weeks worth, but his job wasn't over. The League needed collecting from Gerebeta, but before that, Jason would need to clean his ship top to bottom, inside and out, replenish his stocks, materials, and all that would take quite a while. Pressing a hand scanner to the wall and activating the foreign codes, the rest of the hangar came to light - shelves, tools, equipment, all the things he'd purposely hidden away from the Ghosts, especially the infamously nosy Fuschia, whom alongside Yellow and Brown, would have had a field day with some of the shit he had in here, technology light years ahead of Earth. Jason stared back at the ship before sighing. Not only did the ship need sorting out, it was imperative that he brought gifts for the people, the children especially, and that required a trip down to the twenty-four hour Walmart, a half-hour drive away. It was Jason's, or rather, Red's thing, something the town appreciated, the children loved - when he brought gifts from Earth, treasures, and Jason couldn't bear to disappoint them now, as tired as he was, _especially_ ass he knew that the League would have been well-cared for out of the town's pocket. The town would _not_ except any sort of monetary re-numeration; they would refuse no matter how hard he tried, and so Jason, whenever he travelled, earned his keep by working as an apprentice, an engineer, fixing and repairing equipment, updating security, and making sure the town was as comfortable and as safe as possible. He would do the same now, and Jason made his way to the far side of the hangar, where a couple of books and spare paper lay neatly arranged. Pen in mouth, Jason began listing the things he would need; food stuffs for the kids, books, building materials - his hangar supply was low- on and on, till Jason was looking at two sheets of A4 paper.

But before he could leave, there was someone important he needed to speak to.

Someone, Jason had no doubt, who would have been worried _sick_ at his absence, one which had required triggering _Vegas_.

Jason closed his eyes briefly as he waited for Tim to pick up, calling from his hangar phone, lightly drumming his fingers on the table.

"He-hello-" The voice was groggy, irritated. Jason winced inside; three-thirty am calls were almost universally frowned upon, and Tim was no exception. Plus, the poor boy wouldn't recognise him at first, since this wasn't his usual phone.

" _Tim_." Jason spoke once, voice firm to hide his fatigue, and the line went momentarily silent before-

"Ja- _Jason_?! Oh my _God_ , Jason! Where the _hell_ have you been? What happened? Are you alright? Where's the League? Where are you-is this the hangar's number, Jay- you're in the hangar aren't you? Oh my God what happened, Jason wh-"

" _ **Tim**_." Jason let his tone drop a register, rubbing his head at the boy's insistent, rapid-fire questions, which he would definitely pay for later on with a headache. He sighed, softening his tone at the sullen silence - Tim was pouting, _great_.

"Hey, kid. It's me, greatest bro in the world. I'-I'm sorry, Tim, I didn't mean to get all grouchy on you, alright? Yeah, I'm in the hangar, I'm fine, the League's fine-"

" _Bullshit_." The voice was fierce, anger leaking into the tone, and Jason sighed, weary. He knew Tim would be pissed; the boy had every right to be.

"Alright, alright." Jason soften his voice even more, wanting to placate his brother. "We ran into some trouble but its all good now, sorted. I know you're upset-"

"Damn _fucking_ straight I am! Do you know how worried I've been?! Not a fucking word, Jay, me and Alfred and T were worried _sick_ over you-"

"T knows?" Jason felt his stomach drop. If Tim was this mad, then he couldn't imagine just how mad _Talia_ would be. He swallowed, uneasy at the prospect of facing one very angry Mother.

"Course she knows, Jay! You were meant to be in France with her, you know that, and you've been gone for weeks Jay, its been a month already! And A's been worried too, over you and Bruce, he's thinks he's hiding it well but he's not, Jay! You said it would only take three weeks, and now, fifth week approaching, we've had to sit on our asses, unable to contact you cause you're in god-knows-where, in deep, probably life-threatening shit, with no _fucking_ way to contact you, _any_ of you - of course Talia's mad, Jay! Like fuck I was gonna keep it from her, not when she's been expecting to hear from you!"

Tim's voice had climbed higher and higher, and Jason took a moment to calm himself, hating how much he had upset his little brother. Tim was close to tears.

"Tim." Jason spoke after a while, voice very quiet. 

Silence.

Jason shut his eyes. "Tim, I'm sorry. Believe me, I am _so_ sorry. I-I didn't mean to get you so worried, any of you, and when I get back, I _swear_ I'll make it up-"

" _Get back?_ " The voice was acidic, and Jason winced for the second time that evening.

"I had to send the League to Gerebeta-"

" _What_ -"

"Gerebeta, Tim. It-it was the only way I could keep them safe. They're there now, they're safe, the Xan's stuff was a real fuck-up but its all over now, and I'm going shortly to pick them up. I was planning to head straight over there, but I had to get the Ghosts back, and I knew you'd be mad as hell if I went without letting you know. I''m real sorry, Tim." 

Silence. 

"Fine." The voice was softer, but Jason could detect the frustration in the tone. "When are you leaving? I'll be there in on-"

" _No_." Jason stood up suddenly. No the fuck not, no way.

" _Are you serious?_ " Tim was incredulous.

"Heck yes I am Tim, so you better listen up straight. No, you're not coming. One, I'm leaving you _out_ of this for good reason, and when I fill you in with the bits I _decide_ to tell you, you'll understand why. Two, you're VP of WE, and that means that you're due a boardroom meeting or ten every damn day - we can't have you staying away and leaving Lucius to manage the board. I'm sure more than a couple of them would rise up at _any_ opportunity to take matters into their own hands-"

"Jay don't you _dare_ -"

" _Three_ , this ain't the right time for you to come to Pepo, not now, not with all this going on and the League there. Fourth, this is my job, one that I chose to take on, and I'm fixing it. It's not over yet till we're all back on Earth, safe and sound. It won't be long, Tim, I promise, just hang in there a lil' bit longer alright? I'm bringing them home, your dad home, and it's gonna be alright, just keep your head together for me. Can you do that kid?"

Jason was pleading a little, that Tim would understand, that he wouldn't hate him too much for leaving yet _again_ , but he had to stand firm-

"Is there anything you need?" The voice was neutral, without a hint of inflection - Tim's VP voice, the one he used when he was downright _pissed_ , and now Jason sighed audibly, his own frustration creeping in. 

"Tim, don't be like this, don't-"

"Perhaps a message? Materials? As you've rightly pointed out, I do have several meetings of my own in a few hours time." Crisp, clean, and icy. 

Jason swore.

"Tim, don't-don't push me, alright? I don't like this anymore than you do, I hate that I'm away from you, that you're upset, alright, I get it, but don't kid, just _don't_. It's been stressful and _God_ , just understand would ya?" Jason paused tiredly, running a hand through his hair before continuing. "If there's _anyone_ , _anyone_ I expect to understand then its _you_ Tim, so please, try. I know you're pissed as hell, I know, and I'm sorry, but for _fuck's_ sake kid, I'm trying." Jason finished, frustrated.

There was nothing for a while.

"Alright Jay." Tim finally spoke. "I didn't mean to come at you like that...I'm sorry, Jay. Ju-just keep me in the loop? We were so worried, and _God_ Jay, I kept trying to hold it together, but I couldn't stop thinking wha-what _if_? What if you and Bruce were hurt, or worse-worse, Jay, wha-what if you never came _back_ and then-"

"Not gonna happen." Jason cut in instantly. "I promise you-I give you my _word_ that _that ain't happening_. I always come back after a mission with the Ghosts, don't I? Well, same thing here, Timbo, I'm coming home, I promise. I'll always come back. For you, _always_."

A shaky inhale.

Jason hugged himself - Tim was upset and _he_ was to blame.

"You've got me, alright kiddo? I'm always gonna be around for you, _no matter what_. Can't get rid of me _that_ easily, four eyes."

A tiny chuckle. 

"Plus, we've still got a coupla a Harry-ass and his piss-poor adventur-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Jay, before you hurt yourself." The voice snarked back, lighter, and Jason muffled his laughter. A little more silence until-

"Just...just come _home_ Jay. _Come home already_." Tim's voice hitched a little and Jason swallowed, feeling his tears prick at his eyelids. His voice broke a little when he next spoke. "Always, Tim. I'll _always_ come back to you. Speak soon, tell Alfred I love him, and kick ass at WE for me." He cut the call, taking a few moments to compose himself, before placing the phone to one side, willing the tears to fall back already.

They missed each other.

T- _Talia_ , Jason thought, staring at the phone. Her number was memorised in his heart, as was Tim's and Alfred's. Speaking to her would be too much - Talia would _definitely_ answer his call - she usually picked up on the first ring, no matter the day or time. He debated sending a text message, but that wouldn't be fair, not to her. He took a few breaths before dialing her number, heart already picking up pace.

 _Ring_ -

" _Jason_." A low, sharp voice. 

Jason gulped audibly.

"Hey-Hey, T, hey Ma, how you doing? Great, well listen, just wanted to give you a heads u-"

" _Where have you been?_ " The voice was quiet, but that made things even worse - it was the calm before the storm and they both knew it.

Jason tugged at his shirt collar. "There-there were a few complications, T. Took longer than expected, ran into a few issues but-"

"Do you think it is acceptable" Talia began "after almost five weeks of complete silence, hearing _nothing_ from my son other than that from his younger brother, informing me of the likely danger that his elder brother is in, to _now_ be hearing from the one in question, one who **dares** to skate over such an absence with _frivolity_? 

The voice was frightening, and Jason took an actual step back, knowing that he had really done it this time. 

"T, I-"

"Jason, do you not understand? That if not for dearest Timothy, and his pleas to remain calm, I would have stormed the very halls of the Justice League, demanding to be taken to my _son_?" Talia was _furious_.

"Ma, plea-"

"That you were in life-threatening danger, and I unable to reach you? To _protect_ you?" Talia's rage was mounting quickly.

"Ma, ma please! Listen, ju-just hear me out- it-it was bad, alright-"

"Do not **"alright"** me, boy!" The woman was seething.

" _Please_ T, just listen! I'm sorry, I'm really am, I swear. I didn't mean for it to take so long, and I know you're upset, but I had it handled-"

"Did you, now?" Talia's voice was icy.

"- _I did_ , and you should hope with all the investment you've put into me that I sure as hell handled it!" Jason's initial apprehension had turned into anger, and now his voice was loud.

"I would watch that tongue of yours, child. Do _not_ forget who you're talk-"

"Yes, Talia _al-Ghul_ , heir to the secret ninja society, how could we all forget?! I had it handled, its under control - there, all done, and that's all you need to know!" Jason's tone was a mixture of exasperation and anger and now the line went silent, both Mother and son frustrated by the other.

"I'm not a child, T. I'm an adult, a _grown-ass_ man, a well trained mercenary, and I don't need to run to mommy every time there's a mess, alright? I took this case - its my job, not yours or anyone else's. It's handled; I just wanted to let you know that I'm fine, and that I'll be back properly soon."

Jason pinched his nose, trying to remain calm. He loved Talia, he really did, but sometimes the woman was overbearing at best, and possessive at her worst. It didn't help that she had tabs on him _everywhere_ \- it had taken heaven and earth to get her to let his work with the Ghosts remain tab-free, and Jason didn't rule out the feeling that Talia had her little minions checking up on him now and again.

It was a long while before Talia spoke again. "Let me clear up a few things, Jason." Her voice was cool, but Jason knew she was mad as hell. "You are correct - I have placed a large amount of investment in you, your training, many of your resources, your shelter organisations, and I have _done so_ because I believe in your skill, and your talent, your desire to help others, and because it pleases me to do so. You have excelled more than I could have ever dreamed, and I am very proud of you and all the work you have done. More than that, however, is this: you, are _my_ son, Jason. Not a project, or a tool - _my_ son, _my_ child, the one who is after _me_ , not of Ghul but _of Talia_ one whom I raised, the father who forfeited any and _all_ rights the moment he disowned you. You are _mine_ , and do not _ever_ forget it. I, as _your_ Mother, therefore, have _every_ right to see to the well-being of _both_ my children, and I will continue do so, regardless of age, ability, and self-sufficiency. _**Is that clear?**_."

Jason didn't dare refute her, not while they were like this, butting heads, not that Talia had, in fact, thought him a project, a special pet for a while at the beginning, when he'd arrived at the League of Assassins brain-damaged, catatonic, _especially not_ about the implication of _Damian_ being his brother, that spoilt son of _a_ -

"I cannot hear you, Jason. _Is that_ -"

" _Yes_." Jason's teeth were gritted.

"Very good. Secondly, I have warned you before and I will do so again - I will _not_ tolerate rudeness, Jason, from anyone, especially my children. It would be wise to bear that in mind when we speak. Thirdly, as you have rightly mentioned - you took this case voluntarily, in agreement with the League, and as a _professional_ , your body of work must be excellent, your final results of a high standard, because you, Jason, and your work, reflect on me, just as Damian and his work, whether as Robin or otherwise, also is a reflection of me, and our family. Go ahead and complete your work, Jason. Finish whatever you need to do, and _do it well_. Whether they like you in the end is irrelevant - they, through your work and achievement, will have respect for you, personal opinions aside, and that is all that matters. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Talia." The woman wanted to hear _Mother_ , but Jason wouldn't give her the satisfaction just yet, ears still burning after the telling off. Talia knew of course, a little _Tt_ barely audible.

"Once your work is complete, after you have spent time with Timothy and apologised properly for worrying your brother, to the point of poor focus and ill-composure at his WE meetings, that I had to step in behind the scenes to prevent a mutiny, then you are _due_ in France, and we will spend time together."

A _click_.

The dial tone rang. No further discussion on the matter - _typical_ Talia. Just had to have the final say, and Jason smirked to himself despite smarting from her sharp rebuke. He would have to make it up to her - probably cooking a couple of her favourite dishes, _that ought to do the trick_ , he thought.

Jason closed his eyes, taking a few moments to himself, before moving off from his position.

Time to get down to business.

 

 

 _Gerebeta. You have arrived at your destination, Jason_.

Jason woke up with a start, fumbling his wrist to look at the clock. _Eleven: ten, am_. An hour longer than planned, but that was due to piloting the initial few hours outta here before switching on autopliot an hour before arrival. Glaring upwards at ship's intercom system, which seemed to blink mockingly at him, Jason yawned, stretching his long legs. His muscles were tense, eyes slightly red, curls in disarray, blankets and novel on the floor. He rubbed a hand across his face tiredly, staring out the windows of his cockpit. Yep, they were here.

 _Gerebeta_.

 _Pepo, to be exact_.

It was always...something, travelling to different multiverses in his ship - the journeys left him a little groggy at the end, solved with a couple of hours sleep, which was why Jason, when he could, opted to travel lightly on his adventures, taking a rucksack containing the essentials, and using his portal necklace to travel. The ships parameters, its alien ancestry, and his own power, made for an incredible combination, but one that used a lot of energy, often leaving him feeling quite drained. And now here he was, ship right outside the town, the North gate a few metres away from him, and Jason took a moment to survey the landscape around him, memories filling his mind. Already the smells were seeping inside, and Jason was reminded of just how much he'd missed this place. His last visit had been not long ago, and as much as he would have liked to stay for longer, with Tim by his side, now was not the right time. By his calculations, the League would be approaching two weeks in this lovely place. Two weeks worth of food, provisions, monetary allowances, _time_ \- his friends, the people - they had given up what was rightfully theirs to share with the League, free of charge, and as much as Jason was touched by their love and charity, he would not and could not take advantage of their hospitality any longer. If they wouldn't accept monetary re-numeration, the helpers especially, then Jason vowed to _work_ for the expenses accumulated, and that meant apprentice ship work. He had a small workshop not far from his home, _Rete_ , a small base of operations which he opened up every day during lengthy stays, and invited people, children especially to bring in their possessions, toys - whatever needed fixing, and Jason would do it, free of charge, many a time. Whatever it was - even if Jason had never laid eyes on the object before- Jason would resolve to fixing it, and if that meant researching the components at the library downtown, or asking for help, then Jason did it, and did it well. Jason reminded himself to take a look at the town's security systems, a couple of updates wouldn't be amiss. 

Already Jason could hear excited young voices from outside - the kids were usually the first ones to notice his ship, and by the sounds of it, the news of his arrival was being spread quickly. He smiled, preparing the numerous stacks of goods and various treats, before opening the door, the feet of several children visible through the gap. " _Red, Red, Red_ " they chanted, " _Skywalker_ " dispersed among them, and even before Jason had reached the bottom step, the children were upon him, mobbing him, tiny fingers trying to reach him, bright eyes sparkling, faces ever so happy, and Jason laughed, tiredness forgotten as he did his best to hug each one.

 _Good to be home_ , the young man thought to himself, even as the children clambered over him to get inside the ship, passing the boxes of treats to each other, clearly used to the drill.

Meanwhile, the League had finished breakfast not long ago, and all of them, even Clark, had been out exploring town. Shayera had gone to the West of town, sat in a honey-potting class headed by one Jaecuiu Vaio, a robust, twinkly eyed young woman, Barry and John at the South side creek, about to go stream hunting for the great Shakabutu fish, Diana and J'onn already near the library, intending to visit the museum's exhibit of the Andreomeas after lunch, Bruce in Lielr's house, taking a nap, and Clark sat on Lisoe hill, a few of the people dotted nearby in the distance, for once alert enough to be engrossed in one of Jason's old foreign texts, a sale'cruleto loaf to one side. Each had been exploring town more and more independently, and many a time dinners had been spent recounting the day's activities. The sun was high in the sky, the weather lovely, comfortable, and all was well, enough that for a moment, the League were simply a group of friends, ordinary as can be in Pepo's town clothing.

Until the news of Jason's arrival came, that is.

Each League had reacted with slight disbelief - almost all of them had been so caught up in their stay, the delights of the town, that Jason, his peril and all, had been pushed to one side. Not entirely forgotten, but not at the forefront either. And so when the news spread, that Red, - the _skywalker_ , children shrieked excitedly - was _back_ -

 _Jason_ -

each League had left their current activity, hurrying over to the North, where Jason apparently was-

only to find themselves in the midst of _crowds_.

It was as if the whole _town_ had come to welcome Jason, and they did, happy voices, tears, hugs - the joy seemed to permeate the air, and one by one, the Leaguers managed to meet together, standing to one side, huddled as one Jason Todd, as tall as ever, was swathed by a _sea_ of people. That was one thing about the man - Jason, no matter the environment, stood out. One of the tallest in the area, dark brown, curly hair, and eyes as piercing and unique as ever-

Jason Todd was _here_ , and now the League looked at one another, wondering how they would be able to face him.

Jason for his part, didn't seem to notice the League, standing far away, not when kisses placed on his now red-cheeks left and right, amidst the back-slaps, the cheers, young women who were a little _too_ bold, not that Jason was complaining, right until he was standing in front of the three elders of the town, Hershur, Ilp and Reney, the same ones that had greeted the League on their first arrival. The town was a hush as they listened to the conversation, watching Jason kneel as he brought forth and presented gifts, the League watching the people as they didn't speak Gemerele, the language of Gerebeta, and then the cheers began, whooping, hankerchiefs in the air as the _dancing_ began, the music sounding out of nowhere, trumpets blaring, singing and clapping of hands, an official welcome home, to one who'd saved the town, helped build the town, and it was a joy witness. And in the middle of it, was Jason, dancing. Not in the shuffling, head nodding kind of way - no, actual dancing, with the women, the young women who embraced him heartily, and Diana smiled at the scene, remembering a young child with bouncing curls dancing in _her_ kitchen, unashamedly, claiming that it was his "Latino blood' that gave him such wonderful abilities, and Diana had laughed along, teaching Jason largely neglected aspects of his culture, that there was more than one "salsa". The rest could only marvel a little at the _ease_ with which Jason fitted in. Whether it was among the children crowded around him, tugging him left and right, the men who pressed drinks into his hand one after the other, the older women who pinched his cheeks, approving of his beard, the young women who were _always_ nearby, tossing their hair, batting their eyes, delighting at Jason's reciprocal flirting - it didn't matter: Jason was popular with everyone. The League witnessed Jason hugging his three friends, Lielr, Klose and Ishiboth, tears being wiped away as they welcomed him, and the little group retreated away from the crowds, conversing with one another whilst the merriment continued in their absence.

It would be several hours until the League would meet Jason face to face, the first time since Xan.

 

 

"And since then?" Jason looked at his three friends. They were currently in Ishiboth's kitchen, tucking into a "light" lunch, which was anything but. 

Klose paused to swallow a mouthful of pie before speaking. "Since then, they have done well, Red. The townspeople have been careful to respect their privacy, though embracing them warmly whenever possible, and I believe your friends have flourished. Their injuries have healed significantly, Lielr can attest to that-"

"I can, my friend, the young Shayera especially-." Jason grinned at his old friend, who raised his glass of Oewio to him. The man was like a grandfather to him, a mentor, and Jason would never forget his kindness, not ever.

"-and with what I can see, Red, your friends have been enjoying their rest. They've been out almost every day, I believe - we _did_ warn them of the size of the town, which they have come to appreciate-"

The group laughed. Klose continued. "-and they have taken it upon themselves, outside mine and Ishi's excursions, to explore the town. The people have loved every minute of their stay, honestly."

Jason put his fork down, feeling a lump in his throat. His friends had taken in a bunch of strangers on his request, and had cared for them like their own. "I....I don't know what to say, all of you. You've been so _good_ , and _kind_ , and given your time, your effort, your mone-"

"Hush now, Red, we will hear no more of money spent and what not." Lielr cut in, waving off the idea, but Jason protested.

"Lielr, c'mon! I-You-you _can't_ expect me not to give you guys anything in return, I just can't do that, not after all you've spent-"

"We will not take a single penny from you, Red, and nor will the people. You know us well enough by now; all that we have done is for you, our of our hearts, and there is no amount you can attribute to that. Please, Red, no more talk of money and remuneration, it is not good, dear one." Ishi's tone was final, and Jason could only bow his head, grateful, before speaking again. 

"Well, as much as I know _you_ , so you must know _me_ \- and you _know_ that I can't take no for an answer. Fine, no more money talk, but whilst I'm here, I'm opening up my shop-"

" _No_ , Red."

"We will not hear of it!"

"That is truly unnecessary, dear boy."

Their voices were raised in argument but Jason wouldn't back down this time. "Nope, I've made up my mind, and there's no changing it. I'll put a notice on the main notice board in town - whatever needs fixing, repairing, toys, whatever- tell the people to bring it to me, the same as usual. I also want to look at the security defences, there are updates to run, most likely, and I might install a few more things as well."

The three friends shook their heads, smiling, knowing that once Red's mind was made up - that was it.

"Fine." Klose decided. "Fine, fine, have it your way, stubborn git."

Jason chuckled. "I haven't seen Mera, Klose - you better not be hiding her from me. Jacu I've seen, the little one thinks he's almost as tall as me, barely past my knee that cheeky bugger - you know he told me that I looked eighty with this beard? Madness."

The group laughed. "Nonsense! Mera went to visit her sister in the city, she'll be back tomorrow, we'll all have dinner together at some point. As for Jacu? I did warn you, didn't I?"

Lielr chuckled. "Three years old and already thinks he's the man of the house?"

"It's preposterous, Lielr, and you have to help me. Already this morning he thought it wise to enter my bathroom whilst I was in the middle of finishing my business, and that little turtle stood there cackling, as if he's the one that pays for the utilities in _my_ own house."

Jason couldn't stop laughing, imaging little bright-eyed Jacu, interrogating his father on why the water bill was so high this month.

Eventually, lunch came to an end, and the group, noticing their friend's bags under his eyes and general tiredness, called time on their teasing. Klose and Ishi took their leave, knowing Lielr and Red would want to talk about a certain mutual friend, and the two hugged Red tightly, bidding him farewell until this evening, the four of them to have dinner with the League. Waiting until Ishi and Klose had left completely, Jason waited for Lielr to start, a little anxious at how Clark had been coping.

"I received your letter, my friend." Lielr began, voice warm. The man fixed his kind, understanding eyes on Jason before shifting a little, refilling his glass with Oeiwo and Jason's with sweet tea. "No-one else."

Jason breathed an audible smile of relief, to which Lielr simply smiled. "In terms of test results - your friend is in the clear. Nothing more on that end."

Jason put his head in his hands, the fatigue beginning to overwhelm him. "Than-Thank you, Lielr."

"Its is nothing. As you rightly stated, there were signs of sexual abuse, injury, and physically he has healed well from the affected areas."

Jason swallowed. _Mentally, on the other hand_ he thought, and Lielr read him easily, a sad look on his face.

"In terms of his psychological recovery...he...he is struggling. It has been up and down, which is very much normal, people cope in different ways. Clark _appeared_ to be showing signs of improvement at first - eating well, spending a little time with the League but mostly on his own, seemingly enjoying the privacy - it was a good idea to have the man stay at your house, Red, you're a good boy. But, as time went on, even with the few visits to his friends and on outings in the town, Clark began to deteriorate. Keeping away from the others was the biggest red flag - every time I saw him, Red, he looked worse. Clear signs of sleep deprivation, difficultly with the simplest tasks, irritable, short temper - all there, but worst is what I believe are his panic attacks. Flashbacks, more accurately."

Jason closed his eyes. He'd been expecting this.

"Essentially, Red, your friend has almost all the signs and symptoms of Post traumatic stress disorder. Though he has never once spoken of his assault, I am quite certain that his current state stems directly from the attack in question. The flashbacks, I think, is what is causing him the most stress of all. One of the helpers, Jae, mentioned witnessing him in the throes of one, leaving him in a terrible state. Apparently the man has been having them frequently, though he tries to confine himself to his room in isolation, in the hopes of remaining undiscovered. Generally, he looks sleep deprived, and it was only towards the end of last week that he finally accepted help in the form of sleep aids and anxiety."

Jason looked at Lielr, sad.

"The medication is only temporary, Red, for symptomatic relief, at least to give him a good night's sleep, and help take the edge off during the day. I have placed him on a very restricted course; the last thing I want is for the man to become dependent on the aids, though I had to calculate specific dosing tailored to the man's...unique metabolism. Jae and Meir mentioned the one they call _Bruce_ , the serious one - he was at the house on two occasions, I belief - they think his presence has helped Clark, though the man seems to flit between wanting him there, and wanting his privacy."

Jason raised his eyebrows. _Bruce_ had been in his house? For a moment, he felt a surge of white hot anger rush within him at the thought of that guy, in _his_ house, his personal, private space - he-he had _no_ right to, not one bit, but then Lielr put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently, and Jason let the anger cool to a general irritation. Bruce, he would deal with later. As much as he _detested_ the man - if his presence helped _Clark_ in anyway, especially when it came to basic coping, then fine, Jason could deal with that and reel in his anger, though the feelings still remained.

"I take it the...Bruce is not one of your favourites."

Jason quirked a smile. "Understatement of the century, my friend, but go on. You were saying?"

Lielr quirked his own eyebrow in response but didn't push it, opting to store the revelation for later. "I'm not sure what happened, but it was only after Bruce that Clark agreed to the medication, so whatever the man said, did - it has helped Clark. I've seen him every day since, and he _does_ look better, though the bags are there, but he isn't as...anxious, I would say. Certainly very aware of personal space, privacy, but Meir reports that his appetite is slowly picking up, and that he naps quite well during the day. Today in fact, is the first day in seven that he's been out, by himself, apparently with a few books to read and a light lunch Jae packed for him."

Jason nodded. That was good.

"I will continue to see him, to monitor his progress, Red, that is not a problem. But understand what I have said - the sleep aids, the anxiety - they are only temporary measures. Clark's recovery will take a long time, and lots of patience. He will need someone to talk to, a friend, counselor - anyone who can take him through the different stages of sexual abuse and psychological torture, coming to terms with the trauma, helping him develop techniques to overcome it. There is nothing that can solve it but time and support, and I believe his friends, along with what looks like well-deserved rest, will go a very long way to his recovery."

Jason digested the information in his mind, going over everything Lielr had said bit by bit. _Clark was struggling, and he's still struggling, but at present, he has made improvement, though minor. For the long-run, he will need support, a therapist, friends, and a safe space_ , he thought. Eventually, after a while, Jason spoke, voice low.

"It's..not great, but all things considering, he's here, and he's hanging on. Clark will make it, I'm sure of that." Jason's tone had become more resolute at the end. "Thank you Lielr, for _everything_. Housing the League, taking care of their injuries, covering expenses - _everything_ , Lielr, _thank you_. Werea's a lucky woman, you know that?"

Lielr burst into laughter - he usually heard it the other way round, that it was _he_ who'd struck gold with his dearest wife, Werea. "Red, this is something you'll have to repeat in front of her - it'll get me off gardening duties for at _least_ a month!"

The two laughed at that - Jason had spent many afternoons at Lielr's house, and it was a running joke between him and Werea, like a grandmother to him, as to how much Lielr _hated_ gardening work. It was why Lielr's drive and back garden were mostly cobbled with stones, and Jason smiled at the memories. 

"Honestly, Red, it is nothing. I am happy to do it. Now - I've noticed you yourself are in dire need of some rest. You want to go to _Rete_ , or I have a couple of houses out here, in the South, East if you want-"

"No, Lielr, but thank you. I can't ask you to do that, you've given up your own house already for the League. No, I'll go back to mine, and make sure that Clark's gets his space, don't worry about it."

The two stood now, and made their way outside before walking through the town to Jason's house, passerby's waving their hellos and pressing all manner of treats into their hands, Jason stuffing himself without hesitation. Lielr proceeded to fill Jason in on a few other things, most notably the "reaction" to his singing, and curiously for Lielr, the sight of a certain dark haired, green eyed woman, Bruce's response in particular, which had left Jason smirking mostly, but little apprehensive in the pit of his stomach as to _Diana_ 's reaction. Eventually, they reached Rete, and Jason stood at the entrance of his gate, gazing up at his house, the white cobbles, and took a deep breath, eyes fluttering a little at the scent of warm bread filled the air. He moved to place one hand on Lielr's shoulder. "I can't thank you enough. Tell Werea I love her, and your boys that we need to meet up for a drink, like, _yesterday_."

Lielr's smile was blinding. "I will. The boys will be glad to see you, definitely. We'll have dinner with Klose's family, Ishi will bring her meat pies of course."

"Of course. Can't forget the pies."

The two men smiled at each other, remembering the pie-incident, in which Jason and Lielr's three sons had proceeded to devour all forty of Ishi's pies in one sitting, much to her chargin.

"See you at dinner."

Waving Lielr off, Jason made his way inside, hugging Meir and Jae as best he could. He would spend the next two hours in the kitchen with them, drinking tea and reminiscing over fond memories, before calling it a day and heading off to bed.

 

 

 _Just after seven pm, Cata, Lielr's house_.

The League were all seated, a large assortment of foods occupying most of the table, but their focus was not on these things. To the right end sat Ishiboth, Lielr and Klose, relaxed, next to Meir and Jae who were not so discretely preening over a blushing Clark, when all of a sudden, the doorbell rang, and the voices of a few helpers, Egla noticeably, rang out in surprise of their visitor.

 _Jason_.

Jason was _here_ , and for the League, Clark and Bruce in particular, the apprehension could be felt. Even Diana, arguably the one most tolerated by Jason, was herself a little anxious, wanting to see Jason. He had appeared well, and in one piece earlier in the day, but there had been an element of tiredness the boy hadn't been able to conceal fully. Clark had opted to come back to Cata with the League, unsure and uncertain of how Jason would react to seeing him in his house. Now that Jason _was_ back, and would be eating with them all, there was no hiding the facts:

Jason had saved their lives.

He had worked on their behalf, and had risked his life, along with Yena, to get them here, to safety. 

They had _left_ him, though on his orders, in the midst of gunfire, alone and without support, to enter this wonderful place, free from safety and harm, where they had taken time to rest, to eat, and to enjoy a multitude of magical things.

All without saying so much as a _thank you_. Doubting him, especially when Clark still needed to be rescued - and yet here Clark was, in their midst, hurt but not broken.

It became rapidly apparent, as the group were now stood, hearing the laughter, teary voices, Jason's own voice booming a little, warm and hearty, that none of them had _any_ idea of what had happened on Xan, after their departure. Not even a clue. The gaggle of voices grew louder, footsteps approaching, until-

 _Jason_ Todd, tall, deeply tanned _Jason Todd_ , Red, the Red Hood, came into their midst, a smile on his face from talking with Egla and the others. 

It was strange for all of them, like this, in their current predicament. A man, a _villain_ -some were quick to emphasise- who had at one point, been at the very top of their list, wanted in thirteen countries around the world, as someone who had gone out of his way to make their lives hell, to anatognise Superman, to torment Batman and the Bats - to the same man before them, handsome despite the bags under his eyes, light blue relaxed shirt contrasting nicely with his dark brown skin, cream knee-length shorts, brown sandals, nodding at them, not saying anything but greeny-blue eyes assessing them quickly, scanning injures, taking note of attire - _cared for_ was the conclusion- one who had gone out of his way, above and beyond for their well-being, and it was-

 _awkward_ didn't cut it, not when there were apologies that were needed airing, oh _no_.

The _hellos_ were visibly strained, lumps in throats, and whilst the League tried and failed to hide their discomfort, embarrassment, Jason stood tall, looking at them, face unreadable. He didn't respond, not audibly, only to nod, but then something happened between he and another, and _that_ left the League reeling, shocked.

Jason, _smiled_.

To his friends, he smiled and laughed, to the League his face was rather neutral, a quirk of his lips now and again (for Diana), but to _Clark_? 

Jason smiled, a proper smile, warm and genuine, reaching across his face, lifting his cheeks, a glint in his eye, and nodded an "alright?" at the man.

And as the League watched, Clark, still recovering, shy, bumbling Clark, had blushed, aware of the attention on him, and Jason, and had _smiled_ a tiny smile in return, meeting Jason's eyes for a moment before darting to the table.

Silence. _Absolute_ silence.

When had _this_ happened? 

That was the question everybody wanted to know.

Even _Bruce_ looked stumped for words.

Jason, on the other hand, seemed nonplussed, bringing his hands together to make a sudden _clap_ , the sound cutting through the air and causing a few to flinch, and walked to the table with an "Alright, let's eat" booming through the air, as if it were another day, or evening rather. After the awkward phase, the life came back into the room, and Jason sat with his friends at the far end, their voices loud, dialect sing-song and full of character, whilst the Leagues were quieter, more subdued, a few glancing Jason's way. The man didn't pay too much attention to them, not to berate them, or make jokes, not to mock them - perfectly civil, polite, asking to pass the _ekres_ and other foods now and again, and the League felt... _out of place_ , that this was _Jason's_ home, _his_ friends, and the enjoyment of the last week and a bit seemed to fade a little, until Jason spoke.

"So, Shayera."

A hush descended on the table. 

Shayera froze on the spot, all eyes on her now. Jason's eyes gleamed like emeralds in the light, reminding them once again of his connection to Talia. She thought about asking, but what could Jason possibl-

"Heard you're a real pro out on those mountain tops a little out of town. Took me two days give or take to reach the top, apparently you did it in no more than a couple of hours. What gives, huh?"

Jason's voice was jokey, light, and as Shayera stared at him, she realised that the man's question was genuine. No bitterness, nothing disguised - a simple question, designed to open her up-

- _that_ was it, and the same conclusion was dawning on Bruce, who had shifted a little a little of sight.

Jason was once again, going out of his way to make them feel _comfortable_.

Knowing their shared history, and yet, enough to pick up on their discomfort, and have it in him to at least put it behind him, to ease their anxiety, their obvious apprehension.

The man was still looking at her, and now one eyebrow was raised, waiting. The room was still watching, breaths held, cutlery mid-air.

So Shayera smiled, rested her elbows on the table as she answered their new found ally. "Cause I'm better looking than you."

Silence.

And then, all watched in amazement as Jason's face turned from questioning, to slightly red, before a smile broke out, eyes lightening in colour, and the man broke out in hearty laughter.

From that moment, it was as if the dam had broken, and the tension in the room dissolved somewhat as laughter filled the air, Klose teasing Jason mercilessly. The League felt themselves relax a little, that this was a Jason they'd never seen before, relaxed, interested, a "not here to fight" Jason, and now the conversations _really_ began to flow as stories were regaled, and they began to share their experiences to Jason, to his friends, the natives, who listened intently, laughing, asking questions, teasing even. Even Clark shared a little story, about being amazed at the sight of the town, his question of "Is this it?" to Lielr and Klose, who retold it with gusto, and the whole room was ablaze with laughter, but the man sat, blushing, happy, and Jason, threw him _another_ kind, genuine smile, before asking him a few more questions, simple things, books, and the League quietened a little as they listened to the two men talk, Clark even chuckling shyly, Jason telling him of a few stories that caused the man to laugh outright on one or two occasions. It was as if Jason and Clark were, in a way, in their own little world, leaving most the League confused but unwilling to disturb the fragile peace. Their stories shared, it was now time for Jason to tell a few of his own, and he _did_ , baritone voice alluring, drawing each person to a quiet as food was forgotten, glasses placed on the table, listening to the way Jason's voice rose and fell, eyes twinkled as he made eye contact with each of them, hands moved to emphasie characters, voices, feelings even.

No _wonder_ the children loved listening to his stories.

But, out of all of them, there was one who sat ever so quietly, trying to focus on his food but unable to, staring down at his plate as he willed the lump in his throat to _move_ already.

Bruce.

Bruce had sat in the thick of it, quiet, unable to look at Jason, to the boy he had lost, the teen he had given up, and the young man now seated just a few seats away, young and happy, handsome and _flourishing_ , and it was breaking his heart. He hadn't told Jason any stories, nor had Jason asked him either - the man skipped over him without a glitch, as if he didn't even exist, smooth and polite, and Diana had moved her hand over to his knee at one point, squeezing it gently, but Bruce hadn't felt a thing.

This-this man, the one who looked so _good_ , healthy, _right with the world_ , despite the tiredness that still lingered, whose voice and talent for story-telling was nothing short of _captivating_ \- Bruce had sat there, trying to eat, trying to distract himself, but the memories were taunting him. 

But that wasn't the worst thing.

The _worst_ thing was how....out of place _he_ felt - that's how welcoming _Jason_ was. And as time went on, Bruce realised, chest heavy, that Jason wasn't even trying - he was just being himself, _Jason_. Not trying to rile him up, to anatognise him by reveling in his silent isolation as he would have done long ago, _no_. The man had the unusual ability to make one _feel_ as though you _mattered_ , that you were _wanted_ , _accepted_ , that you, by his side, had been _right there_ as the events unfolded, and as Bruce realised - that each of his friends were being drawn in, relaxing, opening up to Jason, to his friends, laughing and conversing with a man who had less than two years ago, wanted them _dead_. Long ago, Bruce would have been jealous, but as he sat here, the loneliness, the heartbreak weighing on him - 

he, _too_ , wanted to talk to Jason like the others were doing.

The others, who would start off surprised, hesitant, apprehensive at Jason's reaction, what he might say, but on seeing Jason's calm face, friendly, eyes kind, encouraging, and if they were lucky enough, a smile already on his face - they would grow bolder, telling the story, anxieties dissipating as Jason would smile back, laugh, comment, throw a quip or too, teasing and harmless, and the atmosphere would warm _considerably_ , till food was being passed left and right without a care in the world, with Jason encouraging them to _try this_ , or _dip that slice of meat with this sauce_ , or _Clark, trust me on this, roll the egg, tuck in the rice, and follow it up with a prawn_ \- the surprised _oohs_ and _aahs_ at new combinations of flavours, tastes, eyebrows raising, laughter-

and all Bruce could do was to sit there, wishing for the ground to swallow him whole.

 

 

Jason yawned, tired, and beside him, Clark chuckled, reaching up to adjust what _should_ have been his glasses on his face, only to blush at the mistake. Jason cackled at the motion, and Clark smiled now, face a darker shade of red. Dinner had finished a while back, and eventually the group had called it a night, dispersing to their various homes. The two were now walking through the town, to Jason's house on the opposite side, beautifully lit by street lanterns and the golden leaves of the Yamato trees in the far distance. Laughter quietening, the two walked slowly, side by side, hands in pockets, before Jason spoke, voice thoughtful.

"How you doing, Clark?"

A simple question, and Clark found that it took a while to come up with a good enough answer, something truthful and reflective of the madness he felt within. They stopped by a cobbled wall, Jason managing to flag down an ice-cream seller, and they leaned against the wall, legs outstretched, taking their time.

It was a little while later before Clark spoke, the words heavy on his tongue.

"I'm...there, Jason. Just...there."

His sleep was a little better, but not much. The effects of his insomnia were cumulative, and would therefore take a while to improve significantly. He was napping quite a bit during the day, his reading slightly more coherent, appetite increasing, but things were slow. The flashbacks were still there, leaving him trapped and worn out by the end of it, and as for "therapy?" Well, since his breakdown with J'onn, and his telepathic intervention, Clark had yet to visit the Martian since.

Jason nodded, his head bobbing away in the darkness, and for a while, none of them spoke, watching the Yamao leaves glitter away. "Your powers?"

Clark turned to Jason, a little surprised, and Jason looked right back at him, smirking. "Yes, Clark, your powers. Eheto mentioned they'd take a couple of days to restore, so, how are they? What, you think I forgot what about your spandex activities?"

Clark tried to smother the smile that was creeping across his face with a mouthful of ice-cream, but that only caused Jason to laugh loudly, shaking his head. 

"Boy Scout."

"I honestly for the _life_ of me, don't understand why you call me that. Or anyone else, for that matter."

"Really? Red white and blue? Hand over heart, all things bright and true, do-gooder, of purity and right in heart? Tanned skin, white-ass teeth, the all American sundae?"

Clark snorted. "I _do_ swear, you know."

"You _do_?" Jason looked mock-offended, gasping, and now it was Clark's turn to chuckle, smiling. "But seriously, Clark. Answer the question."

The man's smile faded away. Clark swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat, and glanced down at his ice-cream, no longer so appealing. Jason noticed the gesture and looked away, waiting patiently. Eventually Clark spoke, watching his ice-cream melt. 

"My hearing...it-it's getting there. My strength too, I think, though I haven't tested anything out, not here anyway. Everything else... its getting there, but-but not much."

Jason made a non-committal noise. "Makes sense, you've been through a hell of a lot. Won't all come at once, ya know?"

Clark nodded once, staring out into the distance. He was afraid, to tell the truth, to say it out loud, as if doing so would make him unable to take it back-

"You can tell me, you know." Jason suddenly cut into the silence, voice deep and sonorous. "I give you my word - whatever it is, stays between us. Not gonna throw it back in your face or anything like that, not gonna use it against you."

Clark bowed his head a little, fiddling with his fingers. For some reason, this statement calmed him. Jason and his team had rescued him. Jason had stayed with him, tried to comfort him, it was Jason who had promised to get him safety and it was _Jason_ who'd _kept_ his promise, bringing him here, to the League, away from the horror. That same person who'd opened up a little, given him honest advice, hadn't held anything back.

Jason, he could, on some level, _trust_.

 _Trust_ that he understood what it was like. About _this_.

A few beats later, and Clark blurted it out. "I-I don't think I can be Superman again." He clamped his mouth shut, chest painful.

Silence.

Jason said nothing for a _long_ while, and the longer he remained silent, the more anxious Clark grew. Eventually the man spoke.

"You don't _think_ , or you don't _feel_ like that's possible? Two very different things, Clark."

Clark felt his tongue twist up, and his mouth go dry. "I-I-I don't know, I..don't know. I think it's both, Jason."

Jason nodded, understanding. "That's valid."

For the countless time that evening, Clark turned to him, surprised, and was startled to see a small smile on Jason's face as the man gazed into the distance ahead. "Keep turning round like that and you'll get whiplash, mate."

Clark, despite the feelings inside, smiled a little.

"What I mean is: I'm _not_ gonna tell you that it's wrong to think in such a way, to stop, or that you're wrong, nah. You have _every_ right to feel that way, and I probably would, in your shoes. Superman...he's...he's not real, C. Yeah, he's got the strength and the thing with the eyes, but he ain't real. He's a figure, an embodiment that a few -fine, don't look at me like that- _many_ people look up to, but at the end of the day, take away the leotard and that pansy-ass curl, and what do you have?"

"Me." Clark's voice was just shy of the whisper. 

"That's right. The clothes, powers - that means jack all, Clark. Take all that away and you've got a man, any other guy on earth who just happens to work out at a gym, but still, an ordinary guy. I'll be honest with you Clark - I couldn't give a damn about Superman, really. We've got...history, and its not pretty. We stood and probably still are on opposite sides on how we go about a _lot_ of different things, and from my point of view, nothing has changed."

Clark looked slightly crestfallen on hearing this.

Jason watched his reaction before continuing, voice firm. "I said I didn't give a shit about Superman. But what _else_ did I say, Clark?" He waited for the big man to put it together, and he did now, realisation dawning in his voice.

"That Superman...isn't real, that take it all away, and you've got... _me_."

Clark kept his head forward, but Jason could just about detect a tiny smile emerging on the man's face and he faced forward, smirking just a bit.

"Atta boy. I'm not concerned about Superman. Don't give a damn. But you? Clark Kent? That's different. That's the _real_ you, as far as I'm concerned, and that's who I want to see get better, to get stronger, and to not let whatever's going up in there-" Jason tapped on Clark's temple slightly before carrying on. "to control you. What you've experienced is awful, I know, I speak from experience. But - if you _let_ it, then it'll beat you, and I can't let that happen, and your friends won't either. So.-"

The finality of Jason's voice brought Clark's head upwards, listening intently. "As for Superman: _fuck_ him. But for Clark Kent? For you? Your priority, Clark, is to focus on getting better. It will take time, but everyday, you gotta take it _step by step_. It's frustrating, and its long, exhausting, and you'll have many days which are good, and you sleep right, eat well, and things seem to be looking up at ya, _and_ you'll have many, if not _more_ days when you exhausted like _fuck_ , sleep is nothing but a myth, concentrating is impossible, food tastes like sawdust, and everybody around you just _pisses you off_. The good with the bad, Clark, they come hand in hand. It's not nice, it sure ain't pretty, but that's what life is, and life is all about staying afloat, even when it seems like you're drowning."

Jason said nothing for a while, wanting it all to sink in.

"You focus on that, C. On getting better, on learning how to do _life_ again, how to smile, to feel something, to move forward, one step at a time. To sleep without nightmares, to go days, weeks, without flashbacks, and _even when they occur_ , to fight back, to push against them, to _refuse_ to lie down and take it - one step at a time, getting you sleeping and eating and enjoying good things, and _then_ you can think about Superman. And if you ever decide to go back, to resume your heroic duties, then again, no rushing. Start gradual, have boundaries - heck, you've got a whole organisation of Leaguers, the younger, upcoming generation, the ones who'll probably be around long after you guys are gone, those who are strong, who can fly, who fight - have them trained and ready for action, alright? Give yourself a bit of a break, let them have learning experiences of their own, cause the only way they'll improve and get stronger is by _going out there_ , in the field, in doing shit. Successes and the failures, the lives you save, the ones you don't - its hard, but that's life."

Clark turned to the side, struggling to compose himself, and Jason let him, speaking softly. "When life gets shit, when it gets tough and painful, the _worst_ thing you can do is walk away from it all. To dissociate yourself, to give up, to give into the hate - don't, don't _ever_ think about doing it, cause its selfish, and it ain't fair, not on you, not on your loved ones. You don't give yourself enough credit. When shit comes your way - _go through it_. Fight, Clark, fight it, shout, hold on, and keep going. Keep going, and don't let whatever's behind you prevent you from moving forward. I've had my fair share of ups and downs, C, and with all the mistakes, the regrets, the heartbreak of the hardship, one thing is this: I've never, not once, regretted going through it. Not. once. I know, right- Me? Listen, it's been ugly, downright ugly, and painful, and almost torn me apart, but it's brought me here, today, to shape who I am, and if I, Jason fucking Todd, can go through the baptism of fire, then Clark, born of the Kents, in the middle of Kansas no-where - you can do it too, you hear me?"

A wet inhale, a shaky hand discretely brought up to wipe a wet face, and Jason stayed right where he was, hand on Clark's shoulder, waiting for that nod, the confirmation, that _yes_. It took a couple of minutes; a couple more wet, shaky inhales, tense shoulders, but eventually-

a _nod_.

"Good."

And with that, the two men went home.


	42. Fresh wounds: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talia receives a phone call from Tim, Bruce reflects on last night and Jason reminds Clark of a long forgotten memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is gonna be oooohhh!! Also got a chapter with Talia and Jason's time with her and Damian coming, I wrote most of it today before this one, also written today lol xx

_Private quarters, unknown location, several hours ago._

Talia placed her phone on the table quietly, staring at it a moment longer, before turning her gaze to the view outside. 

It was sometime after dawn, the morning, quiet, cool, crisp, and the mountain dew made the landscape something to behold.

But her mind was not on the view, despite its beauty. 

Talia clasped her hands together, closing her eyes, and focused on her breathing, slowing down on each count until the anxiety dissipated, and the rage settled. Had she been a weaker woman, tears would have leaked from their ducts, but she was _Talia al Ghul_ , heir to the Demon Head, and emotions, weaknesses, were not to be associated with the _Iron rule_. But even that line of thinking was not _quite_ true. Emotions, feelings - when harnessed in the right way, and for a true purpose - they were powerful _tools_ , not to be underestimated. Talia al Ghul had emotions, oh yes. Her general demeanor was a well cultivated front - to her army, she was fearless, ruthless even, distant, calculating, and a leader to be proud of. To her allies? Much the same, and as a silent benefactor, she only increased the effect. To her father? Well, she was almost perfect, _almost_ \- had she been born male, a boy, a worthy heir - Talia was certain she would have been sole Leader of the League a long time ago. To Ra's credit, he _had_ , over the years, begun to appreciate his daughter and her many talents, lessening his obsession of finishing a suitable male heir -Damian now unavailable, but that was a story for later- to his Legacy in light of his daughter's achievements, and as a result, Talia controlled a vast portion of her father's empire.

But to her _children_?

Talia was different.

Her children, ones she had raised by her own hand, saw most of her, the love she kept hidden, buried, and now her eldest was out there, off with the League, out of reach, away from her protection, and Talia felt a rush of emotions then, _Jason_ , the nights she had spent kissing his sweaty hair, holding him till the nightmares lessened their grip, _her boy_ , the one she and Damian helped _live_ again, his smile, the way he would curl into her possessively, Damian at her other side, her boys held tightly against her as she would read to them against a pile of furs, marveling over the simultaneous _Tts_ , the one who would smirk, the other grunt, eyes focused-

 _Ring_.

Talia was brought out of her musing, and she appreciated the intervention. She did so _hate_ being distracted. 

Turning sharply, she glanced down at the caller: _Timothy_.

A small smile appeared on her face. Timothy was such a good boy. Clever, devious, persistent. Very much like herself, in many respects.

" _Timothy_." Talia answered. She could sense the boy's tiredness already. "You haven't been sleeping."

A sigh, an irritated grumble, but the the boy finally spoke, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn in the process. "Hey Talia. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"You haven't in the slightest." She smiled, waiting patiently. Jason had called her, which meant that he must have called his younger brother also.

"Where are you any-oh, _Geneva_ , some people have allll the luck." Talia allowed her smile to grow. Clever boy indeed.

"I take it Jason has informed you of his...predicament." Talia pursed her lips, a little irritation leaking into her tone. On the other end, Tim chuckled.

"Bet you were really mad, huh?"

"Mildly disapproving, yes."

"There's nothing "mild" about you, T."

" _Tt_." Tim chuckled, but his mirth slowly died down to a slight tension, and Talia detected a solemness about the boy. He was worried.

"I do not like the situation, Timothy, but you know your brother. Jason will be back, soon, I should think. Worrying will not do you any good."

"You know he's in Gerebeta, right? With the League?" Tim grumbled, and Talia stilled a little, masking her surprise well. Jason hadn't mentioned Gerebeta. 

"I..was not aware, no." Jason would never send the League to a place he loved dearly, not unless the situation was extreme and unavoidable. Talia frowned to herself.

"Keeping secrets is he? Typical, _Tt_." Tim snarked playfully, and Talia let him, softening at the implication. _Like Mother, like son_.

"For good reason, dear boy." She paused before speaking again, tone firm. "Whatever it is, we know Gerebeta to be a good place. They shall be back soon enough."

A sigh. "I know...its just, its Jay, Talia. You know how he is. I get-get so _worried_ , and if, _God_ what if someth-"

"Enough of that." Talia drew up sharply. "Nothing will happen to him over there, I am certain of it, as should you. And if I am correct, it should be almost three-thirty in Gotham."

Tim folded his arms, as if Talia could see him. "..."

Talia took the hesitation as confirmation. "Three-thirty in the morning, Wayne, and I believe you have a WE meeting at nine o'c'clock sharp."

Tim raised one eyebrow in the darkness. "And you know this ho-of _course you do_ , you're Talia al Ghul. Probably have access to my entire inventory or something."

"It's for your own good, Timothy. Be aware of Mr Ortegas, I believe he and Mrs Wingham are likely to resist your plans for expanding the WE public health scheme in Chicago."

Tim groaned. "Those fuckers are really doing my head in. Last time it was Robert and Takihi, now I've got to deal with that fat cunt and his side who-."

" _Language_ young man-"

"It's Jason's fault-"

"Very convenient." Talia smirked a little before continuing. "Would you like me to step in? Have their stocks moved elsewhere? That should divert their attention for some time."

Tim considered the idea but decided against it. Talia had stepped in for him already in the past, a few times in fact, even without his explicit permission, and whilst he appreciated the support, he knew he needed to stand on his own two feet if he was ever going to make it in business, and that meant dealing with internal critics, powerful ones too. Talia seemed to understand this and spoke over the silence. 

"There is no shame in asking for help, Timothy, we could all use additional support at times. I trust that you are more than capable of handling their distraction, but if at any point you require assistance, then you know how to reach me."

Tim was quiet on his end. Talia had been...surprisingly kind to him ever since Jason had revealed their relationship a few years back. He had been wary at first, especially considering her tumultuous history with Bruce and her demon son hellbent on trying to kill him, but the woman and her advice had proved to be sound a number of times. She had been the one to help coach him when it came to WE presentations, dealing with the board and the world of business, acting as a soundboard to a few of his ideas, and on one occasion, where half the board had tried to pressure him into investing in a few projects that didn't sit right with him, Talia had moved behind the scenes, lifting the pressure off from him, Bruce and Lucius, giving them time to re-group and come up with a strategy. Though Bruce had never acknowledged her intervention directly, lovers spat or whatnot - Tim was't about to ask now-, Tim had been grateful, and had treated her to dinner on a Shanghai rooftop as a thank you. Talia had dismissed the gesture of course, declaring it _nothing_ , but she continued to act as a mentor ever since, in many ways, helping him settle and cement his VP status. Damian, surprisingly enough, didn't come into their discussions, nor did he know that Talia and Tim were in contact; it was as if Talia understood the two boys animosity towards each other, and whilst she didn't condone their rivalry, she did not encourage it either. In fact, the two of them had much in common - away from business and worldly corporations, they shared a love of chess, fine eating and travel. Tim's love of photography had prompted her to send him one of the oldest camera devices in the world as a "congratulations" gift, on completion of one of his first and successful deals as WE's new VP. Tim had been delighted with the present, talking incessantly, and Talia had sat through his history lesson over dinner smiling, remarking at such a clever young man. In addition, the two took great pleasure in frequently teasing Jason over his "old man" hobbies like reading, slower-paced in comparison to themsevles.

"Thank you, Talia." Tim was humbled, cheeks warm. "I have a plan in mind, but if things don't work out, I would appreciate the help."

"Of course. For now, Timothy, get some sleep. I have taken the liberty of having your standing orders at several caffeine establishments switched to decaf for your benefit. Jason and I have mentioned this several times - you _must_ take good care of yourself, and that starts with proper nutritional intake-"

Tim groaned loudly, voice muffled as he stuffed his pillow across his face. " _Talia!_ " You have _got_ to stop doing that! Arrgh!"

Talia paid no attention to him. "You still have a number of years left to grow and develop as a man-"

" _La-la-la-la-la not hearing this, nope!_ " Tim popped the "p". No _way_ was Talia talking to him about _puberty_ , _God no_. The last time Bruce had pulled that shit, Tim had stayed in his old house for a week, resisting Alfred's orders to come home, the embarrassment too much for words. It was bad enough that Talia was smoking hot, and that sultry voice of hers wasn't doing him any favours either.

It was Talia's turn to chuckle now. "As you wish, Timothy. I shall call you after the meeting. Sleep well, child. Jason will be fine."

"You and Jason and just the _worst_ , _eurgh_." Tim complained, ending the call, and stuffed his phone under his pillow. _Nagging mothers and annoying brothers_ he thought, as he drifted off to sleep.

 

Talia smiled to herself, phone still warm in her hand. Timothy would be fine, she was more than sure, but it was always good to be prepared, and she selected another phone out of her office drawer, ready to call up her investors. In many ways, she viewed Timothy as one of her own, _despite_ Damian's hissing, and though mature and clearly independent, the boy allowed her to coddle him a little, in her own way, and that was enough for both of them. It was Ra's who had instilled into Damian, through various methods, that the legacy of the Batman was _his_ , and that as the only biological son of Bruce Wayne, Wayne Enterprises was his _rightful_ place. Talia agreed that _al Ghul_ was the legacy, the lineage, and Damian was more than suitable to take over two sets of legacies, _al Ghul_ and _Wayne_. Subsequently, Damian viewed Bruce's other children as mere obstacles to his future, but they had proven themselves formidable opponents, though Talia would never voice such thoughts aloud. But, as Damian grew, particularly his progress under his father's care, Talia began to appreciate _Tim_ , his candour, his quiet, firm leadership, and realised that though the company was rightfully Damian's, the boy did not _yet_ have the capacity nor demeanor for leadership. As educated as Damian was, Tim had the makings of the Wayne name, finely tuned with the wealth and airs of Gotham society, and well placed in their customs and manipulative ways. Damian lacked such subtlety, and his propensity for outbursts, as well as impatience, required several more years of refinement before the boy could reach Tim's level of mastery. Ra's was another one very interested Timothy, the _Detective_ , one most like the Batman, and Talia had made it her mission to keep both Damian and Timothy well out of reach from her father. And if that meant helping Timothy, solidifying his position, stabilising the company, at least until Damian had developed the maturity and countenance to take over with _his_ leadership, then so be it.

It was of simple convenience that Talia also happened to _like_ Timothy. He was not afraid to stand up to her, similar to Jason, to challenge her, and his intellectual prowess, refined sharp tastes, and worldly travels, had taken the two of them to a number of places, far from watchful eyes. And the more time she spent with the young man, the more Talia appreciated him as an equal. He was like his father, in many respects. Analytical, perspective, and Ra's was right - he indeed _was_ the Detective, out of all the children, her son included. If only Damian could for once, forgo his pride -admittedly learnt from her-, then the boy would learn much from his older brother, but of course, his royal blood and general disdain of others would not permit him so-.

" _Miss al Ghul_?"

The voice was crisp, respectful, even at this hour, and Talia appreciated the tone of her long-time investor, snapping her into focus.

"Good morning Frederik. I have a few things to discuss..."

 

 

 _Lisoe hill, a few miles west of Pepo, early morning_.

J'onn closed his eyes, deep in concentration.

Last night had been testing, for all of them. Now that his telepathy was growing stronger every day, the Martian had been finely tuned to several wavelengths of emotions last night. It had been a draining experience, to say the least. Large doses of apprehension, anxiety, slight fear, but Jason proved himself inviting, the atmosphere became considerably more pleasant. Bruce had been unreadable at first, but as time went on, J'onn detected... _loneliness_ from the man, a social isolation that was quite unlike the Batman, yes, even the Batman. A heavy sort of grief, regret, if one could call it that - a darkness that seemed to coat the man, radiating from his very being, and J'onn was sorrowful, that two people, once the closest in the world, were now nothing but strangers, despite being at the same table. But the most surprising of all, for the League, save J'onn, had been the interaction between Clark and Jason, two polar opposites. From Jason's initial greeting and Clark's reaction, to their conversations across the table - it was confusing, and J'onn had caught sight of several questioning looks shared across various members of the League. J'onn had only chuckled to himself; away from their responsibilities, the two men actually got along very well, and J'onn had smiled as he remembered the library, and in particular, Clark deducing that he had been manipulated by the Martian. Similary, as time went on, the League's anxieties dissipated as each opened up to Jason and his friends, sharing their travels and sights, and J'onn noted how the atmosphere became warmer, more comfortable. Jason himself was rather open, kind, odd for the Martian, as he hadn't seen this side of Jason since he was a young boy, and he appreciated Jason's efforts - they all did.

The last time he and Jason spoke, the boy had visited the watch-tower with his adoptive father, and the child had spent a good part of the day next to J'onn, discussing space and time travel, before the Martian, wanting to widen Jason's perspective of time, took Jason to the library, where the boy had been downright awed before escaping, lost in ancient texts and oakwood flooring. It took a while before J'onn found the child, huddled in one of the ceiling's far corners, lost in a novel, and the two had spent another reading side by side, the Martian translating every now and again. That curiosity, the openness - Jason had displayed similar emotions last night, and the League, initially taken aback, had quickly realised that the man genuinely wanted them to relax, to feel more at ease. It was strange; J'onn thought Jason had consumed something alcoholic at the start of the night, what the humans drank back on earth to loosen inhibitions, an activity they were fixated on, but the man stuck closely to water and other light drinks. When it became time for Jason to recount his stories, the group was hushed as the baritone voice filled the air, lulling and engaging. J'onn had smiled to himself a little; the _League's_ reaction reminded him of Jason as a child, when J'onn would tell him stories, the boy captivated, and the Martian remembered deliberately adding a sonorous quality to his voice, allowing the sound to reverberate over the library. And so dinner had been forgotten as tale after tale was recounted, and the League had been bid each other farewell for the night with smiles, chatty, to a Jason who nodded at them, eyes kind, leaving with Clark by himself, who looked...relaxed, for the first time in a short while.

This morning breakfast was a lighter affair, with the League discussing _Jason_ of course, how..different he had all been, a side they had all never seen save Diana, who sat, calmly sipping her tea. She and Jason had spoken a little when Jason had moved over to her side at dinner, Jason blushing for most of it, but none could deny that the _love_ was still there. The two had stood to embrace each other, Jason the same height as Diana, slightly more due to his hair, much to his delight, and they had spent a few moments in each other's embrace, Jason close to her neck, Diana whispering something in his ear, before the two broke apart, Jason looking down at his feet, a smile on his face. It was in the way Diana gazed at the one she called son, at one point, reaching out to brush Jason's curls, and the man who instinctively leaned towards the touch, before moving away, cheeks rosy, as if catching himself, much to the woman's smirking. Jason, who clasped Diana's hand, drawing small circles over the dorsum of her palm, green eyes large as he watched Diana laugh, black hair tossing behind her. If the group didn't know them as _Mother_ and _son_ , then their closeness would most certainly be interpreted something _far_ different, a least to the naked eye. J'onn didn't see that, however. There was a lot, coming from Jason, a motherly love, respect, a _title_ , maybe a hint of _attraction_ , a childish awe, but there was also _hurt_ and a little anxiety at the thought being _rejected_ once more. Diana projected similar wavelengths, but J'onn noticed a strong discernible desire to _protect_ him, a shield, and it was evident in the way Diana stayed _close_ to him, laughing at his teasing, seemingly unaware of the rest of them, who had been trying very hard not to stare, Bruce in particular. 

J'onn caught sight of a few knowing smiles shared between Jason's friends, in particularly Lielr and Klose, who seemed to share amusement at their friend's propensity and intimacy with beautiful women. Eventually, Jason had returned to his seat, the clasped hands reluctantly coming apart, and conversations continue to flow amidst drinks and laughter. By the time it was time for Jason and Clark to leave, he and Diana had hugged goodbye once more, Jason kissing her cheek, Diana blushing, his hand lightly by her waist and Bruce's jealously as clear as the night sky. Whether Jason knew the effect of his actions, J'onn wasn't sure, not at first, but the man, as the humans called it, "rubbed it in"- whispering to Diana, her head bent, black hair spilling on his shoulder, drawn to him at the side, eyes twinkling, her swatting his arm a little, a knowing rebuke in something foreign -Diana called it Greek-, and Jason dared to place a kiss on the side of her temple before leaving, smirking at a glowering Bat in the corner. The League stood back, watching. Jason really did have a way with women, his looks and charm obvious factors; first Talia, back in the video, and now Diana, not to mention the looks and flirting the man was constantly bombarded with. Clark and Jason had shared a _look_ , Jason chuckling, before leaving, and now at breakfast, with the group teasing Diana, Bruce noticeably absent, the consensus was:

Mother and son, reunited _at last_. 

At least, for the time being.

J'onn smiled to himself, meditation coming to an end. Clark would be here soon, and J'onn wanted to put his friend at ease, apologetic for the last session.

 _Bruce_ , J'onn thought to himself, _was about to find himself a little competition_.

 

 

 _Near the Geir trail run, South Pepo_.

Bruce forced himself to a stop, panting. He had been running for a while, trying to clear his mind.

 _Jason_.

 _Diana_ and Jason. 

Fucking _Clark_ , and Jason.

Really, he should have expected Diana, but seeing them, like that, was a shock to the system, and his former son's interaction with _Clark_ last night was something... Had Jason been anyone else....Bruce didn't want to go down there and so he dropped to the ground sharply, commencing push-ups, ignoring the strain on his muscles. Could Jason ever...? _No_ , his mind recoiled in disgust. Yes, Jason had harboured a large crush on his favourite Wonder Woman as a young boy, but those...feelings had been replaced with a Motherly love, at least that's how Jason had referred to Diana. _Mother_. 

But, _still_.

Bruce gritted is teeth forcing himself to focus. _Focus_ , he mentally willed his body.

The way the two _looked_ at each other, reading one another effortlessly. Diana had _never_ laughed like that with him, but then this was _Jason_ , and Jason was like that. Cheeky, mischievous, and very funny. The boy had made him laugh many times over in the past, and with Diana as surrogate Mother, then it was no stretch that Jason would make Diana laugh as well.

But that wasn't the issue, not really. It was the pair's...comfortableness, their ease with one another. Their _intimacy_ , Jason's admiration - it was a little more than obvious that the _crush_ was there, but that was overshadowed by the love and concern the two showed each other. It was as if Jason had never left, that he had continued under Diana's care, and for a moment, whilst Bruce had been watching them, the way their eyes and stances mirrored one another, a part of him was certain that had Jason lived, the boy would have moved overseas to live with Diana on a permanent basis. A surge of jealously had threatened to overwhelm him last night, and Bruce had to force himself to look away, to ground himself in his seat, full of envy at the two, how Jason could open Diana as such, how _Diana_ could make Jason the young boy he really was, even after all this time. Clark had shot him a sympathetic look, knowing how he must have been feeling, but Bruce had ignored it, willing himself not too look too deeply into things, reminded of what Diana had said: _that hers and Jason's_ relationship would be separate from _theirs_ , and he _had_ agreed to it all.

Was Jason slighting him? _Rubbing it in_ , that he had this beautiful woman wrapped around his finger-

The Bruce of two years ago would have jumped to a resounding _yes_ -

 _except_ , Jason and Talia were shown to behave in a similar way.

Close, _very_ close, and had Talia not claimed Jason and Damian as her _sons_ , as _hers_ , then Bruce would have thought... _differently_ , about his ex-lover and former son.

And then - there was _Clark_ , of all people!

Chatting and laughing with Jason as if they had known each other the longest.

As if the two hadn't been at each other's throats not long ago, heck - Clark didn't even _want_ to work with Jason in the first place!

Clark, who kept-

"OW!" Bruce suddenly cursed, collapsing to the ground as a calf muscle gave out. _Cramps_ , his mind supplied him helpfully, and he writhed on the ground, shaking out his leg, desperate that it not seize up, when a familiar voice rang out above him.

"Just not your day, is it?" A slightly mocking tone, and a shadow descended above him, wings at the side.

Bruce closed his eyes, trying to compose himself, but his body wouldn't co-operate, and he cried out in pain. Right in front of him, and his pitiful state, was _her_ , one who could potentially out-match him, but Bruce wasn't willing to go _that_ far.

 _Great_.

Shayera extended a hand, and Bruce, after a few moments of deliberation, trying to stem his embarrassment, accepted the help with a grunt, refusing to meet his saviour's eyes.

" _You're welcome_ " Shayera ground out, teeth a little gritted, and Bruce muttered something about _nosy birds_. Shayera was tempted to send him flying right there and then, but, on remembering the man's reaction to last night's dinner, held back her vehement. Instead, Shayera did something she _never_ , in a million years, thought she would _ever_ do.

"Wanna grab a bite to eat?"

The question cut through the stillness of the air, and Bruce stared at her, wondering whether she was genuine or laughing at his misfortune.

Shayera forced herself to make eye contact with the insufferable Bat, and after a few moments, the man nodded, dipping his eyes away.

She sighed loudly, causing Bruce to cock his head at her, and the action so _irritated_ her that she swung at him with her wing, catching him off balance a little. A startle, and then Bruce, to her amazement, laughed, before looking at her properly and apologising, a deep " _I'm sorry. Thank you_." before walking off, leaving her to stare, open mouthed, catching up to him a short while later. The two made their way to a quiet Naspa, a little luncheon surrounded by Yamatoa trees, and after ordering, they used the silence to stare out of the window, gazing at the sight before them.

"I...I'm not sure whether I can." Bruce started, baritone a little pained. 

Shayera waited for him to elaborate. He cleared his throat before continuing.

"I..told Diana that I could agree to Jason being around. Around for events, birthdays, that their relationship would remain separate from ours, but seeing them, together...." Bruce clamped his mouth shut, still refusing to make eye contact.

In a strange way, Shayera could understand. They all know of the tumultuous relationship between Batman and the Red Hood, and now that Jason was back, reunited with Diana, a woman Bruce had long loved and vice versa - Shayera would be surprised if Bruce _hadn't_ been affected by all this, but this was Bruce, and she couldn't be sure.

"You're not sure?"

"Whether I can agree to her...terms, yes, I suppose that's it."

"Why, Bruce? So far, Jason has been civil. No arguments, welcomi-"

Bruce shot her a _look_. 

"Fine." Shayera meant to raise her hands in surrender but her wings moved instead, and Bruce smirked at the action.

"I'd like to say that Jason was rubbing it in, but from what I've seen, not just with Talia, but with...the locals, particularly many of the young women...it looks like he's just being himself, Bruce."

"Flirty to the point of being inappropriate?" Bruce cast a sideways look at her, voice clipped.

"Yes. All part of the charm, I remember Jason was the same as a kid. Even as Robin, do you know how many times he tried to chat me up that day in the watch-tower?"

Bruce turned to look at her, surprised. "I thought Diana was the one he liked." 

"Of course, but that didn't stop him from siddling up to me every know and again, telling me how much he _looooved_ redheads. Apparently the boy wasn't picky." Shayera shook her head slightly, remembering how the boy kept trying to elicit a favourable response from her, and she had broken down laughing at one point, much to his delight, and a shout of "score", pumping his fist into the air. "He even asked me out."

"He _did_?"

"Absolutely. Said he couldn't wine and dine me like you, but if I liked amusement parks, then we could start there instead." Shayera was full on grinning at Bruce, who by now had turned red, putting his head into his hands. 

"Why didn't I hear of this?" His voice was strained.

"No reason. And he asked me out right in front _John_ ".

Bruce's head shot up, now red. "Please tell me you're joking."

"I wish. John was getting mad, but Jason wouldn't stop. In fact, I think he turned round to John to ask why "his game was so weak", or something like that."

"Sweet Jesus." Bruce whispered, wishing the ground to swallow him whole. "No _wonder_ John couldn't stand me."

Shayera was laughing now. "You've got to give the kid credit, Bruce. Jason had balls, even back then."

Bruce groaned, causing another outburst of laughter from Shayera, who was loving all of this. "Just thinking about him raises my blood pressure up." He muttered, shaking his head. That was Jason, alright. "He's always been daring, too bold for his own good. And with girls, especially. Dick was close to strangling him once; apparently he'd told Barbara that when she wanted a "real" man instead of "a pussy like Dick", then she should call him." Bruce began to laugh to himself.

Tears were streaming out Shayera's eyes now, laughter ringing through the restaurant, causing a few stares. "Bruce, that's amazing!"

"For you, that is. I had to promise to by Dick a car and ban him from the manner for at least a week. Barbara loved it."

Their laughter died down, but a smile was still on Bruce's face. "He hasn't changed."

"No, he hasn't."

Shayera paused, taking a sip of her drink. "Bruce, Jason's always had a crush of Diana, right from the word go."

The man nodded. 

"But look- I'm not sure how things went on, but Diana has always thought of him as a _son_ , nothing more. Plus, we've been rooting for you two for _years_ now, and now that you've damn near sealed the deal-" Shayera wiggled her eyebrows at Bruce, who stared at him, face slowly flushing red.

"How-"

"It was written all over her face, Diana. Apparently you were the best sh-"

"Alright, enough-." Bruce was now tomato red, much to Shayera's delight, and she resolved to never forget this crowning moment, that she had embarrassed the _Batman_.

"So we've all that in mind, and how long its taken the two of you to get together, do you _really_ think Diana will forget all that? That she'll just put your relationship to the side, on hold? She loves Jason, truly, but not like _that_. It only looks that way because that's just part of Jason's nature, Bruce, its his charm, his thing. I mean, c'mon, you've seen him with all the women round here, haven't you?"

Bruce nodded. "They love him."

"The attention from a tall, good-looking young man? Of _course_ they love him! I doubt, with all the.... _options_ available to him, that Jason will try anything. He loves Diana, and that crush will always be there, childish I know, but its a very small element in the grand scheme of things. More like...admiration. Honestly, Bruce, I don't think you've got anything to worry about."

Bruce sighed, picking up a forkful of food before eating. "So I've got nothing to be concerned about. Not that Jason, the Red Hood, former adversary, is now back, and in the life of the woman I love?" The sarcasm was heavy.

"See? Simples." Shayera teased, eventually turning serious. "If you want you and Diana to work, Bruce, you've got to accept that Jason will be around because he, like _yourself_ , _makes Diana happy_. They were close once. All this-" Shayera waved her fork in the air. "This is what trust looks like. Are you willing to trust Diana? It isn't Jason you should be worried about - whether he's flirty or otherwise, that's him, and _not_ your concern. You're not in a relationship with him. And he won't be around all the time, at least that's what you've said."

Bruce kept quiet for a while. "I'll see how the rest of our stay goes."

Shayera nodded, enjoying her chicken stew and vegetable piancata. "And Clark? Don't look at me like that, I saw the way you were eyeing them. Yes, I'll admit it, the two were...surprising, in the least."

Bruce quirked an eyebrow at her. "That's all you have to say? _Surprising_?"

"What do you want me to say? Former adversaries? Alright then. Whatever it is, Jason somehow put their history aside to rescue Clark from that hellhole, enough to give him his house to stay in, to bring us to a place we didn't even know existed, with _his_ friends." Shayera sighed before continuing. "Look, Bruce, you're feelings are valid, okay? I've said that before. But I'm telling you this as...out of concern - don't push Jason-"

"You don't know what I'-"

" _Yes_ , I do actually. Just as you would know what I would do." The two stared each other down, Shayera's tone becoming a little fierce. "You'll confront him, at some point. Things will get heated, you'll both storm off, and things will turn to _shit_. You'll drop a comment whilst talking to Clark, and he'll go away feeling guilty for somehow betraying you by getting along with Jason, and then he'll close up even more, isolate himself further - none of that's happening here, you hear me? Not in this place, not with all that help and kindness we've received, and certainly not when Jason's gone out of his way for all of us, even without so much as a _thank you_."

Bruce glared angrily at Shayera but kept quiet. 

"We've all been hurt, and Clark, out of all of us-he's gone through _hell_ , we know that, and he's struggling. He'll need a lot of space, time, and patience, and the support Jason has so far given him, in treating him normally, his own space - that's going to help towards his recovery. I can understand you're reservations towards him, and I'm not about to say you're wrong, or that you should stop having them. I'm not on his side, not entirely anyway. I don't agree with many of the things he's done. All I'm asking is that you keep it civil. Don't have to see him, or go out of your way for him - you can sit at opposite ends of the table for all I care. Just keep it in, and hold your tongue."

Shayera paused to see if Bruce was listening. He had turned away from her, back tense- he _was_. She continued.

"If not for your sake, to stop driving yourself crazy, then for Clark's, because, like it or not - _Jason_ got him out of there when we couldn't, and that's not our fault. We couldn't at the time, and the man took it upon himself, even at the expense of his own life. Do it for Diana, because Jason being in her life makes her happy, and a happy woman means a happy life, for _you_. And if it gets too much, and you just can't take it any more...then _talk_ , to _me_. If you can't at first, we'll come out here, anywhere really, and if we have to spar, to get out our fisticuffs, to get bloody, if you need to unleash and get it off your chest, then _so be it_. And afterwards, when you're too tired to fight, we'll grab something to eat, just like this, hell, a drink even, and _then_ if you want to talk, we'll talk. Enough that you stop feeling guilty about the way you feel in order to placate everyone else. Do we have a deal, Bruce?"

Silence.

Bruce stared out to the side, jaw clenched. Shayera waited-

a _nod_.

A tense, short nod, but a _nod_ nonetheless. An agreement. A tiny breakthrough.

Shayera breathed out a sigh of relief, and got up from her seat, ignoring Bruce's turn at the motion. A few moments later, she arrived back at the table, board game in hand, and began setting up the pieces, Bruce boring a slight glare at her.

"You can keep glaring, or you can play this game with me. Its called Daesher, Yie taught it to me. Listen up."

The man grunted, but said nothing, grudgingly listening.

And with that, the two started to play.

 

 

 _Rete, Jason's house_.

Clark shut the door, not wanting to make a disturbance. He took a few minutes to rest, closing his eyes.

He had just finished his session with J'onn, the first since his last outburst not long ago. His friend had been extremely forgiving, brushing away his apologies, and had accepted him warmly, as if nothing was amiss. They hadn't gone as far this time around, sticking to more neutral topics in an effort to start on a lighter note, and Clark appreciated the Martian's efforts, though J'onn's intrusion into his mind was still painful to acknowledge, despite J'onn's sincerely apology. And now that he was back, Clark was exhausted, and wa-

 _wait_ -

Clark stilled for a moment as a voice, whistling, came into focus, alongside pans and other equipment that were clearly, and loudly, in use.

Clark frowned, a little confused. Meir and Jae were not as around as before, now that Jason was back, although they promised to be in the house when Jason was away at work, so that Clark wouldn't be too alone. _Babysitters_ had come to Clark's mind when they had informed him -apparently agreed in private with Jason-, and Clark had blushed, embarrassed to be such a disruption to these kind people's lives, but they had waved it away, saying that they enjoyed being here, helping him, and that he was more than welcome. Clark forced himself to listen. It was a little more difficult to focus his super-hearing after being mentally drained, but there was only one voice, and Clark knew it to be none other than one Jason Todd.

He gulped silently.

This would be the first time, in daylight, alert and free from distractions, that the two would be in close proximity. Last night was an exception, and Clark felt his cheeks redden at the intimate conversation he and Jason had shared. He could just go to bed, to nap, but that would make it seem as though he was _scared_ of Jason, which wasn't true. No, really, it wasn't. Sleeping...as tired as he was, Clark didn't want to, not just yet. Sleep was the period where the mind let down its guards, and the last thing Clark wanted was to have a panic attack, a flashback, especially with Jason around. He could leave, but Jason probably knew he was here. He could just enter the living room, but that would be rude without saying hello, and a little awkward too, if Jason was doing whatever in the kitchen- _cooking_ , and he just sat there, tired but unwilling to sleep, awake but not focused enough to read. Clark tried again - how about the garden? The weather was lovely, as usual, but to get to the garden, he'd have to go past the kitchen, and that meant Jason. What would he even _do_ in the garden - read? Sit? Jason would observe him, for sure. Clark tugged and fumbled with the cuff of his shirt - Jason would have known by now of his arrival, and yet the man had chosen to stay in the kitchen, out of sight, waiting for Clark to make the first move.

Clark sighed to himself. Why he had to make life so difficult for himself, he just didn't know.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way to the kitchen-

only to be confronted with rows and _rows_ , of _cupcakes_.

Cupcakes, cookies, strange patty like deserts - Jason's kitchen was big and spacious, and not an inch went uncovered by food.

Clark stared, only looking up to Jason's greeting, as if this was just another day for him.

"About damn time. Stress-baking. Sit already, try this lot." The man waved Clark across to one of the barstool chairs, and Clark sat, a little bewildered at the sight, flour dusting Jason's hair. "What are yo-"

"No talking, just eat." Jason ordered, shuffling three rows of various delights at Clark, who hesitantly picked one up, noticing how _excited_ Jason looked, and ate on-

 _Oh my God_ \- Clark closed his eyes as strawberry and light cream entered his mouth, not noticing how Jason grinned in approval. "Jesus, Jason, this...this is incredible!"

It was the damn truth. "Here, try this, then this one, and oh-don't forget the Hesehia."

And so, for the next few minutes, Clark stuffed himself full on cake, after biscuit, after chocolate, _hmming_ his approval more often than not. Jason laughed at his reactions, and Clark, for once not so caught up in himself, found it too delicious to care. After a while, Jason pulled up a bar stool and sat across him, and the two began to steadily eat their way across one whole work surface of treats. A little while later, Jason spoke, bringing over a bowl containing left over cookie-dough to share with Clark.

"Sorry I wasn't around this morning."

Clark paused from his dough-gouging to look at Jason, but the man continued anyway. "I've got a little shop out here, a sorta repair shop. Anything that needs fixing - toys, instruments, equipment, whatever, the people bring it to me, and I fix it." Now that Jason was sat closer, Clark could just about see the oil stains on his shirt, peeking out at the sides of his apron.

Clark nodded. A part of him felt... _proud_ , if he dared to admit, of this young man, in a way.

"Is that every time you're here?"

"That's how I make a living, out here. Every time I visit, I open the shop, close it for two hours or so for lunch. Like to do things the right way and all."

"What if there are things you're not familiar with?"

"I do my research. Library, museum, ask around - if I dunno how it works, either I find out, or I come up with a solution of my own. Either way, shit gets fixed."

Clark swirled his spoon in the bowel. "I..I'm sorry. For the inconvenience, Jay-Jason, staying here and-"

"Hold it right there, Woody." Clark smiled at the Toystory reference. "I brought you guys here for a reason, and that was to keep you _safe_. Looked after, safe, and out of harms way whilst I finished up on Xan. It's not necessary to thank me, and I don't want it."

"And about Xan-"

"Not here. When we're back home, we'll discuss it as the _League_ , properly. For now, all you need to know is that your job is done." Jason ended the discussion there.

Clark said nothing for a few moments before a boldness took over him. "Well, for what its worth - and it means everything to me: _thank you_ , Jason, and if the others haven't said it, then on their behalf, _thank you_ , for all of it."

Jason looked at him, green eyes assessing him, debating to see whether it was genuine. Clark held Jason's gaze, not backing down. The man nodded, satisfied, and continued his exploits of the cookie dough, tapping Clark's spoon to join in.

"You know, I never really got you as a kid. I mean, you were nice and all, but...I dunno, I just didn't get you."

Clark stilled for the second time, and now it was Jason's turn to smirk. "I'm gonna eat this entire bowl up by myself if you don't hurry up, and I'll make you watch till every last bit is gone."

Clark resumed his eating, his cheeks a little red. "Weirdly enough, I can see that. I..I didn't try to connect with you, like I did the rest. It's my fault...I, I think it was-I felt that in a way, you could just _see_ me, for who I truly was."

Clark felt Jason glance up at him, questioning, but Clark continued to look elsewhere, focused on eating, trying to keep it down. "Even as a kid, you were really perceptive. You saw things for how they really were, the heart of the matter. The truth, I remember out of all the boys, you were the one that was most passionate about _justice_ , protecting people. I...I think as Superman, I wasn't all _it_ , and _you_ saw straight through all that."

It was Jason's turn to stop eating.

"Yeah...you did, I'm sure of it." Clark's thoughts were coming together. "People like to think of Superman as light, hope, truth, but you-you never really did buy all that, and I sensed it, even back then. I think you saw right through it, not because it wasn't real per se, but because it didn't apply to _you_. Not...not-not from your background, your upbringing, and I...I never did think, I don't think I _have_ actually, thought about what spouting peace and hope means for people who've _never encountered it_."

Jason was rock still.

Clark wasn't sure if he should continue, and his voice faltered, losing confidence, but then Jason nudged his spoon with his, to _continue_ , and so Clark did, eyes downcast, on guard in case Jason wanted to lash out, not that the man could be faulted for doing so.

"I thought about it a lot, recently, why-why I didn't connect with you, all those times, years back. I mean, if I could reach Damian, just a little, then I sho-should have been able to reach you, but I didn't....I told myself it was because of the..the _Hood_ , you know? The crime scenes and all, and I guess that was a little part of it, but it goes back further. I think came down to me, out of ignorance, not understanding the kind of life you had. Dick...was different, and I think many of us projected similar expectations on you."

Jason said nothing.

Clark wasn't even sure if he was still breathing.

"I realised it was more- I-I came, not knowing who you were, or the life you had, even from all the papers, expecting for it to be easy, accepting, and I was taken aback when you didn't...react like Dick, Tim even. I-Damian, he was..more sure of himself, from a background of privilege despite his harsh upbringing, and I believe he already knew himself, his place, before meeting me. There was nothing of me that surprised him. But you? You....were very different. Like you could smell the bullshit right away. That you recognised the peace and justice mantra was just a front, not real, that if you stripped that away and put me to the test, I would fail, and...tha-that's probably one of my greatest fears, failing and fucking it all up, going against what Superman preaches, an-

" _Street rat_."

Jason interrupted, voice low, steady, though his grip on his spoon was far too tight.

Clark was confused, and for a moment, his mouth was slightly ajar, reminding Jason a little of a goldfish. "What? I'm not sure I follow, Jas-

" _Street rat_. That's what you called me, once. It was shortly after we met, after I met the League. I got in trouble at school one day, sent home early. Alfred sent me upstairs, I was in a mood, started exploring the Manor." Jason's voice was low, almost predatory, and Clark found his hairs standing on edge a little. "Found a room, one of the many rooms in _that_ place when I happened to overhear you and Bruce, just talking. Dunno why but I started listening. At first, it was all good, Bruce saying I had made improvement, and I was kinda happy, cause you know, its Bruce, and I wanted to do him proud." Jason's Gothamite accent was slipping in a little. "But then you mentioned me not being like that fuckhead, Dick, and that's where things took a turn, really."

Jason was still very calm, speaking quietly, but the spoon had been placed a little to the side, and the man was looking at his hands, clasped together, folded on the worktop.

Clark, as much as he hated this, was finding the memory more and more familiar as Jason recounted it.

"You...you mentioned me being a-a... _street-rat_ , and man, I gotta tell you, it felt like the wind had rushed right outta me. In that moment, I _hated_ you, when you said that, but I wasn't too fixated on that at first 'cause I was waiting on Bruce, for him to put you straight, sock you in the face even. That I wasn't a _street rat_ , that all the times he was real nice to me, acting all Dad like and shit - that he would stand up for his kid, you know what I'm saying? So I waited, Clark. I waited for him to set you straight, to tell you to _shut your hole_ , to _get out_ , anything that would let me know that for _once in my goddamn life_ , I had something _good_ , something _real_...but he never said a thing. Not a **damn** thing. Didn't correct you, didn't tell you to leave. Just...carried on. And in my eyes, that was like the nail in the coffin, the silence, the lack of rebuke - that sealed the deal, and I remember now, things were never really the same for me, for me and for him."

Clark shut his eyes.

"You, I told myself that day- you were just a piece of _shit_ a self-righteous d-bag, spewing hope and daises outcha ass, and Bruc-Bruce I told myself - _never get too close_. And I did- _God_ , Bruce got me good. He would get me, honestly, spending time with me, reading me stories, taking me out once in a blue moon, and when he did, I would forget the promise I made to myself, that he saw me as a _street rat_ , that I wasn't his real son, that all this, being with him - it wasn't real, not truly, not like Dick 'cause I wasn't right, not like the golden child. And so I'd get caught up in his love, the affection, and then the evening would come, I would remember, and I _would hate myself for it_ , to be taken and caught up like that. That Bruce was probably in his room, laughing at the stupid kid who thought he had it good, like a street rat, who would always be a street rat." Jason finished.

Clark swallowed, the food now bile in his throat.

He hadn't remembered, not at first, but then as Jason spoke, the conversation came flooding back to him. He was an idiot back then, still fairly new to the game - had he forgotten to listen for a heartbeat, footsteps? Clark knew Bruce taught his kids how to hide his heartbeat from him, Superman, a Bat-paranoia thing, but that was in the old days, when they weren't really friends, still very wary of one another. It was the papers, Gotham elites, that referred to Jason as _street_ rat - Clark had only been relaying the term back to Bruce, and he'd received a severe _glare_ in response, a warning to _stop right there_ , that he had overstepped the line. Clark could see it now, little Jason, already insecure, very different looking from his adoptive family, trying to do well and please someone who seemed to truly care for him, only to hear what he really was: _street-rat_ , and not a single dispute against the term, that the man who professed to care for him, as a father to a son, would allow such a term to slide, to stick, as if he _agreed_ -

 _God_ , Clark thought, shutting his eyes tightly.

No wonder Jason had disliked him so intensely.

For a long while, the two of them sat in the kitchen, still, food forgotten.

Jason hadn't moved, hadn't lashed out, hadn't even raised his voice. He had retold the story as if it were another day in the life of Jason Todd, just another normal occurrence, and the realisation hit Clark deep in the chest, painful, swallowing him up with the guilt. He needed to say something. To put this right - but it had been _years_. Years Jason had carried this around with him, believing himself to be a joke, unwanted, and so Clark opened his mouth, wanting Jason to listen.

And to his eternal surprise, Jason _did_.

"Jason." Clark began, his voice strained to both their ears. "I...I can't apologise enough. Just-just listen, hear me out, please?"

The man looked at him, eyes a careful mix of anticipation and fury, and mouth thinned, face blank, he nodded.

Clark ignored the sweat building up in his palms. 

"That day, when I came round to Bruce's....we were talking. We..we were still pretty wary of each other, but word was spreading about your adoption, your...past, and people were talking, because they have nothing better to do. The League was talking, and I came round to see if Bruce was alright, and how you were settling in." Clark pulled at his collar, feeling hot and slightly dizzy, and, out of nowhere, a glass of water appeared in his periphery. Jason wasn't looking at him, but he shifted the glass closer, and Clark took it, grateful. "We talked about you. You're right, Bruce said you were improving a lot, doing really well in school despite a few ups and downs, that English was your best subject, and that Alfred had mounted your essay in his room."

Jason looked fond at the mention of Alfred.

"And then I told Bruce what I'd heard. What people, the papers - what Gotham were saying. They...they refer to-to kids such as yourself, as _street-rats_. Kids who live on the street, homeless. Usually from single parent households, the other parent is-is either dead, or an alcoholic, in drugs, or in prison. No-one to take care of them. Sometimes work together to survive. They don't often make the papers because people don't care enough, but every once in a while, you hear the news, that a kid was found somewhere, or about the orphanage, or trafficking rings. Things..things a handful of journalists, the ones who want to right the truth - things they want to speak about, to draw attention, but they keep getting shut down. Threatened. The same people high up are the ones with the most influence, and they buy off reporters, journalists, policemen, to look the other way, to cover things up, to keep quiet. Its only the bad cases, the ones where too many are talking -those are the ones tha-that leak out. _God_ Ja-Jason, I'm sorry. I am _so_ sorry, truly. I told Bruce that they were cal-calling you a _street_ rat, that some of his competitors were tr-trying to dig up dirt on you to use to get to him. Police reports, hospital records, that sort of thing."

Jason had turned pale. Clark felt sick.

" I told him people were referring to you-you as _street-rat_ , and he glared at me, gave me one of those looks, the ones where you _know_ you've messed up. I-I'm not sure, how much more you heard Jason, _God_ , I'm so sorry, I hate myself for this, I'm-Bru-Bruce wasn't interested in all that. He wanted to shut down all the leads _to protect you_. It was all about keeping you safe, away from prying eyes, trying to get you settled and feel more at home. It was never about saving face, or a good image - he told me he _didn't want you to read about yourself and your past on the front page of Gotham's News_ , that it would cause you even more pain, and then he'd _never_ be able to reach _you_. He mentioned that though you were improving in some areas, there was still work to be done, and he wasn't going to give up until you accepted that you were _his_ , and that was that. I mentioned Dick, but it wasn't with malicious intent, not like that...how-how...straightforward it had been, and Bruce...he smiled a little but it was a sad one. He said that you were already comparing yourself to him, and he _hated_ it, but every time he tried to reach you, to get you to stop...you...you..He felt that you were trying to please him, but he didn't want that. Bruce...Jay, listen to me,...he wanted you to just _be yourself_."

The air was frighteningly silent.

It was too thick, choking, and Clark put his head into his hands, wishing, desperately, that he could change time, That he had been more careful with his words. That they had made more of an effort with Jason, that they hadn't compared him with Dick at every opportunity, that Jason hadn't being murdered at barely _fifteen years old_ -

"So I fucked things up, huh?" Jason's voice was strangely flat.

" _What_?! No, Jason, believe me, it was never your fault, it was mine and mine alone, and I'm so sorry, that you carried this and felt this way about yourself! No wonder you hated me, I would have hated me too-" Clark was stumbling over his words, shaking his head. 

"I should be blaming you, _that's what you're saying _?" Jason's voice was a little sarcastic, tone biting.__

____

"It's my fault, I messed up, and believe me, I'm so-" Clark's voice was hitching a little, that he had caused this pain, another failure of his, but then Jason stopped him, raising a hand slightly.

____

There was silence for a while before Jason spoke, and the man took his time, struggling to place his thoughts into words.

____

"Clark..." Jason began, running one hand through his hair. "Listen, alright. I'm...glad that you helped clear that up. Don't get me wrong, I'm pissed as hell, and if you'da told me this a coulpa years back, I'd probably reacted badly. Guns blazing, screaming, the whole shebang. But that was then, and this is now. I've....changed, I'd like to think, and I'm in a better place about myself. It hasn't been easy, but I-I'm doing alright, okay, I've got my family, my friends, and for the first time in a _long_ time, I'm...happy. I've got purpose, something and people to live for, and that's what's keeping me going. My family. My job. The people we help. The things I get to do, the places I get to see. Look, what you said back then...calling me a street rat, that messed me up for _years_ , I can't even lie to you."

____

Clark hated himself.

____

It was a punch to the shoulder that pulled him out from drowning inside his scathing vitriol.

____

"Pay attention."

____

Clark could only nod, ashamed.

____

Jason eyed the man before continuing. "It did a number on how I viewed myself. Self worth, self-esteem, all that psychological fancy talk that I thought nothing but fluff- that's all real, I can tell you that now, and for a long time, I thought that I was less than nothing. That everything I ever had was just a joke, at my expense, that one day, the rug was gonna come out from under me, and I'd be left with less than nothing, a complete joke." Jason paused to steady his breathing, not letting the Pit seep in, before carrying on. "As you can tell, C, I'm still fighting that. I'm not yet over all of it. There are days that are better than others. Sometimes its three steps forwards, two steps back. I'm gonna say it again - had you told me this shit, I'da decked you to the face more than once. A couple of kryptonite rounds too, that's....yeah, I would have."

Jason paused, taking a moment to himself, before continuing.

"But listen. I'm...glad you've told me the truth. Relieved actually. Carried that shit around for far too long, and today I get to unload it, so thanks for that. You're not completely off the hook, mind you - intentional or otherwise, it was still a _shitty fucking thing_ to say, about a kid too, and Bruce shoulda put you in his place, a verbal or _physical_ put down preferably. You aint lying, cause that's what you do, the whole honest is pie thing, even without Superman - I mean if _Bruce_ , of all people, trusts you enough to get your opinion on shit, to call him out on your bull, then I know you're being straight with me, and that's something the Bat could learn a thing or two about if I'm honest. Certainly woulda help with Tim, that's for sure. Anyway, you're telling the truth, I can see that, and I _know_ that cause I barely remember anything after you called me _street rat_. Like, my mind goes fuzzy, I was in shock, and I can't recall anything else."

____

Clark struggled to keep the bile down. _He_ had caused this? "Jason, I'm sorry, honest to _God_ , with all that we've-I'm sorry, truly, and to think you had all this in the back of your mind whilst you were helping us? Sending the League here, hel- _helping_ me, with..."

____

Clark shook his head again, not wanting to look at himself, anymore. How Jason could even _stand_ to be around him-

____

" _Clark_." Jason's voice was a little more forceful now but Clark looked away, jaw clenched.

____

In response, the man moved his chair directly into Clark's line of vision, green eyes sharp.

____

"Nope, you don't get to do that. I heard you out, heard your side of the story, even when I felt sick at all the memories coming back, and now you have to hear mine, no matter what. Good with the bad, that's the way it works, only fair, so you better listen, and listen well. I'm good. I...wasn't before, but I'm better now. Not happy about it, but its done now, and that's that really. And as for the Bruce stuff....well, that, that will take time to digest, honestly. With all that we've been through...I can't accept things like that, and to be honest, I don't wanna think about it. As long as I get to live my life, with the people I love, then I'm good, and Bruce can do and say whatever the fuck he wants, I really don't give a shit. I...can accept, once, that we were... _almost_ something. Almost, and for a while, I did believe us to be _it_ , Father and son, even when my mind kept reminding me that it was _all a trick_." Jason ran a hand through his hair. _Bruce_ was difficult to talk about. "Bruce cared, I know...look, alright, I can't open up that Pandora's box right about now, but I can tell you this: I'm not gonna hold this against you. I'd like to, but it ain't right, and certainly not now. A part of me would love that chance, to lord it over you, and the old me wouldn't have a seconds doubt, but like I've said, I'm not that teen any more. Don't need Daddy to tell me to jump, I've got my own life to live."

"Now, as I said before, Superman, he can go to hell for all I care. But you, Clark? Well, I don't know how things work out from here, and I'm not just talking about Gerebeta either, but I'm willing to give you a chance alright? At least, not to hold this over ya. And if that goes a way with helping your fat ass, then so be it."

____

Clark swallowed painfully. "But it was _because_ of me, Jason, my carelessness, that made you think that Bruce was just _pretending_ -how-how can you even _sit_ there-"

____

"Poor word choices, yes, and that's on you, I'm not detracting the blame from you for _that_ \- still wanna deck you in the face, I'm working on keeping my shit together even as I'm sat here. But you weren't _all_ to blame, C. I came from a broken home. A dad who was better off _dead_ , and a mum who half the time, when she was out of it, wanted me dead too. There was a _whole_ load of other stuff that I'm certainly not about to divulge into today. I had insecurity and abandonment issues _long_ before you and your geeky-assed self came onto the scene, and that's for me to deal with, _not_ you. The problems were always there, and they helped shape many of the choices I made, including running off to see my real Ma in Ethiopia."

____

Clark stared at Jason, eyes wide. "What? Tha- _that's_ why you left? We thought-"

____

Clark was dumbfounded, rooted to the spot, and his chest felt painfully tight. Did _Bruce_ know this? Was he _aware_ tha-

____

"Thought it was cause I wanted to fight the big bad Joker all by my lonesome self? I wish." Jason's voice was a little bitter.

____

Clark opened his mouth to ask further questions, mind reeling from the revelation, but Jason shook his head, voice sharp, cutting him short. "Not going into that today. Another time, maybe, and only if you're a good little boy, since you're one of the few who've at least _asked_. And if you could hold off gossiping with your little Bruce bestie, I'd appreciate it."

____

Clark flushed a dark shade of red. "Bu-"

____

"No _buts_ ", Clark. No " _ifs_ " either. I'm asking you, explicitly telling you: you do **not** mention anything I've told you today to Bruce, not **ever**. I don't care about whatever good intentions you have, or what he says - this stays between us, capiche?" Jason's voice was fierce now.

____

Clark nodded. _Definietly capiche_. Jason had taken care of him during one of the worst times of his life; the very _least_ he could do was respect the man's wishes, not to mention the fact that he was staying in said man's house.

____

"Good man. Now, enough B talk, making me sick already, and all these damn cakes aren't helping either. At least let it be said that the _street rat_ saved all ya asses." Jason punched Clark's shoulder before getting up.

____

Clark folded arms across his chest and _glared_ at Jason, who smirked in response.

____

____

"Too soon?"

____

"Too soon."

____

The man's grin grew bigger, even as Clark failed to hide a smile, and the atmosphere turned comfortable once more. "Gotta coupla hours to kill, whadaya wanna do?"

____

Clark stilled, unable to hide the movement from Jason, and the man stopped across from him, looking at him right in the eye.

"Ehh.." he stuttered, voice lame.

____

"Clark, you need to rest." No beating around the bush. Jason's open invitation was _not_ open for debate, and Clark felt a little hurt, having being lulled by the deception.

____

"I'm fine." Clark automatically responding, wanting to shut down this line of conversation _immediately_ , but Jason wouldn't be deterred.

____

The _I'm fine_ was a lie, and they both knew it.

____

"Like hell you are. Go on, off you go-"

____

"Honestly Jason, I don't nee-"

____

"Stop talking shit and get upsta-"

____

" _ **I said I'm fine, goddamnit, I'm fucking fine!**_ " Clark roared, on the edge, and in that moment, all that could be heard was silence.

____

Clark stared at the ground.

____

Jason stared at Clark, unmoving.

____

"I'm fine." Clark whispered after a while, eyes boring into the table. He was dreading it, deep down. Having to sleep, alone, in the darkness, where _she_ could overpower him once again-

____

Jason came into his line of vision then, tapping a finger to lift Clark's chin, but Clark couldn't meet his eyes. "Clark. I know you haven't been coping."

____

Clark turned away. "Lielr."

____

Jason nodded. "Lielr."

____

"He had no right-" Clark's voice was painfully hoarse and Jason winced inside at the sound.

____

"Absolutely, and _yet_ I don't believe the Clark Kent I've heard of would _spit in the face_ of someone whose gone out of their way to care so much."

____

Clark clamped his mouth shut. His eyes were stinging. Jason took his lack of reply as permission to continue. 

____

"Lielr's a great guy, and that's outside of being a doctor too. He cares for people, and you're right, doctor-patient confidentiality and all that. _Lielr_ told me because he thought I should know, since _I asked him_ to look after you, explaining a little of your condition on your arrival, and entrusted you into his very care. If I _didn't_ trust him, or doubted his capabilities even for a second, then believe me, we wouldn't be having this conversation. And _no_ , me asking you _not_ to tell Bruce about my Joker escapades or our little talk is _not_ the same thing, not even close, cause all Lielr wants to do is _help_ you, and I don't trust Bruce as far as I could throw the bastard, so don't you dare start making comparisons, you hear me?."

____

Clark's eyelashes were wet.

____

"You haven't been coping well, not at all. Eating, only barely - our impromptu diabetes session was a one-off, doesn't count. Your sleep's shit, barely slept four hours straight last night, and yes, I know because I stayed awake. Can never sleep straight after a multiverse travel, no matter how groggy I am, so it takes a while. So. eating, the bare minimum. Sleep restless, you've got bags under your eyebags. Difficulty concentrating. And I understand from Lielr that you've been getting panic attacks - all these things point to classic PTSD. Please, do correct me if I'm wrong." Jason's voice was gentle, a touch teasing.

____

Clark could only breathe at this point. "I-I am trying, _God_ , I am, I swear, its just....." He tugged at his hair, frustrated.

____

"I know you are, Clark, and you're doing a great job. But the flashbacks, the panic attacks - they need dealing with, or else shit will just get worse. You been talking to anyone about it?"

____

"J'o-" Clark paused, clumsily wiping a tear that had escaped. "J'onn. Today."

____

"My man. Is it helping, do you think? Talking therapy? Or too early to tell?" Jason kept his voice soft.

____

"Not sure. Maybe." Clark's voice was thick with tears.

____

"Alright then. How bout this - have a couple more sessions with him, and if you're up to it, we can review where you're at together, and if you'd like to continue. Sound alright to you?"

____

Another tear escaped, and this time Clark put a hand to his eyes, nodding, throat tight.

____

"Good job. Not gonna force you to sleep, alright? You have my word. Instead, here's what were gonna do. I'm gonna stay here, clear this place away, maybe prepare a few things for tomorrow, and you are gonna go to the sitting room and chill for few hours before dinner with the League in the evening. Don't have to sleep, you can read, think, heck, if you wanna go out, so be it. I'll be in the kitchen, I'm not leaving, and if you need anything, just holla "Jason's the best" and I'll coming running, alright?"

____

Clark smiled. "Alright. I-I can do that." He stuttered a little, voice wet. He didn't want to be alone.

____

"My man. Let's go. You checked out the attic yet? I _know_ you have, pretty sweet isn't it? Tomorrow, if you're up to it, I'll take you round a little, there's the water-eye, the Mwiqi, Roasted pigiir, all sorts that the League haven't seen yet. But only if you want. So, here."

____

Jason lightly steered Clark to a comfortable spot in the living room whilst he dug selected some of his favorite works, a few novels, a blanket, and placed them by Clark's side, before crouching down on his toes to meet Clark at eye-level, whose head was still bowed, shy and quietly embarrassed.

____

"No need to be embarrassed, big guy. You're just stuck in a rut at the moment, but give it time, and things will sort itself out. You hang in there."

____

Patting Clark's knee, Jason took his leave.

____

 

It was a short while later before the giant man's snores drifted into the quiet expanse of the now-clean kitchen, and the sound made Jason smile a little, sipping away at his sweet tea as he continued reading. 

____

It wasn't long before dinner, and if last night was any indication, tonight was to be another round of surprises.

____


	43. Dinner of the Past: Fresh wounds, part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason opens up.

Clark fiddled nervously with his cuffs. Beside him, Jason was quiet. A little pensive perhaps, but Clark couldn't be sure. They were outside Lielr's house, waiting to be let in, and now, as Clark sneaked in another glance to his companion, he realised that this was the first time he'd seen Jason like this. Anxious but controlled. Eyes sharper than usual, taller than ever, though Clark knew he was barely two inches taller. Hands in pockets, the man looked...braced for something, as if tonight was going to be _different_ , now that yesterday's initial apprehensions were out of the way. Clark turned away, wondering.

He had drifted off to sleep a while back, only to be awoken by a smirking Jason, and for a moment, Clark saw a boy, one they had lost, the childish grin and sparkling eyes towering over him. Jason had offered him a hand, and Clark took it, grateful, the man standing almost head to head, and Jason had chuckled at Clark's realisation. It was obvious to both of them that this had been the longest stretch of undisturbed sleep Clark had had for the past few days, and though Jason had declined to comment, Clark threw the man a thankful smile, slightly embarrassed. Jason's only response was to squeeze his shoulder before turning away, himself already dressed in a well tailored navy shirt and matching trousers. Fresh faced, and Clark stood a moment longer, unable to picture the scrappy boy with the fully grown man, before heading upstairs to shower. For some reason, he took longer than normal, and his mind drifted a little. Jason had been back for less than two days, and already, Clark felt....better, in some ways. Yes, sleep was still proving difficult, but Clark had found himself more settled with Jason around. It was something about the man that had a relatively calming effect, the way he moved around with ease, comfortable in his person and in their surroundings. Even the silence was a good one. It seemed as though... _her_ , that _creature_ who had taken advantage of him was herself _afraid_ of Jason. It was strange; the man was clearly well-liked everywhere he went, a big personality for a big man, and yet, the man loved solitude, rest, if the library was any consolidation. _An introvert_ , Clark thought to himself, and he remembered how Jason, despite his booming laugh and interest in people, withdrew after a while, with only a few others, and Clark noticed how those around him, Klose and Lielr particularly, would understand their friend, continuing their conversations with Jason in the background, keeping quiet only to smile now and again. Red Hood was a front, an act, a man who seemingly derived pleasure from public attention by his very public acts - _extroverted_ , and yet the man underneath it all was very different, almost-

Clark shook himself out of his musing and turned off the shower. _Much better_ he thought aloud, and for the first time, he dared to look into the mirror.

Bags under his eyes, worn, but his skin was pink, warm to touch, and despite his general state, Clark felt...at peace, and that was largely due to Jason Todd. 

He made his way to his room, humming a little, to find that a set of clothes had been folded neatly onto his bed. Clark stared at them before picking them up, taken aback by the smoothness of the material, soft, the beige brown jacket, well sown and fitted to his skin tone, a cream shirt, close to silk in terms of quality, matching trousers, and suede loafers. To the side was a box, and Clark gasped at the watch that lay inside- was that a _Chopard?_ Bruce had moaned about not being able to get one a few years back, despite his billionaire status, and Clark had laughed aloud at _rich people's problems_ , much to his friend's embarrassment. Dark tortoise sunglasses, and now all Clark could do was marvel at the items. How did Jason even know his size- _oh_. _Meir_ \- she would have told Jason, of course, but they looked so expensive, well out of his budget for sure that for a moment, Clark debated going downstairs to Jason and declining the clothes, that it was all too much, Gerebeta, his house, the care, all of it. But then Lielr came into a mind, and Klose, people who had told him that it was all Jason, his nature, and nothing could change that.

And so, Clark put on the suit.

The shoes.

Glasses tucked into the pocket of the suit jacket.

Watch fitted comfortably on his wrist.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face himself in the mirror.

And for a moment, Clark could only stare at himself, mouth slightly ajar- he looked _good_. Like, wealthy on holiday _good_ , eyebags and all.

He'd never been jealous of Bruce and his lifestyle, of course not. They were two people with very different tastes, lifestyles, Brucie in particular. But for the first time, Clark found himself wondering, _wishing_ even, that one day, perhaps- he and Lois would go out like this, well dressed, hand in hand, a husband dining his beautiful wife. They had been married for over two years, in secret, witnessed by their closest friends and family, and though Lois had never complained, declaring to love him and his "simple" tastes just the way he was, even with her more refined palate, Clark felt...a longing to do _more_ , to provide a better quality of life for the both of them. Bruce had gifted them an outrageously expensive, ridiculously big apartment in central Metropolis, which he'd practically hounded Clark to accept as a wedding gift, and life was good, but it could always be better, Clark knew that. _Lois would love this_ , Clark thought to himself, admiring the fitted tailoring, relaxed, perfect for a summer dinner, and a lump appeared in his throat, wondering how on earth he would explain to the love his life, the Lois he'd spent years pining after, all the shit they'd been through, single and together, that he, Superman, had been taken advantage of, _raped_ , that intimacy was a no-go for the time being, touch something that made his hair stand on edge and his breath quicken, _God_ , how the _fuck_ was he gonna tell her that he'd been-

" _Clark! For God's sake, quit checking yourself out and come down already!_ " Jason's voice bellowed from downstairs, and Clark jumped where he stood, palms sweaty, and made his way out. Jason was already downstairs by the large mirror, running a hand through his hair absent mindedly before catching sight of Clark, and whirled round to face him, grinning.

"Well _shit_ , Boy Scout, don't you clean up well! You look great, honestly you do." Jason ran a quick approving eye, nodding. He'd had to make small adjustments to Meir's measurements, to get that fitted yet _relaxed_ look, and the price was worth it. Clark _did_ look good, at least miles better than the shitty, crumpled shirts and faded trousers he'd seen the reporter wear in past photos. Clark for his part stood at the bottom of the stairs, face a little red.

"I can't thank you enough, Jason, really." His voice was quiet.

Jason cocked his head at him before replying. "It's a gift, so enough with the guilt and just take it for what it is, alright? Come on, we're a little late, but fashionably so. " He winked at Clark, and the two of them left Jason's house, the air crisp and fresh. They walked side by side, quiet, until Clark broke the silence.

"I'm sorry I wasn't around. I think you'd have really liked the farm." 

Jason looked at him before looking away. "The Kent farm? Heard stories about it, 'pparently legendary." His voice was a mixture of faraway and wistful, with a touch of bitterness.

Clark closed his eyes. "Yeah...the boys, Damian especially, they love it."

"Can imagine why." Jason smiled to himself. "Quieter, fresh air, I know the brat loves his animals, but Tim? Our little nerd? You sure he didn't go stir crazy 'cause of the wifi or something?"

Clark laughed. "Kansas isn't _that_ bad, Jason. We've got wifi, its just the connection isn't as great as in the city. Yeah, Tim is usually glued to his laptop the whole time, my Ma had to threaten to burn it for him to do something else. Luckily Pa had a lot of old junk in the court yard for Tim to tinker with."

Jason chuckled lightly. "Tim and his tech. I feel like an old man compared to him." He shook his head. By the time he'd come back to Gotham after his death, it felt as though the whole _world_ had moved on without him. TV, music, technology - he'd never had the chance to be interested in these things as a kid living on the streets, and there were times that Jason would look up from his reading, people gazing, watching how their eyes were glued to their phones, taking "selfies" or whatever they called it, and Jason would feel ajar, separate, unable to understand the obsession with keeping up with current trends and whatnot. Clark was watching him now, clearly curious, and Jason felt a surge of irritation at the assessment. His voice bristled as he spoke, laced with acid. "I'm not an exhibit, Clark." 

Clark turned red. "I-I wasn't-oh hell, sorry. It's just...strange, how different you are from the others. From what I always thought you'd be like, so to say."

Jason stopped suddenly, staring at Clark _hard_. "Assumptions, misconceptions, it's all the same, really."

Clark didn't know what to say to that, and the two looked at each other, almost eye to eye. The silence was now tense. They had arrived at Lielr's house, outside his gate, and yet none of them made a move to enter. It been going so _well_ \- were they really going to have it out, right here? But then Jason sighed, loudly, and put up one hand in mock surrender. He knew Clark was trying, trying to get to know him, to apologise. Several years too late, but at least the man was putting in effort, unlike others he knew.

"That was a little bitchy. Sorry." 

Clark looked surprised at the admission. If anything, Jason was right. He opened his mouth to also apologise but Jason beat him to it, punching him lightly in the shoulder. "Forget about it. Besides, we look too damn good to duke it out. You know how long it takes for all this-" Jason gestured at himself, grinning "to make happen? _Tt_."

Clark shook his head, now smiling. The tension had diffused significantly, and the air was now more comfortable. "What- you didn't roll out of bed already set? _Weak_."

Jason's laughter rang aloud, cheeks pink. "Get in, will ya?"

And now they were here, ushered in by Jae, dressed beautifully, and after hugs and bright smiles,they were welcomed to the rest of the party- League, also fitted smartly - Shayera, a smoky redhead, whom Jason kissed on the cheek rather seductively, much to John's ire, Diana whom he couldn't stop staring at, breathtakingly so, Lielr and his wife, Werea, who looked resplendent in a flowing gold gown, Klose and his lovely wife Mera, along with one little three year old, Jacu, whose shrill little exclamation of _Red_ caused much laughter, and the group watched the cutely-dressed boy run into Jason's waiting arms, giggling as his favourite visitor threw him into the air, peppering his face with kisses. Introductions made, greetings over, (Jason had brought over several communicators that all would be able to converse in the same language) the group sat down to dinner, and laughter soon flowed amongst the drinks and rich meat stews. Bruce seemed a little more comfortable this time, near Diana, and as time went on, Jason noticed the way the two appeared in tune with one another, sharing a look every now and again. When had _this_ happened? It was as if the League _knew_ but chose to leave the duo alone, and that set Jason wondering. Had Bruce manned the fuck up, after all these years? Even back then, Jason _knew_ that they liked each other, it was so damn obvious. He had even asked Diana one day, in Turkey, why they weren't together, and all she did was to stutter, cough a little into her drink, cheeks red, before cutting more meat onto his plate and encouraging him to eat. Maybe they were trying to hide it, or keep their relationship private, who knew. Bruce had grown a pair, fine, but Jason had the bigger balls, for he had long ago claimed to love his Wonder Woman, even as short and scrappy as he was, even when Diana would laugh, thinking he was joking. His eyes met J'onn, who gave him a _look_ , and now Jason knew it for sure:

Bruce and Diana were _together_.

He felt a lump in his throat.

A small part of him felt jealous. Envious. He'd loved her in _that_ way, once, and not all of it had been extinguished, even now. A right beauty, kind and oh so lovely; Jason had hugged her during the introductions, and she smelled faintly of peaches, roses and cream, the one that was just _Diana_ , and for a moment, Jason could all but close his eyes, lost in the memories. Diana meant home, warmth, safety - _Mother_. Jason was stirred out of the memories by a little voice that tugged on his sleeve, and he lifted his head slightly, only to find that _everyone_ was staring at him. The League did that a lot, the glances, the looks, questioning, and Jason didn't like it. His ears were warm, but Jason ignored them and shifted his attention to Jacu, who was looking up at him, eyes bright under dark hair, seated comfortably in his father's lap beside him.

" _Squirt_." Jason began, voice rumbling, smiling as he picked up a glass of water, and Jacu giggled at the nickname.

" _Red, do you have a girlfriend?_ "

The silence was something else. Jacu seemed nonchalant, chewing away on his roll of bread, as if this was just another day for him. Jason, however, had spluttered into his drink, taken by surprise, and now they had everyone's full attention - _everyone_. Jason put the glass down, face hot. He wanted to melt into the chair.

" _Who wants to know?_ " His voice was strained. 

"Caaaauuuse, Makei and Jyue said that Tomaies and Kudoe like you but they haven't seen you with-with someone else 'part from that woman _ages_ ago and that you alwa-always have lots of-of girls but they're no-not sure and-and its a secret sssshhh." Jacu explained, gesturing with one hand, waiting for Jason's answer.

They were all waiting, especially as the woman was likely to be _Talia_.

By now, Jason's blush was out in full effect. Bruce used to call it the _butterfly_ \- the redness would begin with his ears, spread over his cheeks, and centre on his nose. There were a few titters, some awws, even Mera telling Jacu to hush and not be so nosy, but the boy sat in Klose's lap, expectant.

"They said that, did they?" _Oh my God_ \- Jason thought - _of all fucking days_.

" _yeeeaaahh_ , Peke said-said you're really tall and han-han- what's the word daddy-"

" _handsome_ -" Klose helpfully supplied, enjoying his friend's distress, and Jason _glared_ at him.

"yeah, han-sum, and Titiae likes the hair on your face but _I_ don't 'c-'cause you look like a really old man and Bae said she has a crush on you and do you have a crush Red?"

"Do you even know what a crush _is_?" Jason was close to running out of the room. His cheeks were _burning_.

"Lopo said its-its when you really reallly _really_ like someone like and the girls they were red like _yoooouuurrrss_ and do you have one I like Caspe her hair is nice but I don't think she likes me." The boy looked slightly mournful, and Klose was struggling to contain his laughter, as was most of the party. 

"That's-that's too bad, bud-"

"Is Makei your crush '-ca-'cause Rena said she saw you with another girl but Guempa said you're with the lady who was here but Verqi said no you're _not_ -"

Jason put his face in his hands, absolutely _mortified_ , and the whole room burst into noisy laughter. He shook his head, refusing to make eye-contact with a single damn person, especially not _her_ , in that gorgeous blue dress, and Klose patted him on the back, guffawing loudly.

"I hate you." Jason's voice was muffled, shaking his head, and Klose's only response was to laugh even louder. Gradually, the laughter subsided, but the questioned still remained, as Jacu sat, confused at the noise. He'd only asked a simple question after all.

"Alright, alright. How about I tell you a little story, eh? I'll- _fuc-_ I'll tell you about my crush. " Jason removed his hands, red-faced.

"Yaaaaay, story story!" Jacu was now resting against his father's chest. The League remembered Jason's friends explaining how much the children loved Red's stories.

" _God help me_." Jason muttered, and the room tittered lightly before falling silent, wanting to listen.

Jason said nothing for a moment, and then he started. 

"I've-I've only ever had one crush. Okay, that's a lie. I've had quite few crushes, but I'll- _Jesus_ \- I'll tell you about my first _real_ crush. It was a long time ago, back when I was a kid." Jason held his glass in his hands, looking down, not wanting to make eye contact. 

He could feel the pressure on him.

Shifting a little, he continued, cheeks red. "I..I didn't have much, growing up. It was hard, really hard, but anyway, one day, when I was out with some friends, put it that way, we were out in the dark, in the good side of town, and we came upon this shop." Jason paused, swallowing. He couldn't believe he was telling this story. 

"A shop of goods, TVs, electrical appliances, all that stuff. A coupla cool toys in the corner, and the other kids were by that side of the window, real excited about it and I was too, until I caught sight of this news report on one of the TVs in the corner. I dunno why, but it just got my attention. The reporter was talking, no idea what about but then all of a sudden, the screen switched, and it showed this woman."

The room was silent.

"Where I'm from, we have what we call "superheroes". Super strong, can fly, do "heroic" stuff I guess, helping people, that sorta thing. Anyway, I... all I remember was seeing this tall-ass, strong-ass lady, throwing shit everywhere, black hair flying about, beating up the bad guys, flinging them about like paper towels. Fierce and everything. I remember standing there, in the cold, no shoes, freezing, just watching this woman fight, non-stop - she-she just kept going. But, that wasn't the part that got me. It was _after_ , when the fight was over-this lady, big and strong and so powerful - she went past the cameras, the news crew, and right to the people she was protecting. They were huddled together in drabby sorta clothes, looking real scared, but she, this lady, went right up to them, hugging them, helpin' them up, getting them to safety, helping distribute clothes and food and all sorts. And whilst they were seated together, getting medical attention, this lady went back to helping clear up the mess, working with fire crew and men on the ground to clear the rubble, put things back in order. She didn't say anything to the reporters who were calling her name, tryna get a response to her 'cause they knew they'd get gold by getting something from her. But this woman went right on doing the work, staying with everyone. I remember that night 'cause it was so cold, and my fingers hurt. I..I hadn't eaten in God knows how long, my ma...but out there, I forgot about my friends. I didn't even hear them until they were pulling me away 'cause the cops had arrived to find us loitering. I never saw the lady's face, but I remember her voice. Real warm, deep. Soft. I remember how she towered over everyone else, but she never spoke down on anyone. Real kind, really protective. And-and, at the time, there was this other guy, this Superman kinda guy who was the most well known, he was alright, never paid too much attention to him, but man, when I saw this lady, my...my _whole world_ for a second, it just...it was only when I was being dragged away when I finally heard her name. A real wonder woman, if you ask me."

The silence was deafening. 

Jason was still looking at the table, face flushed, aware that Diana was staring at him. He could always tell when she was looking at him. 

He continued.

"Then, stuff happened. My ma, sh-she... I...got taken in. And the guy who took me in, he, he was kinda like my dad...one day, I came home from school. I was talking to the man I call Grandpa, mi Abuelo, that's the Spanish term Jacu. I had a real good day at school, my English homework got the best mark outta everyone, and man, I was on cloud nine. There was a girl who was cute at school, she invited me to her party, so that was a bonus. Anyway, got home, I'm telling grampy all this, and he-he looked so _proud_ , and I just-I can't wait to tell the guy, dad, the one who took me in, I just wanted to tell him allll about it 'cause I knew ita make him happy, so I high tailed it to one of the rooms, just by chance, calling out for him. I burst into this room damn near running, and I come face to face with this group, a group of people weirdly dressed but they looked _so_ familiar, I swear, and man, I was so embarrassed, shouting for my dad and all that I...I hid behind his back. It was only when he pried me off and introduced me to them as the people he sometimes worked with...and when I turned to look at them... that it clicked. They were the "superheroes" I'd heard about, and they were in the same room I was in, eating cake or some shit, and there I was in my dweeby little school uniform, staring at them...I couldn't believe it, I just couldn't, but they were there, in the same uniforms and everything, and I got so _excited_. I knew only a little about them, there was this redheaded lady who carried a weapon, _Gawd_ she was absolutely _smoking_ , the guy who would have been my older brother at the time-we kinda hated each other- apparently fancied her, but sweet _Jesus_ she was so, _so_ fine, and I was a mess, I tell ya."

Shayera was red. A cherry, delightful, tomato red - even her wings had tinged pink, causing a few smothered laughs from the League. 

"I went round all of them, getting more and more excited, and then I heard a noise."

Jason took a sip of his water, running a hand through his hair. Diana's attention was focused squarely on him, and her gaze was _intense_ like hell.

"A cough, I think, but it kinda reminded me that there was someone else in the room. I dunno, I think I got so excited I skipped them out or whatnot, but anyway, I turned towards the sound, and all I see is _legs_. Just a pair of legs for _days_ , and I look up. And up. _And up_ , till I'm met with this tall ass lady. And as I'm standing there, it dawns on me that this is the _same_ ass lady, the same one I saw on TV that night, and I...I'm fucking lost for words. I'm struck dumb, I remember my throat was dry as hell, and I kept staring, and staring. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come out because she's so fucking _beautiful_. Like, out of this _world_ gorgeous, drop dead stunning. Breath-taking. And I'm there, staring at this lady, jet black hair, and she moves all of a sudden, right down to my level, to crouch on her tip-toes, and even crouching she's _still_ tall than me. I can't stop looking at her...it felt like my chest was gonna stop altogether, and bear this in mind, I ain't said a single word yet. I think it was only when she laughed or summin -that re-started me, and I tell ya, I was stuttering all over the place, shaking, my face was red, and I-I just couldn't believe it was _her_ , in the flesh. Her eyes...man, they were like pools of sapphires, a deep blue, and I-I was _mesmerised_ , just lost in them. I can't tell what came over me, but I know I was either brave or dumb enough to take her by the hand and show her around the house, and we went to the library and read for a while. Probably no more than a few minutes, but with her, it was like...hours, hours I wanted to never end."

Jason's throat was tight, but he found that he couldn't stop. By now, the whole room riveted in silence, cottoned onto the identity of this dark haired wonder woman, one whose's entire attention was locked onto Jason, eyes too bright. Even the steams were quiet with anticipation.

"It...it was that moment, I...if there was ever a definition for crush, that was it. In fact, forget crush - I..I was in fucking _love_. Up to that point, I ain't ever known what love was before, I knew my Ma cared for me, but love? Shit, that day... that was the first time I truly fell in love. Calling it a crush was a piss-take, it was full blown love, admiration, it didn't cross my mind that she was a grown woman several years olda then me. I told the guy I called dad at the time, that if he didn't marry her, I'd never talk to him again - I mean, c'mon. They weren't... I'da loved to see them together... they laughed, I think, the group she was with, but I was dead serious. Either he married her or I did it, that was that. I was being generous by giving the man a head start."

Both Diana and Bruce's face were a deep red.

Jason paused for a moment, his chest hammering. He couldn't look up.

"From then on, the woman began a part of my life. I...I _had_ to see her, just had to. It was as necessary as _breathing_...so my...dad at the time arranged for me to visit her one weekend cause she lived in London. And so the first time, I got on a plane, in my little seat in this fancy class, and all the while I was shaking. Nervous. Real anxious. I had made _sure_ to be on my best behaviour so I could go. My grandpa helped me pack, kept telling me to just relax, but I couldn't, not really. And then we arrived in London, and she was standing there in that white dress, waiting, and she saw me and...and my heart, it felt like it burst, and I just remember running to meet her, running and being swept up in her embrace, and just holding on to her, cause she was so warm, and she smelled like peaches, peaces and roses and cream, and even though I barely knew her, it was like yesterday seeing her. She took me to her place, fancy as hell in this big city apartment, and at first I was too afraid to sit, to even touch anything, but then she welcomed me in, slowly. A coupla books, activities to do, and real quickly, I found myself relaxing. It wasn't the stuff she had-I-I-we, my Ma and I..we were dirt ass poor, and I grew up not..understanding material wealth, any of that - just being able to eat was more than enough for me-, but with this woman...she'd make you feel as though you were _priceless_ , the most precious thing on earth. She...I dunno how but she..she opened me up. Made me feel safe. Loved. Wanted. And-and that, she became everything to me, just...."

Jason couldn't speak for a long, long moment. The memories were pouring in thick. On the other side of the table, Diana's eyes were round, shiny with tears, and Shayera discretely reached out with one hand to take her friend's own in the other. Bruce, for his part, had sat a little rooted to the core. The relationship that Diana and Jason had once shared was extraordinary, and as he sat listening, his own chest began to hurt, wondering why he, and the child he'd brought home, to raise as his own, had failed to connect in comparison.

"You gotta understand...it..this woman, she....she was...it became our thing, our family thing, like two parents sharing custody of their kid. My..dad, he'd-he'd have me most of the time, but this woman...she became my Ma. I saw her one week-end a month, and a few times in between. My...memory, its a little patchy in places, but I remember. Trips abroad, but it-it was never going to places or doing cool things that made her special - it was just _her_ , being around her, her kindness, how she treated people - that put her on top in my eyes. I remember her teaching me Greek, Spanish, Latin. Teaching me how to dance. Helping to braid her hair. Cooking lessons in her kitchen. I learnt more about my own culture and heritage that I did with my Ma growing up. This woman...my love for her changed. I went from being in love with her to seeing her as..as a _Mother_ , one who'd tuck me in at night, teach me stuff. A Mother I never had, heck I didn't even know Mothers were supposed to be like that. She...she was it."

A tear escaped Jason's eye but he was too far consumed in the memories to notice.

"And for two years or so, that's how it went. Monthly visits with my new Mom, at the very least. I...with her, I was free. I felt I could tell her anything, and I did. I told her all sorts, the shit I kept hidden from my dad cause I knew it would hurt him, the stuff that made me break down in tears, that would keep me awake - I told her pretty much everything because I loved her, and I trusted her. But of course, that wasn't enough for me. I just _had_ to fuck it all up." Jason's voice turned bitter, and now the room suddenly became tense.

Bruce thought he would stop breathing. No-one dared to look at each other.

They all knew what was coming.

"I..I found out about my biological mom. By accident, just browsing through a few files one day. She looked a lot like me, but I took after my dad, dark skinned. I..I dunno what came over me, but I was curious. I wanted to know _why_ she'd given me up, _why_ I had to grow up with the woman I first called Ma. I think a part of her loved me, cared, but a larger part...resented me, and who I was connected with. She was a young woman saddled with this kid that wasn't hers, the child of a man who turned out to be just _vile_....I wanted to know about this other woman, my _real_ Ma. Things...things weren't great between my dad and I at home either. We were arguing all the time; I felt he was holding me back, he thought I was too rash, hot-headed. We...we were at each other's throat all the damn time and I was sick of it. The fights...they hurt grandpa, I know they did, and for the first time in a long while, I was beginning....to regret, being taken in by this guy. So, after tracing my biological Ma, I ran off at the first opportunity, thinking ita be better. I..I was so _wrong_ , so _fucking_ wrong."

Tears kept falling, but Jason still continued. At the far end of the table, Bruce had closed his eyes, his breathing irregular, and blood rushing through his ears.

 _That_ was why Jason left? 

Not to fight the Joker - to find his _Mother_? _Not_ to confront the Joker in Ethiopia?

He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. 

More than anything, though, he wanted to run to Jason, to shake him _hard_ by the shoulders, to scream at him that he had been truly loved, a son, that he _loved_ him, that Jason was _his boy_ , his and Diana's, that Catherine, that heartless bitch Shelia - none of them deserved him, but it was too late now.

"I went, thinking I was gonna find her, and all would be right with the world. But I went _without_ telling this new Mother of mine, whom I loved and she fucking loved me, I went _without_ telling my dad, who tried, damnit, he did. We made mistakes, he and I, but the man was...he was my dad, a father, and in the midst of stupidity and hot-headed arrogance, I went without telling anyone. I found my biological Ma, oh yes I did, and at first, I thought it was pretty cool. She was pretty, nice, successful, and I liked her. But what _I_ didn't understand was this: by showing up, fifteen years later out of the blue, I was a direct reminder of the past she'd tried to leave behind. A reminder that I bared resemblance to a man who had abused her heavily for years, a reminder that I was an ugly part of her past, something she'd tried to forget by creating a new life for herself. I found out she-she was in trouble, in bad business, blackmailed, but I didn't know by who until later, and...again, call it stupidity, teen dickwitness, but I told her I was this well-known hero, and that I could help her. She, in turn, led me to this hell-filled evil guy, in exchange for her freedom, that he give up the dirt on her and her embezzling activities by delivering me on a silver platter. She-she betrayed me, my freedom for hers, and I paid the price for it. All I wanted was to see my Ma, when all along, the only Mother I ever wanted, needed, the Mother of all mothers - she was right there, in London, and in my foolishness, I took her for granted."

The room was rock still.

Diana's tears were streaming down her face.

Bruce's eyes were closed, tight, but that didn't stop the tears leaking. His hands were trembling.

Jason's voice was thick when he next spoke. "I didn't know until later, this guy, evil, sick, twisted creature - he told me the truth, about my biological Ma. And so, I lost everything. Everything I held dear to me, I lost it all. My mom, I left without saying goodbye, or telling her how much I loved her. My dad...I left with us unable to stand one another, at loggerheads, horrible, horrible fights....I lost my mom, my heart, and I lost my dad, my _world_."

Bruce almost collapsed-

He had been Jason's _world?_

Everything seemed to ground to a halt, and his vision became blurry.

Jason seemed to speak as if on autopilot.

"I lost the two people I loved most in the world. The people who meant the most to me. I lost a man I called father. Dad. A guy who would take me out for ice-cream, who taught me how to read, who was there even when I didn't want him to be. I _lived_ for that man's smile. Rare, but whenever he did, it made my fucking _week_. I was the only one who could make him laugh, properly laugh, the deep belly ache kind that would echo through the halls. When I was scared, afraid, he was there. When I was angry and lashing out, screaming, shouting, telling him I hated him and that he wasn't my real dad, he was there, telling me it wasn't true, and that I would always be his son, no matter what, trying to reach for me. Almost every night I'd wait up for him, just wait. I memorised the weight of his shoes on the landing floor, the carpet. The inflection of his voice, the varying tones, as deep as they were. When he was tired, frustrated tired, angry tired, worn out tired. How his eyes would light up whenever he saw me, that small smirk he'd try and hide. The smell of leather and Italian three piece suiting. How he'd turn my "how was your day" into me telling him about the civil war in some random ass country, and how he'd patiently follow my entire re-telling without ever losing focus. I knew his face like the back of my hand, and I-I loved him, honest to _God_ , I did. I loved him more...more than myself, more than anything I ever knew or had."

"I-I lost my mother. I lost watching her smile in the kitchen as she tasted my food 'cause Grandpa taught me a whole lot. I missed how she'd sit in the theatre, watching a play, mouthing the words. I missed out on the different types of laughs she had; the dignitary polite one, the warmer one, and the downright cackle she reserved for me, dad, for her family and her friends. Her perfume parlour; I missed that. Picking out the dress she'd wear to dinner, I missed that. Her training me, teaching me, pushing me, even when I was all blood, sweat and tears - I gave that all up. I gave up the way she'd grow angry at injustice, what she felt was wrong, how quick and ready she was to do the right thing. I missed the way her eyes would... _glow_ whenever we were out together, how happy she seemed whenever I would venture back to her side, how proud she was to say that I was hers, her _son_ , whenever strangers would compliment us. I missed her hugs, getting tucked into her side. Her washing my hair, she loved that. I, in my selfishness, threw that all away, and I paid for it, _dearly_. I lost my life, the loves of my life, I lost what should have and could have and what ought to have been. And, in the process of losing me, I broke my ma, and-and my dad, I tore them apart, and I-I broke them. That, is on me."

Jason's voice broke at the end.

Absolute silence.

Diana now had her face in her arm, silently weeping, Shayera holding her.

Bruce...Bruce was a mess, turned away, eyes streaming, shaking his head slightly. At some point, Clark had moved next to Bruce, trying to comfort his friend.

This had been the first time any of them had learnt about Jason's circumstances leading up to his death, and Bruce was _shattered_.

The first time Jason had truly opened up to him, like this. That they meant so _much_ to one another, only to be driven apart. That the boy would think it his _fault_ \- Bruce couldn't breathe, and he stood up, making his way a short distance from the table, back turned, shoulders hitching.

He was breaking down.

There was not a dry eye in the house.

After a while, Jason spoke. His voice was low, almost thoughtful. Mature.

A man before his time.

"When I came back, things...things were different. Of course, they were always gonna be different, but I think a large part of me wasn't prepared for just how...radical the change would be, in a way. I returned a different person entirely, angry, vengeful. Confused- I didn't understand why I was back. I was hurt that, on my end, the world seemed to go on without me. I was dealing with many different changes at the time, and the biggest was seeing how the guy who'd damn near destroyed me roam around without a care in the world. That alone blew my mind, that the guy I loved, my dad, would allow _that_ \- it didn't matter to me his morals - his own son had suffered cruelly, and what, no justice? It...it tore me apart, it tore us apart. And so, I fought. I lashed out, I brutalised, I corrected wrongs, I punished and dealt out justice. I did what I thought and still think is right, on behalf of those like me, the vulnerable, the poor, the ones who always suffered in the end. I fought with the man I once called dad. Once called, because I lost him. We were on the edge before I left, and afterwards...well, if I'm gonna be honest, I don't think there was much to salvage. Too much had changed, the disappointment, the hurt, the failings- it all became one cycle of vengeance, bitterness, one after the other, and the more we fought, the worse it became, until we went from family, to estranged, to strangers, and then enemies. We couldn't recognise each other. As for my mom, well - my memories were pretty blasted during all of it, and it's only recently, in the last two years or so, that things started coming back properly. I remembered her, her voice, that she meant safety, comfort, warmth, but...I-I just _couldn't_. I couldn't be around her, not near her, not to see her again - I didn't want to see her the way I was, not so messed up, self-medicating to drown away the pain, the hurt. I know she tried to see me but I kept away purposefully from her. I associated her with her little band of merry men, justice warriors, and it made me mad as hell that these people, the ones who preached "morals" and "right" had no _fucking idea_ what it was like for the rest of us, the downtrodden of society, families who had lost sons and daughters to evil, twisted psychopaths, depraved, and I no longer wanted anything to do with her, not if I wanted to make my crusade work. It _did_ work, the crusade. It was permanent, swift, and _that_ made it effective. Had I...I would have continued, but my mind...it was unstable at the time due to the way I'd been brought back, and the more I _did_ , the worse I became. If not for _little Red_ , well...I'd have been long gone."

Jason said nothing for a little while, eyes lost into the flames of the candles that decorated the tables.

Not a sound could be heard.

"And now?" A soft, gentle voice broke the silence. Lielr.

Jason smiled to himself. Lielr was like that, his worldly Alfred, seeing the better in people, always looking forward.

He turned to look at Lielr, his first eye contact since the story telling began. Jacu, the instigator, himself had moulded into his father's chest, very quiet, clearly affected by the emotions of the people around him. Jason stroked the boy's cheek with his finger, eliciting a small, shy smile from the child, before looking up at Lielr. 

"With your Mother....and Father. Where do you stand?"

It was also obvious to the natives, by now, that Bruce and the boy were very deeply connected, and that this "father" was most probably Bruce, judging by the man's reaction.

Jason sighed. That was a difficult question, and he took his time mulling over the answer.

"I..." He began, working his jaw. "I...don't-I'm not sure, entirely. A lot has changed; for one, I'm clearly not the same little boy any more. I'm not exactly pining for mommy and daddy, I'm a grown man. That being said...the woman I called Mother...she....she'll always be that, to me. Whether I can let her in, properly, is another matter that only time can tell, but she'll always be my Ma, if she wants."

Jason locked eyes with Diana. 

The two stared at each other, with what seemed like ages, and the table watched their interaction, none daring to interrupt. Jason continued, eyes still on Diana, and it was clear that the message was meant for her. "If I...if she were here, today, right in front of me, then I'd tell her this: I'd tell her that I'm _sorry_ , so, _so_ sorry, for leaving, and for breaking her heart. I'm sorry that I made her lose me."

Jason's voice was hitching a little as he spoke to Diana.

They were both in tears.

"I'm sorry..that I hurt her so badly, running off like that. That she had no idea, that she couldn't find me only til it was too late...that's on me, and I'll _never_ forgive myself for that. I pushed her away, deliberately, because I was hurt, angry, and afraid. I knew what she would say, and I didn't want to hear it, because I had every right to lash out the way I did, and there's no justifying or any amount of " _Red_ " that can do that. I'd tell her that I loved her, and I _still_ love her, more than she'll ever know. That she's one of two women I'm crazy about, but I won't lie, I was pretty cut up when she took the League's side over mine, knowing what had happened to me and how that would drive any sane person to madness. That as much as I love her, I...trusting her...if it ever came down to me or the League, me or _him_ , I..I can't be sure who she'd pick, but I don't think it would be me, and that _kills_ me. It kills me to think that for her, I'd probably do _anything_ give or take, the nerd excluded, I'd drop it in a heartbeat if it meant her with me, but if were the other way round, she _definitely_ wouldn't, _because she's done it before_ and that is...if I wanted a reason to shut her out, that would be it, and I've told her before - I'd fucking do it. For my sanity, my peace of mind, absolutely, and I won't be guilt-tripped for it."

Diana looked like she wanted to tear the room apart.

"As for the other one, well...I-I think there's been too much to ever go down that route again, and that's on both of us. I cut him out, his city and everything save little Red and mi Abuelo, and being away has done so much good for me over these two years, honestly I shoulda left earlier. I agreed to help these guys because I'm too much of a pushover to say no to Lil' Red. Even if I couldn't have made our deal...if that skinny twerp had asked me to do it for _him_ , and him _alone_ , then I would have been hard pressed to deny him. We, dad and I,...we tried, I think. The fighting, the mock interventions, the talks, even working as allies at one point, but it always ended the same way. Peace for a while and then it would build up, the resentment, the anger, the hurt, til it came lashing out with hateful words and bloody fists, and we would go on our own way, tryna lick our wounds. Eventually that shit gets exhausting, and I know he felt the same way. It was wearing on him as much as it wore on me, and became obvious that we were giving up on each other. I came to realise that he'd never change, not even for me, and that pushed me away. He realised that the boy he lost was no more, that I couldn't just go on back to normal, re-joining the fold like before, that we'd failed, father and son. I went away for two years, and I'm telling you, the number of times I thought about him is less than a handful. Got a job, friends, a few I care about, and that has given me purpose, something to look forward to. Its helped stabilise my mind, and focused my energy on something more productive. So where do we stand?"

Jason paused, allowing the words to sink in.

" _We_ don't." His voice was quiet. "There's him, and there's me, living our lives, getting shit done. But-"

Another pause.

Bruce, for his part, felt as though someone had stabbed him in the chest. He...he didn't _want_ this. No, no he _didn't_. He...missed his _son_.

He wanted Jason _back_.

"It seems as though we have someone in common." Jason took the opportunity to drink a little of his water here, the meaning quickly dawning on them all.

 _Diana_.

Jason _knew_.

Bruce felt his skin flush.

The woman in question turned red, and Jason smirked to himself. She glared at him but he didn't care.

"If I'm gonna have _her_ in my life, then it appears as though this guy comes too, which is tricky as we don't want nuttin' to do with each other. So now it boils down to the age old question-" Jason returned his focus to Diana. "Him or me?"

Diana narrowed her eyes. A warning, but Jason was Jason, and for him, that meant pushing buttons.

"Gotta decide 'cause it will always be a point of contention between us. Sooner or later, that is what it'll come down to. Him, or me? If it got so bad that _that_ was the ultimatum given, or only one of us could be saved, then which would it be? Lover or son? I've stayed away for a long while, but if you _insist_ on us both being a part of your life, then understand things are bound to come to a head, and then you'll be forced to step in. And when you do, the _moment_ you do, you'll validate one, and hurt the other. For what it's worth, if that happens, understand this: I won't back down. I'm not like before, weak and emotionally driven. That kid is gone. I'm in much better control of my faculties, and if I have reason to, then I will act, and my actions are more of the _permanent_ variety, if you get my drift."

Bruce was staring at Jason, heart beating erratically at the implication, but the man was rather relaxed in his chair, as if he hadn't been pouring out his soul just a few moments ago. He was looking at Diana, who was visibly angry, and the room was tense, on edge.

"Diana why don't we-" Clark began, wanting to ease the tension, but Diana cut him off swiftly, eyes locked on Jason.

"You think you have any say on who or what I want in _my_ life?" Her voice was dangerous. The rest of the room was now forgotten, and Mother and son were deep in conversation.

Clark tried again. "Maybe this-"

"You didn't think it'll be _that_ easy, did you? Get with him, think that I'd be okay with it just because its _you_? In as much as I love you, I'm far from an idiot-"

"You have no idea what you're asking- so _childish_ -"

"A child, is that what we're doing now, hmm? Bit late for that isn't it? I'm asking you _now_ so I can know whether to cut my losses or not-"

"Are you are _that_ willing to throw it all away, _again_? That in your _pride_ -" Diana's voice was bitter, and Jason flared up at hearing the venom.

"You're gonna throw that back in my face, really? Of all people to say that- shit babe, maybe I wasn't so wrong after all!" Jason lashed out, and now Diana was upstanding, furious.

"Ignorant, foolish boy!" Her voice boomed into the night. "As if you have any understanding of what your absence did to all of us, to me, your father, yes, you _had_ it all and you _left_ , and here, with another oppor-"

Jason was on his feet, bellowing back. "And me? What about _me_ , what it did to _me_ , what I went through? Fuck, you don't even know half of the shit-I just _told_ you _why_ , what it cost me, what its _taken me to get to this fucking stage of my life and now I'm proud to want to know where I stand?_ Diana, Bruce and I- we almost _killed_ each other! Don't you get that? Or is the _dick_ just that fucking good-"

_**SLAP.** _

The sound cut through the air, and it seemed as though everything froze. 

Diana's hand still mid air, eyes full of fury, before melting away to alarm, Jason's cheek red and angry, and the room, still, shocked into silence.

No-one spoke.

"Guess you've made your choice after all." 

"Jason I-"

Jason stared at Diana, nodding a little, face on fire. "And here I was thinking this time, it would be _different_. Fool me once and all that jazz."

"Pleas-"

 

 

And with that, Jason left.


	44. When she loved me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark does a little thinking of his own, Jason has a moment, and the Ani'woen festival brings a certain pair together.

_Early morning._

Across opposite ends of the town, two men lay awake in bed.

Blue eyes blinked slowly, tossing slowly now and again.

One couldn't afford the downtime these days - his body wasn't getting any younger, after all.

Another pair of eyes, sea green, stared at the ceiling, hands behind his head.

 _I love you_ and _can I trust you_ , _we?_ \- floated around his head - the events of night had kept replaying over and over, and he'd barely had any sleep.

Almost around the same time, the two men arose, one fitting himself in a dressing gown, the other waving a hand through his thick hair tiredly, padding downstairs weary and drained.

They pottered around the kitchen, the older one swearing under his breath as he fiddled with what he presumed to be the kettle, the younger man moving effortlessly, as if on autopilot.

A strong black coffee with a dash of cream, one sweet tea, a splash of whisky to even out the taste.

Both sets of sliding doors opened, and the two stood in their respective gardens, listening to the tutting of the Yamato trees that surrounded them, sky a light pink.

One made their way to a garden bench, sitting heavily, easing a recovering ankle injury.

The other paced a little on the patio, one hand cupping the beverage, the other stroking his beard.

At one point, their eyes shut, and for a moment, Clark swore that the two could be nothing less than father and son, even with the difference in skin tone.

A pale white against deep brown, cool and distant, warm and hearty.

They looked _exactly_ the same, and for the first time, Clark understood _why_ the Bruce, despite his declaration, could never truly stop loving Jason.

Not really, deep down inside, underneath the hate, the betrayal, the anger, the disappointment - in the thick weave of lies and hurt, the _pain_ \- even where Clark sat, far on the Lisoe hill, observing once-father and once-son- 

The two had never stopped loving one another.

It was interesting, Clark mused to himself, as he watched the pair. He'd given up on sleep a long while back, tiptoeing out by himself through the quietness of the Decaede valleys, dipping his feet in its warm springs as he tried in vain to get rid of brassy lips and haughty eyes. He'd opted to stay over in Lielr's house with the League last night, intending to give Jason a little space, some privacy, and he had, for a while. Diana had excused herself early, blue eyes full of tears, and none had had the heart to stop her, the air still tense and full of emotion. Dinner had ended quietly, and the natives had bid their farewells with knowing, sad smiles, understanding everything, yet saying nothing. It was strange, of course it was, but this was Red, their friend, a man from another world-no, _universe_ altogether, a man who'd appeared out of the blue one day, saving them all, and it was only natural his backstory would be unusual for a man of his stature. It was obviously, too, that part of what Red had shared was not even up to a quarter of it all, that sharing a little of himself had taken real courage, but it was something that needed to be done - and as they had rightly suspected, _should_ have been done a _long_ time ago. The League had drifted to their own rooms separately, Clark staying with Bruce outside. They'd sat out there for two, maybe three hours, not saying a single word, Bruce wiping his eyes several times, tears silent, before Clark eventually stood, squeezing his friend's shoulder, and taking his leave. Bruce had said nothing, not a word, but he had lifted his head minutely in Clark's direction, both acknowledging and thanking him for his presence, his support, and Clark had smiled sadly at his friend before calling it a night. They both knew Bruce wouldn't talk tonight, not like this, and not after hearing what Jason had said.

For Jason had managed to take them _all_ by surprise.

Bruce, himself, the Leag-they'd all expected hear bitterness in Jason's tone, angry quips designed to rile them up, attacking, angry, vengeful.

Instead, what they got was a man who spoke as best as he could, putting emotions and deep feelings into words that seemed to drown them right to the damn core. 

Jason had been open, honest, and it had left them slightly astounded.

Diana, whom the man called his heart - the two of them had once shared a very close relationship, they knew that, and Bruce had frequently been teased over the fact that he'd lost one robin to Diana, and the other to Clark, something that irritated Bruce greatly, and made entertaining for the rest. That Jason had been so open with her, trusting, so sure that she'd never hurt him - Jason had maintained quite the composure as he spoke, but there were times when he was close, close to breaking down, voice thick, the slight hitches in his voice, the way his eyes would fill with tears, and Clark had detected an irregularity to his heartbeat consistent with anxiety. What they _didn't_ realise, until last night, was just _why_ Jason had such deep affection for Diana. Yes, she was beautiful, but Jason had gone on to explain that it wasn't her _beauty_ that made her a winner in his eyes, that had solidified his attraction from the get go - it was her _kindness_ , the love she showed others, particularly those less fortunate, the concern, the protection, and that had blown them away. They all knew of the boy's crush on Diana, one that was still very much there, made evident by the way Jason stared at Diana, cheeks pink, freckles prominent, just watching her, almost mesmerised by her laughter, her smile. Had Jason _not_ thought of Diana as his Mother, then things would have taken an interesting turn, and Bruce would be facing quite the competition, for sure.

But then Jason had called Bruce his _world_ \- and that's when things really seemed to stop moving.

Even time grounded to a halt with that statement.

They had been so focused on the events of the last few years, Red Hood vs Batman, vs Superman, vs the League, humiliating them across the world, making mockery of their morals, stances, turning people against them, that they'd forgotten that once upon a time lived a little boy and his father, a duo closer than words could describe. A pair who understood each other deeply, reading body language and smirks behind light, teasing eyes. Who knew each other like nothing else mattered in the world, whose fights were intense, hot and raging, and yet - one couldn't live without the other, oh no. Dick had been different, you see. The boy had grown up with parents who had loved him, and he'd come to Bruce as a relatively happy boy apart from his tragic circumstances. Warm and endearing, a favourite with the League, with Clark. Jason had been very different. Orphaned, malnourished, easily lashing out, tongue quick to barb, alert and on edge, never really trusting anyone- but somehow, even with mistakes made and words exchanged, Bruce and Jason had changed one another, and their love, if one could even call it that, was complex, intense, something that even J'onn remarked as "highly unique" long ago. Jason needed a father, and Bruce was it. The League hadn't realised just how _much_ the two were, because Jason was never really around, not with the League, not their favourite, Dick - it was only witnessing Bruce's breakdown after Jason's death that they'd had a glimpse of the boy who made up his father, and now, on hearing _Jason's_ side of things-

it was overwhelming, and the term didn't do it enough justice.

That Jason loved Bruce enough to recognise the different _tones_ of his voice, his facial expressions - and the League knew, Clark especially, that Bruce could hide himself stubbornly under his distant, neutral facade. That Jason could pick all this out, by heart, to be so prideful of being the only one that could really open up Bruce, make him _live_ a little - Jason was special, that was for sure. Clark knew he should have known better - the way he and Jason had spoken the day before - it was easy to tell how much Jason looked up to Bruce for his approval - that was the effect fathers had on their sons. Clark had listened to their heartbeats last night. Bruce's had been rapid, stuttering, catching with every new revelation as Jason spoke, and Jason's though slow, had picked up as he continued to reminisce aloud. 

And then Jason mentioned where he stood, with Diana, and with Bruce, and for a moment, Clark _swore_ Bruce's heart had stopped, completely.

Bruce had given up on Jason, he'd told him before, but to hear _Jason_ saying it, quietly, sure of himself, without heat or anger laced in the tone - it was crushing, and Clark could almost feel Bruce reeling back into his chair. 

Bruce had never _wanted_ to give up on Jason, and by the sounds of it, nor had Jason.

They'd done so, for sanity and peace sake's, to live again - the fighting had become too draining, too exhausting, that backing out, saying "no more", was something out of _necessity_ , not want, not because they fucking _wanted_ to, or because it was easier -

it was to _live_ , and that revelation made it all the more painful.

That in order to _live_ again, the two had to give up on each other. Give up, because too much had changed, and neither were willing to concede. That coming to an understanding was no longer feasible, the hurts too wounding, that Bruce was a _once_ , Jason an _almost_ , and their bond damaged, irrevocably.

Clark had closed his eyes on hearing Jason's _we, don't_ in response to Lielr's question, and had there not been a chair supporting Bruce, Clark was sure the man would have collapsed onto the ground, heartbroken. It was difficult to put into words- as if the two deciding enough was enough was somehow less permanent in their eyes, that deep down, leaving was only going to be temporary, that one day they would reconcile- but they _had_ given up, on each other, on hope, the "one days"-

Clark sank back into the tree, now switching his attention to the men once again.

Bruce was still outside, coffee slightly drained, one palm on his knee. He looked tired, eyes a little red, and Clark felt for his friend, a man who had become a brother to him.

Jason, however, was now fully dressed, sunglasses on, light pink shirt, khaki shorts, loafers. The man picked up a bag of some sort, a tool kit most likely, before leaving his house, walking slowly-ah, Jason had mentioned his shop, working as a fixer, an apprentice of some sorts, so he was probably going to work. He looked like one of those Australian surfer models in the magazines that Lois kept piled on the small table, beside the door to the entrance of their apartment, tall and deep brown, a little lumberjack with the beard. Lois did it deliberately, he knew - she tended to make her vocalisations about the beard he rarely let grow _very_ well known, deeply appreciative, and now Clark smiled at the times they'd spend together in bed, her petite form pressed against him, violet eyes teasing and alight with desire as she stroked his beard. He would, at one point, get up to use the bathroom, and return to their bedroom shirtless, hair curled from the shower steam, skin dewy, and Lois would take one look at him before pouncing on him, he laughing, and they'd continue, breathless, warm skin, coming together as one, before a phone inevitably rang, a text, whatever, eliciting a groan from one and a chuckle from the other.

 _Lois_.

Clark swallowed in his throat, not wanting to let himself wonder, to _think_ , but he did now.

That he, at one point, would have to return home, to his wife, to a woman he loved more than anything he knew to be right, and-and she'd need to know, because they were like that, _one_ , honest and trusting, that this was too big of a secret to keep hidden. Lois, who was all fire and sharp, quick witted, not exactly soft on approach - how would-how would _she_ -

Clark closed his eyes.

 _Breathe_.

One.

Two.

**Hold**

**Hold**

_Out_.

He practiced the breathing technique Bruce had taught him, and found it took several repetitive cycles to calm down enough, at least enough to open his eyes.

Bruce was there now, and wrapped in a gown of her own, was Diana, encircled in his arms.

Bruce was murmuring something, and Clark knew he could have strained a little, to discern it fully, but he decided against it.

Diana was crying.

Clark felt a wetness spring to his eyes. His two best friends.

Soft little inhales, dark eyelashes that fluttered against tired eyes, and her hair in disarray, a reflection of her internal distress.

Head buried into Bruce's shoulder, Diana seemed to hold onto him for dear life, hands clutched tightly onto his shirt, shaking her head a little.

The tears kept coming, and Clark watched as Bruce kissed the top of her head, once, twice, before resting his chin on it, tucking her to himself close, tight, never letting ago. His own eyes were closed, but Clark moved his head slightly, and his eye made out a slight glistening at the man's creases, threatening to spill over.

Jason's parents.

The two who had loved each other long since, who had parented Jason, who loved him, and lost him. 

Their boy, now man, who felt as strongly as they did towards him, and yet-

not quite reachable. 

There, but not _there_.

Diana, moreso, but even that was something, and they had parted ways last night angry, deeply hurt, Jason believing that Diana would never choose him, not over _him_ , them, Diana, frustrated that Jason could not yet _see_ , did not _understand_ that it was not one or the other, _him_ or _him_ , that she loved both too much for words, that they were _hers_ , that life, as she'd come to realise, was not always right and wrong, black and white, that what Jason was asking would tear her apart, a childish view of thinking, that of course, Jason wanted clear ground, to know where he stood, but-but she just couldn't _lose_ him, not again, and yet-she loved Bruce, that now, when they finally had a chance to be together, after so _long_ -

 _now_ she had to choose.

The man she loved, and loves. 

The boy, her son, she loved, and man, she loves.

Bruce, after all this time, now wanting to know this new Jason, all grown up, memories unlocked, only to hear that the man thought him a stranger, and that was by his, their own doing.

Clark turned his eyes away.

 

 

_Late morning, E'ema, central South West of Pepo._

Jason flexed his arm, closing his eyes at the _strain_ of the muscle.

His cheek had now dulled to a throb, a background ache, giving the affected side a slight pink tinge underneath the brown- enhanced healing, _thank you Lazarus_ -, and Jason reached up a hand, wincing a little - _still sensitive_ , but it would be normal by tomorrow at the latest.

He returned his attention back to his workstation, casting a critical eye over the line of goods that had been brought in needing repair. He'd opened up shop early, doors wide open, in full view of the markets and passerbys. It had been early morning when he'd started work, and the town had been relatively quiet, one or two wheels heard in the distance, but gradually life flooded into the town, with those passing by waving hello, more than a couple popping in to have a chat. Jason had welcomed the distractions, glad to take his mind off _last night_ , but in bewteen the visits, when it was just him and his tools, the items, Jason found it hard to concentrate. He'd tried playing music, but it gave him a headache, and so gritting his teeth, Jason picked up the next item to be worked on and moved to his tools station, gloves on. 

And stared at his workbench.

 _Come on_ , Jason muttered to himself, and he jolted, working up his knee, in an effort to just fucking _focus_.

He hadn't meant to spill so much. Not to _them_ , fuck no, not _her_ , and certainly not _him_ for pete's sakes.

Jason had always prided himself on staying in control these past two, three years. Control, composed, calm, collected, driven. Focus gave his mind clarity. Sanity held his stay grounded. Keeping the emotions in, shaping them, channeling them - that gave him a control that his teachers would have been proud of. But when it came to them, to _her_ , _Bruce_ \- _God_ , Jason was growling now, and he stood abruptly, bench creaking, and hunched over the table, struggling to get a hold of himself.

He had made her _cry_.

A woman who had been nothing but good, and kind and warm and oh so _loving_ \- he, Jason Todd, made her cry, made her weep, and then to top it off - he _insulted her_ , as crude as it was, a cheap shot that he _knew_ she, _they_ didn't deserve, and it was _cruel_.

He made _Bruce_ cry, and for some reason, Jason's chest was fluttering painfully with the thought.

At one point, he'd have been smug as hell to see Bruce like this. Rubbing it in his face, delighting in his pain, in being able to wound him like this, to one up him.

That was then, when he was an unstable boy, wanting his father's attention, anything to make Bruce feel and hate and _suffer_ like he did.

But this wasn't then.

It...seeing B-Bruce like _that_ , completely broken up, back to the group, shoulder's hitching, trembling - it _did_ something to Jason, and he'd only just about managed to remain calm that night, barely holding himself in one piece. That it had all had to come fucking out, just how much he _loved_ Bruce, once, that-that man was the the world to him, his smile, his eyes,-every _fucking_ thing and now Jason felt blood rushing to his ears, face hot. He was _embarrassed_ , a little mortified, but the way Bruce had reacted.....

He hadn't been expecting _that_ , not really.

They'd given up on each other long ago, but on seeing the man like that, the-what did Tim call it-brokenness, so bent over and grief stricken-

it did something to him, sitting in that chair, and Jason didn't understand why.

It was true - he no longer sought Bruce's attention, and hadn't for a long time. He had indeed moved on, and was happy. He'd barely thought about Bruce over the years. 

But then he just _had_ to take this job, and he'd done really well at the beginning - kept calm, professional, everything, and even when shit hit the fan, still, he'd kept it together, ignoring Bruce's silent disapproval, the uncertainty-

Jason swore under his breath, shaking his head - maybe his drink was spiked, yeah, or maybe one of them had cast a fucking spell or whatever, m-maybe it was the tiredness or just letting his guard down, but Jason grew white hot now, for opening himself up like that - he'd been doing it quite a bit lately, with Clark especially.

" _Fuck_." Jason whispered. He needed to reel this in, to go back to-

but... _Clark_.

Whatever it was, the two had gotten along very well. Clark was easy to tease, and to his eternal surprise, a great sport. Good literary tastes, and, even with their respective differences, pretty chill to hang with, even with the shit he was going through. He.... _liked_ talking to him, this big ball of annoying blue, he-he _liked_ helping-he _wanted_ to help him, and Jason just.... _couldn't_ , just couldn't understand why, but he just _did_. And Diana, seeing her again, being _around_ her-that love that was always there was now back, in full force. Jason found that at times, he'd be so caught up in the way she moved, smiled, the twinkle of her eyes, the gleam, how she would take his hand, understanding- he knew the League must have cottoned on by now, but damn, did he have a crush on her, _still_. It was never going to be more than that - incest wasn't his thing really, but _man_ \- Jason remembered just how much he had been _in love_ with that woman. It wasn't as if Diana had replaced Talia, no - they were loved, deeply, but for different reasons, and they held a place each in his heart, more than he thought possible.

And then there was _Bruce_ -

 _God_ , he had loved him so, _so_ much-

It was confusing, _infuriating_ in many ways, and Jason found his throat dry, the room stuffy, and now he stumbled outside, not caring at the few glances thrown his way, just heaving, struggling to get control, shaking, eyes prickling-

"Red?" A deep, warm voice filtered through his haze, and a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder.

Lielr.

Jason tried to respond, truly, but all he could manage was a strangled gasp, his head dizzy, thoughts all over the damn place, and Lielr moved into action, taking him by the shoulder, leading him to privacy, ignoring the looks they were getting, past the Faco alley, by the bahek, through the Aeae and over the Muni hill, all the way, until Jason staggered, unable to hold it in, and they sat there on the grass, Jason wetting Lielr's cloak, the older man running a hand through the hair of the one who called _son_ in private, holding him as he wept, hurt, confused tears streaming down, waiting patiently, until the man's sobs gradually subsided, and the two sat in peace for a while, not saying anything. 

"I...I _hate_ this, Lielr." Jason's voice was hoarse.

Lielr titled his head towards him but said nothing, waiting for more.

Jason wrung his hands together, one thumb running over coarse knuckles. He shook his head a little. "I-I just don't understand, I-I thought I had it all together, I...last night, it just, I couldn't stop, and I don't know why. It just kept coming, and _coming_ , and I didn't expect...I didn't think _he'd_ -"

Jason swallowed, turning away. Beside him Lielr nodded once, mulling it over. The boy had seemed to speak in a slight daze, as if on auto-pilot, and the more he spoke, the more obvious it were that these were deep seated memories, ones that had been covered, hidden, in vain effort to compartmentalise and move forward. Red's voice had shaken several times, a few tears leaking, but the boy carried on, as if distant from the present. It was only when he spoke directly to the dark haired woman, Diana, that the boy seemingly returned to the present, flared up, probably from embarrassment, and it was quite a sight to see. That Red could be so deeply affected like this, that the man, the one called Bruce, was clearly the father Red had spoken about - complex was not enough to describe whatever it was between them, and the air had been thick with tension. But Lielr detected something, something he was sure himself and one or two others had detected:

 _regret_.

Jason had kept himself remarkably composed, but at times, it was there, a _hint_ of regret, a touch of bitterness, the way his voice gritted in parts, his pauses, the wetness of his voice-

 _regret_ that things had turned out the way things were.

Lielr had often wondered about Red's backstory, indeed, he, Ishi and Klose had tried in vain to pry out information from Red, but the man would only laugh, knowing full well what they were trying to do. They had been taken by surprise, at first - Red was physically different from Bruce and Diana, but as Red told their story, it was clear that the three of them, at one point, were a family. Lielr had wondered to himself how _little_ Red fitted in - the younger boy bared more resemblance than his older brother - pale skin, blue eyes, black hair, just like the parents, but that could come later.

"Red." Lielr began, taking his time. "I..I am sorry, my boy."

Jason shut his eyes.

"I cannot claim much understanding of the things you shared last night, but I believe that this was something that needed to be done, for _all_ of you."

Lielr felt Jason still beside him.

"I can see you are confused, and I think, with everything, that your confusion is a perfectly natural reaction. But I am sure, yes, that opening up as you did was _long_ overdue. You achieved a degree of closure that I feel would _never_ have been achieved otherwise, and I-we, are _proud_ of your courage." Lielr waited as Jason put a had across his eyes, holding them there, and he placed one hand on the man's knee, squeezing it gently." You may not agree, but I suspect what you have done is shed light on a number of questions both you _and_ your group have held. It feels raw, exposed, and painful but these initially feelings will soon pass, and I think you will find yourself more at peace, once time passes."

Jason glanced over at him, and Lielr did his best to warm his voice, looking at his adoptive son straight in the eye.

"We have often wondered about you, Red. Last night simply made you more exceptional in our eyes, that you were able to keep calm, even with your obvious distance to the rest, that with...quite a history, you were selfless enough to put it aside, and bring them here, to safety. _I am proud of you_ , my boy, and you must never forget that, never. No matter what, you are always welcome where, whenever, and forever should you wish. The same applies to little Red, whom we miss dearly."

Jason's shaky smile made all the difference to Lielr.

"How...how do I-" Jason paused, struggling to find the words, but Lielr understood. _How do I recover from this?_ _Where do I go from here?_

"Don't force it." Lielr was swift. "Don't try and distance yourself, to close off from feeling anything or enter a state of denial, no - that will only make it worse. The past is the past, and none of you can change that. If you want to see them, see them, and if not, then don't. Continue as you have been - kind, polite, and if that is proving tricky, then at the very least, remain civil, for your sake and for your peace of mind. You have said your peace, leave the rest for them, and carry on with your life. Whatever that comes next, if anything _does_ potentially arise, give it time, and be patient. You decide what you want to do, and far you want to go. Step by step- remember, you didn't arrive at this point in your life all at once, and that is the same for going forward."

Jason nodded. He was beginning to feel better.

"I would advise you, though-" Lielr's voice had become firm. A rebuke then, and Jason's cheeks turned red. He knew he was due a telling off, and rightly so.

"-it was not right, what you said to Diana." Lielr gave Jason a knowing look, and Jason averted his eyes.

"No matter what, I did not and do not _ever_ want hear that level of disrespect from you towards an elder, or even any other, ever again. You have a right to your feelings, frustrations, anger, whatever it may be, but that last remark was uncalled for. You are not a child that I need to tell you what to do, but I hope that you make it right."

Jason's head was bowed, but he gave a small nod, a little ashamed.

"One last thing, Red." Lielr waited until he had the man's attention before continuing. "I want you to bear this in mind: just as you are finding it difficult with where you stand towards those spoke about, they _too_ are going through something similar. It does not mean, of course, that you must concede and disregard your own feelings, no. Just...bear in mind that relationships between a child and their parent, estranged or otherwise, can be difficult and strained, even when the love is still there. You have the right to know where you stand, what is clear and what isn't, but remember that life is _not_ as straightforward as that. Again, I am not recommending any particular course of action, I want you to know that. But sometimes, if there is something that is _that_ important to us, a rare opportunity, take _everything_ into consideration before you make your decision. If I may?"

Jason looked at Lielr, searching his eyes, before nodding.

Lielr took a deep breath. "You asked Diana, one whom you care deeply for, to choose. None of us are blind, it was obviously as to what you were asking. You want to be stable, to know where you stand, and that is well within your rights. Understand though, that giving an ultimatum such as that, as warranted as it is, is not easy to answer, especially when matters of the heart are involved. If...if I may humbly recommend?"

Jason said nothing, but blinked. _Continue_.

"Start slowly. I am presuming there has been a considerable length of time for which you have been away, and as with any relationship, it takes time and patience to know one another. So start simple, and start small. I..don't believe you have to accept _everything_ that comes along, no, but if there is room for.. _leeway_ , possibly, _compromise_ even, then that could be something to take into consideration. You want Diana in your life, yes? Well, that is entirely possible _alongside_ keeping a distance from the one called Bruce, if that is what you would like. Tell me, does your job, or what you do outside here, involve being around them? Her?"

Jason's voice was quiet, understanding. "No. This is the first time I've seen either of them in years."

"Fine. So it means you don't have to see him _if you don't want to_. And if there are times when you'll both be present, then who says you have to even be around each other? Take, for instance, an event, call it a birthday. A gathering. A dinner. You could be there, present for Diana, and not have to say a single word to Bruce if that is the case, remaining on opposite sides of the room. In that way, you maintain your relationship with Diana, without having anything to do with Bruce. Its not perfect, I understand-"

"He'll _still_ be in the picture, Lielr, that's what's getting to me." Jason cut in, shaking his heard, voice tight. "Having her in my life means that I'll have to open up the _Bruce_ \- I've kept all that shit behind me for years 'cause being away from him, his city - that all meant something fresh for _me_ , _new_ \- that I didn't have to think about him, that he didn't even come into the picture because he never once _crossed my mind_. The _physical distance_ , Lielr, not having to feel as though I'm being watched or judged, I-I don't think I can return to such a state. We've tried, in the past, so many damn times, and its always been the same result-I-I just can't anymore, to go back to all that, no, and if-

"-if that means giving up a potential relationship with Diana?"

Jason opened his mouth and closed it again, stumped. 

"You said you would do it? Cut her out completely-That you would, even though it would hurt? Are you sure, Red, that you are _truly_ prepared to that, honestly?"

Jason clamped his mouth shut, tighter.

For some reason, he...found that his throat was dry. He'd told Diana he would, back in the watch-tower, but his stomach had felt funny, and the same feeling had returned when he'd made a similar declaration last night. He would, he would....but _God_ , it would hurt, and he'd be crushed if he _truly_ went through with it, not to mention what it would do to Diana, losing him _again_. He knew from one or two sources that the League had been in shambles after his death-surprising as they'd never really known him and vice versa-, but more importantly, that Batman and Wonder Woman had actually come close to _blows_ the year of his passing, and that for a long time afterwards, the two were barely civil to each other, that Batman and Superman were the worst they'd ever been, all because of him.

Lielr said nothing as he watched his younger friend. It was just as he had suspected.

Red wanted to protected himself, indeed the boy was right to prioritise his mental health and stability, but it was clear to him that pushing this woman _could_ very well leave the man _worse_ off in a number of ways than having her _in_ his life, even if that meant his estranged Father in the background.

He squeezed Red's knee. "Just..think about it, Red. You don't have to make any decisions now, not if you don't want to. As I said before, take it slowly, and see how you feel. You can always say no, of course you can, but...take your time, before coming to such a conclusion. And if you ever need a break, some space, you know that we are _always_ here for you Red, anytime. This is your home."

Lielr smiled at the man before taking his leave. 

Jason sat there for a while, letting the sounds of the streams in the far distance wash over him. This, he couldn't rush. He had worked so _hard_ on getting to this point in his life, and the _last_ thing Jason wanted was to go back to the way he was, _before_ , a mess of emotions, hurt and caught up in too much shite to make sense.

He needed to think.

 

 

 _West side Pepo, Ani'woen festival, early evening_.

Klose and Ishi had invited the League to the infamous Ani'woen festival, one of great food and dancing, persuading them that a change of enthronement, away from the tension, might do them so good, and they had readily agreed. Bruce and Diana had walked hand in hand this time, not bothering to conceal anything - they were far too drained to keep up the pretense of _privacy_ , and they'd received grins and approving nods from their counterparts, Clark especially. Bruce had rolled his eyes in dramatic fashion, much to the laughter of the group, and as they made made their way through the town, already full, lanterns and decorations swinging above lamposts, dancing in the street, music playing, they knew they had made the right decision. Tension quickly draining from their frames, laughter in the air, they were welcomed into the large West side of the square, a massive space in the middle, people dancing, and surrounded by numerous long tables, with big baskets of fruit, meats, different rice and many more assortments laid out. At the peripheries were various stalls, _more_ foods, and music was heavy in the air. Jason's group of friends welcomed them with opened arms, waving away the awkwardness of last nights events, dismissing it as water under the bridge. There were more this time, Lielr having brought his boys, tall, handsome men, with deep, warm baritones, charming enough that Shayera and Diana had blushed furiously, much to the ire of two members in particular. Jacu was indeed pleased to see them, the winged lady especially, and the group quickly settled in, comfortable. There were a lot of people, many who stopped by their table to welcome the League, smiling, genuinely pleased to see them, and the League felt at home here, laughing with one another as the drinks flowed. Indeed, last night was a thing of the past, not with John and Barry arguing, Clark egging them on, the women gossiping-

and then, in walked in Jason, drawing attention from all across the square, light blue shirt, maroon shorts, girls ogling, sashaying to his side, and young men shouting their hellos.

One armed hugs, hearty laughter, joking - the League watched as Jason made his way round, in a group of his friends. Already Lielr's boys had moved at some point to join him, and the four of them made quite the impression, drawing admiring looks from many female onlookers. The group minus Jason had secured a table a little opposite to the League, a couple of girls by them, flirty, but Jason continued his rounds, chatting, his voice audible even above the music. Diana's heart was in her throat as she stared at the man, yet Jason had made not a single glance towards them, not even a little bit. Jason's friends, the ones seated by them - they had looked on, amused, but said nothing. Red tended to have that impression, after all. It was strange, the way the League kept looking at him, and yet Red seemed undeterred, as if they weren't here. Finally, Jason had moved round to their side, the table next to them, and it was easy to see why the man garnered so much female attention, at least, from Shayera's point of view-

as irritating as Jason was, he was absolutely _gorgeous_ , and had the personality to match. A number of women had come up to Jason's side, sometimes two at a time, linking arms through his, and he would hug them, practically envelop them in his broad chest, kissing them on the cheek, green eyes dancing.

They _loved_ it, and Jason, constantly distracted by the parade of beauties who would saunter past him, loved it too.

Shayera smirked to herself.

_Like father, like son._

By now, Jason had arrived at their table, at his friends end. He nodded once to the League, eyebrows moving suggestively at Clark, whose face _burned_ , much to Barry's laughter, and spared a glance at the new couple seated together.

All three pairs of eyes met.

Diana's chest fluttered inside, mouth ajar, wanting to say something, _anything_.

Bruce's missed a beat.

And then Jason turned his attention to Klose and the rest, speaking in Gemrele, kissing Mera and Werea on their cheeks, hugging Ishiboth. In one swift motion, Jason had plucked Jacu from Lielr's lap, throwning him into the air, the child's delighted squeals echoing through the noise, before depositing the boy gently on top of his shoulders. Jacu waved a little goodbye before he and his favourite visitor made their way to Jason's table, the little boy earning a series of high fives from Jason's friends, before sitting comfortably in Jason's lap, and eating from his plate, content.

The League said nothing, silence a little awkward, before Clark decided to break it, engaging with Barry. It wasn't easy though, not with Jason being so close by, his group's laughter, and more than once Diana had focused her attention on him, wanting more than anything to reach out to the back that was facing her. Bruce had understood, reaching over with one hand to squeeze hers, softly, and eventually the woman had turned back to the rest of them, relaxing a little.

Jason never looked back at them.

The food, the drinks, the conversations that flowed, and now the middle of the square was a sea of dancing, people clapping her hands, children weaving their way through the adults, eyes bright as their held onto streamers, chasing one another. Jacu had ran over to join them, and now Jason sat with his friends, glasses clinking as they filled him in on the musings of the town. It was Ishbioth who decided to dance, and one by one, amisdt the groans, the pleas, the League were drawn into the dancing. Even Bruce, who had resolutely refused to move, eventually gave up when Diana put her foot down, and in the sea of dancing, the tensions were drained. 

Jason, throughout all this, _had_ been taking note. The League were awkward and tense, understandably so, and he had raised his glass of Oewio to Ishi, thanking her for getting the group to dance and loosen up a little, to which she smiled at him. His attention was soon distracted by the looks coming his way, and his friends, smirking, decided to take advantage of the situation, hauling him up to dance, despite him dragging his feet, laughing and mimicking his protestations. No sooner had they planted him on the floor did the women come hunting, and they did, dancing _far_ too close to be innocent-not that he minded, thank you. A few were daring, pressing against him, and all Jason could do was laugh, drawing them close, much to their delight. Jason had been bold enough to dance with Shayera at one point, snaking a hand round her waist and inviting her _close_ , and _boy_ did the woman know how to move, waist on his hips, back arched against his chest. They'd flirted heavily through breathy whispers and biting looks - Jason would have given his right arm to spend a little one on one with her, _a fantasy come true_ , but then John got all growly and shit, looking like a constipated T-rex, a couple of the other young men of the town arguing over who would dance with her next, twirling her out of his arms, and away from down _below_ , and Jason had had to call time, disappointingly so, much to Shayera's cackling. Another one of the girls Taecu- they'd always had a thing, flirty, too close but backing out at the last second- a statuesque beauty, legs and chest in her gold leaf dress, dark and sleek in all the best ways, had Jason's eyes glued to her form, his hand circled about her waist, and they moved sensuously, Jason enticed by the vanilla scent of her skin, the teasing of her lips, and he whispered into her ear, then by the corner of her smile, close enough that he brushed the soft lips, the chest that rose to meet his, and Jason was about to whisk her away, intent on unleashing the _want_ that had stirred up beneath him, when a gaggle of children, little girls in their little princess outfits, surrounded him, banging their _fucking_ plastic wands against his bloody knee, chanting his name, and Jason groaned loudly, prompting laughter from Taecu and those close to him. Taecu's eyes were bright with mirth, and she angled her head towards them, already beginning to unwrap herself from him.

" _No no no no-no-no, oh my-for frick's sake, you gotta be kidding me_ " Jason was close to tears - he and Taecu had been should have done this a long time ago, but there were always hesitation, an unwillingness to cross the line that surrounded their playful friendship, knowing that Red was not always around, that _they_ wouldn't work, not with his popularity and love for women, and tonight- _God_ , he'd been so damn close, first with Shay, oh _God_ , that woman, what he would do to her if given half the chance, and now Tae-

" _Go_. And if you're lucky..." Taecu leaned in close once more, running a slender hand down the narrow of his back, and bit his ear ever so tightly, drawing her lips down to the very edge of his, brown eyes gleaming, before disappearing completely.

Jason stared at her as she drifted away, already mingling with the other girls who stared back at him, _hungry_ , now that he was free once more, and all Jason could do was close his eyes, hands on his head, muttering indecipherably, even as his friends laughed at his misfortune loudly, clapping him behind the back, and the little girls continued to chant his name, running around him in circles now. " _Alright_ you little shits, lets go shake things up, eh?" he mock growled, face already breaking into a grin as the girls faces beamed with delight, and they dragged him to the middle of the floor where they danced, jumping, fairy tiaras stuck on their heads. All Jason could do was laugh at this point, copying their enthusiasm, that it just _had_ to be him, the guy with the most beautiful women in his life, and unable to do a single thing about it. It was _always_ something - Diana was unavailable, and his Ma, Talia, too, his Ma, Shayera, the smoking hot redhead who looked too damn good tonight, fucking _John_ \- Jason shook his head, grinning to himself, and now started to dance in that silly childlike way much to the kids delight, and the adults amusement, arms at various angles, bobbing from side to side. 

Across from him, the League had seen everything, and all Clark could do was to cover his smile with his hand.

 

 

The merriment continued, and now the floor was less full, people having resumed their feasting activities, or off exploring the town. Jason had no idea why he was back at his table; the boys had gone off to play feore, this realm's version of football, and though he had joined them initially, he was inexplicably drawn back to the tables, and he couldn't understand why.

The League were here, though Barry and Shayera were off on one side, Clark and the rest a little further away, talking and eating. Jason had withdrawn to a quiet space by himself, just enjoying the peace. As much as he loved people, the atmosphere and all of it, there was nothing like a little quiet to recharge himself, and now he found a slight wave of tiredness awash him. Resting against the wall, his eyes roamed the place slowly, and rested on one Diana Prince, dancing with a few of the native women, who were teaching her a few steps of their own. It was silly, endearing, but Jason found himself smiling at the same time Diana did, just tracing the flushed pink of her skin at her neck, across her shoulders, a little lost in the inky black hair that cascaded down her back. Her skirt dusted the ground, a little _swish_ now and again, and Jason remembered catching sight of her and _Bruce_ dancing, how happy they looked, how safe and comforted Diana was in his arms. Bruce, usually so stoic and measured - and yet the man had been dancing, eyes a little crinkled, a soft smile just about visible over Diana's head, who was tucked into his neck as he held her close. 

They were always meant to be together, always.

The fact dawned on Jason now, and he felt largely...pleased, for them.

Jealous, just a little, that the child in him would have _loved_ to be in Bruce's position, but his love for Diana was, for the most part, different.

Jason continued his gaze, catching sight of the star earring that adorned Diana's ear, and in his musing, failed to realise that Bruce, and next to him, Clark, were watching _him_. Not in an angry way, but simply curious, waiting to see what Jason would do, but Jason's attention was far away. Jason wasn't sure when it happened, or even how, but one minute he was smiling to himself, throat a little tight, and the next minute-

Diana's eyes were locked on _his_.

And as soon as they did, as soon as their eyes met-

Jason was startled, his grip on his beer bottle loosening, and the damn thing slid to the floor beside him.

In that moment, no more than a few seconds, the two of them stared at each other.

It seemed as if the rest of the world had melted away, and now it was just him, and _her_ , across the room, blue eyes meeting green, wide meeting the wistful. Jason felt his cheeks grow hot, _really_ hot, that Diana had caught him staring like that, and he looked away entirely, swallowing.

And then he looked again, back at her.

Diana was still looking at him. Gaze _completely_ on him, she had stopped dancing, off to the side a little.

Jason's mouth was dry, his chest hammering, and he didn't even know he was moving until he was half way across from her, and by then, his legs wouldn't obey his commands to _abort_ , _abort_ , _turn the fuck back_. He kept walking, and waking, and their eyes were still fixed on each other. 

Diana hadn't moved, not even a little, as if she was just _waiting_ for him, and Jason realised that she _had_ been doing just that.

The rest of League had caught their attention by now, they had to, Bruce _especially_ , but Jason's focus was miles away, and he walked, and walked, and reached to a stop, now no more than a few centimetres from Diana.

There they were, almost the same height, Jason a touch taller, and at this distance, ridiculously close, Jason could practically count Diana's eyelashes, the trace of her nose, the wisp of hair that blew sideways. Absent mindedly, he moved even _closer_ , tucking the stray hair behind the ear with the earring, and his hand came to a slight rest there, simply mesmerised. Diana's eyes were on his, and Jason opened his mouth-

the words wouldn't come out.

" _Fuck, not again_." He muttered, eyes darting away, annoyed, and it was Diana's turn to respond, chuckling. 

The sound surprised Jason, and he once again fixed his eyes on _hers_. By now, a few were staring, admiring, and Jason watched the tinged pink of Diana's cheek flush more darkly. He felt his skin warm in response. They were...questionably close, they both knew it. Enough to draw attention, but Jason had stopped giving a damn the moment he had walked over.

"I'm...I'm sorry." he managed to stutter out, not caring how small his voice sounded.

Diana's eyes widened a little, then became shiny. Jason shook his head, hating how much he'd hurt her.

"I'm sorry, Di. I-I didn't mean...I shouldn't have-"

"It's alright-"

" _No_ , it's _not_ , and if it were anyone else, you'd have sent them flying across the room in an instant." Jason's voice was a little sharper than he intended, and Diana's jaw was tight, turned away from him.

She said nothing for a moment. "We only just-"

"I know." His voice was soft, understanding, and Diana's head was drawn back towards him.

Jason continued looking at her, and now he let the hand by the side of her neck drop slightly, brushing her arm. After a moments hesitation, their fingers entwined, hesitantly, then more strongly.

I've missed you." Diana's eyes were full of tears, and all Jason could do was swallow, throat tight, eyes hot. "I...you were _gone_ , Jason, and I-I fell apart, I didn't know what to do, my world-it _broke_ , Jason, it did, you, _you_ were gone, my boy, mine- I _lost_ you, and you were taken from me, from _me_ -"

Jason wrung their hands together, his head meeting her forehead. Her breath was warm against his skin. 

_Alive_.

He breathed in, the peaches cream and rose, and the familiarity came flooding in. Feeling _safe_ and warm and _loved_.

"Di...Mom...I.. _God_ , I just- _God_ Ma, I-I _missed_ you, _so_ much, I did." Jason's voice was breaking, and Diana's breath hitched, wet sounding.

"I-I can't _lose_ you, Jason, not again. It would break me, I can't, I _can't_ and I won't lose you, not again-" Diana's voice was strained, shaky, and Jason took the cue, moving, enveloping her in his arms, her face tucked into his neck, his face buried in her hair, and the tears from both sides flowed. They held each other, tight, desperate, as if letting go would cause them to sink.

Diana wept against his shoulder. "My baby, my boy, I am truly sorry. So very, very sorry, my child and my heart."

Jason felt himself breaking down. "It's not your fault, Ma, honestly, it ain't. I always wanted to come back to you, I did, I _swear_ -I-I was so _scared_ , and cold and alone and _afraid_ , and all I wanted was to go _home_ , to _you_ , and-and _Bruce_ but I couldn't, I-"

Diana only held him tighter as they cried.

The _I'm sorrys_ were lost in the midst of thick tears, _I love you's_ muffled against wet shirts, but eventually the tears subsided.

Neither let go.

They were swaying now, Diana's head buried in the crook of his shoulder, lips at his neck, Jason's cheek rested against the back of her head. There was silence for a while as music played softly in the background.

"Do you remember-" Diana's voice was low, thoughtful "-that time when we were in New York? That night, the opening of the _Nutcracker_?"

Jason kissed her hair as he replied. "How could I forget? You were hands down the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes on, that night. Alfred couldn't get your perfume outta my tux for _weeks_."

Diana chuckled. "You looked so handsome in your suit. Oh yes - I remember you kicked the shins of one Mr Gregror Rushimlov- did you know he was one of the major donors to the Russian ballet company? You told him to keep his eyes up top and his dick in his pants before you chopped it up and threw it in the gutter. "

Jason let out a muffled laugh. "You're damn right I did. He was making googly eyes at you all damn night - no way was that fat bastard gonna lay eyes on _my_ woman and get away with it."

Diana laughed, swatting Jason lightly. "He cursed at you, and I nearly took his head off right there." She looked up at Jason, eyes shining. "I would have, you know."

Jason looked down at her, faces barely apart. "I know."

They smiled at each other before Diana returned to resting her head against his shoulder.

"I...I remember everything. Your preference for spicy foods. The way you would look at me when you thought I would let you off the hook. I remember dusting your nose with flour, so many times - your apron is still in my kitchen. Our handprints are still engraved by the entrance Kyoko cave in Greece. I remember your tears, how fast you would breathe whenever you were anxious, or afraid. How you were so small, small enough to tuck into my side. You hated me leaving for the night; one of my greatest joys was running a hand through your hair as you slept. I remember watching your eyes light up in the theatre, your curls as we visited museum after museum, pointing and reading everything. How you insisted on seeing as much as you could, all in one day, to the point of exhaustion." Diana was smiling now, and she shifted closer, inhaling Jason, looking up at the boy she'd grown to love. 

Jason had a silly smirk on his face. "First of all, I was an expert on Ancient Greek pastry, we all know that-"

Diana let loose a laugh. "-second, I know those prints are there- I _went_ to see them."

Diana stilled to look up at Jason, who nodded down at her. "I did, and I was relieved that it _hadn't_ been a dream. The Pit....it gave me life again, healed pretty much all of the physical damage, but it took a hold of my mind, blotting out memories....its only in the recent years that I've got it under control that everything's coming back to me. As soon as I remembered Kyoko, I went there. Still can't believe how tiny my hand was compared to yours. But I always told ya that I'd match you one day, height and all."

Jason was smirking now, green eyes mischievous. Diana gave him a look, swatting him a little harder, to which Jason only laughed. "Deny it all you want, Princess. I'm taller than you-"

"Lies-"

"Your boots add, like, five inches, its ridiculous. See how you have to look _up_ at me-"

Diana was laughing now, and Jason snuck in a kiss onto her cheek, then the tip of her nose, his lips hovering, watching the blush rise. "Glad I can at least do that." He murmured, and for a moment, Diana's breath was stuck in her throat.

"Jason-" Diana was aware of how close they were, her hidden by his broad chest, that _Bruce_ -

"I _know_ , and I'll never push it, you have my word." the two had stopped dancing momentarily, Jason taking the opportunity to memorise Diana's face. "I... _did_ , love you in that way. And there's no point in denying it, I _still_ do, a little, and that will always be the case; its part of me. But for the most part..it's different now, it changed as we spent more time together. Old habits die hard, alright, but I promise, I won't do anything, okay? You..you and Bruce, you're good together. You were _always_ meant to be together - whydaya think I told him to put a ring on it?"

Diana blushed something fierce, and it was Jason's turn to tease her now. "What, _now_ you're getting shy on me? Pfft, please babe, the signs were there the moment I stepped into that house. The man could barely hold himself together whenever you came into discussion, he was always like _Diana_ and I'd have to brace myself in my seat to keep my eyes from rolling back into my damn head."

Diana laughed loudly at Jason's near perfect imitation of Bruce's voice. "You know how he is. He wanted to keep things...professional, and I understood-"

"Uh-huh-"

"Don't "uh-huh" me, young man-"

"You guys made ogly eyes at each other all the time and _eurgh_ , I just wanted you guys to _do it_ already and get it outta your system."

Diana was a beetroot red, moving back a little. " _Jason_ -" her voice was meant to be a warning, but her smile gave it all away. 

"Alright, alright, Imma keep it PG." Jason smiled, and drew Diana back close to himself, hands around her waist. She settled instantly, tucking herself in as before.

"I am glad, though." He spoke, moments later. "Jealous, _absolutely_ , I'm always gonna wish it were me on some small level. But honestly, its about time. I'm sorry it took you guys so long, I know me...going away didn't exactly help things as such."

Diana said nothing for a while, content to have Jason to herself. "It wasn't your fault. We...made mistakes, from both ends. I was frustrated, believing that he was denying himself for nothing. He thought it too complicated, that it were better we remain friends. And..when you left...we-we couldn't stand to be around one another, Jason. We blamed each other, ourselves, for not picking up on things. Your fath-Bruce, he drove himself mad with grief. I, too - I couldn't stay, on Earth for a while, I had to go back to Themyscira. It was too difficult to go back to my apartment, not with all your things there...Bruce, he...." Diana swallowed, and Jason turned her head towards him, waiting.

"He what?" 

Diana looked at him, slightly fearful, before turning away. "I...no, I cannot-"

"Di-"

"No, Jason, it is between us. I cannot-going down that path again-it took us _years_ Jason, years to even tolerate being in the same room as each other."

Jason stilled a little. "That bad?"

"I..if not for Clark, if not for Alfred, and how much he meant to you..." Diana shook her head, turning away, and Jason felt something in his chest skip several beats. 

"Hey, hey. I won't push anymore." Diana met his eyes, searching, before nodding. They resumed their dancing, breaths tickling each other, before Diana suddenly moved, cupping the cheek she had hit.

"I-I shouldn't have done that, not to you." Her tone was heavy with regret.

Jason gave her a _look_. "We've been over this- that was the least of what I deserved and we both know that. Besides, fast healing, remember?"

Diana stilled a little. "Lazarus. _She_ did this-" but Jason cut her off easily.

"Nope, we're not there, not yet. Talia's part of the package." He held her gaze, willing her to understand, and after a few moments, she reluctantly nodded, clear on the proposal. It was obvious she didn't like the idea, but if Jason had to accept Bruce as part of the whole Diana-is-my-mom-deal, then Diana would have to accept the one called _Talia al Ghul_ being around.

It was only fair really.

The silence was back, Diana thinking, but then she looked up at him, almost adoring, her smile soft and lazy, and traced his face with her free hand. "You've grown so handsome." Her voice was a murmur, but the admiration was clear.

Jason grinned. "What can I say? It's been long overdue. I take it the beard is a winner?" He winked at her, pulling her close, and his lips were above her ear.

Diana went red, spluttering a little, and Jason's laughter rang through the air. "If you want me to give Bruce a word-"

" _Jason_ -"

"Facial hair really makes a man, you know? I'm glad you appreciate it, honestly, the clean shaven look is _so_ overrated these days." Jason said this last part in a valley-girl accent, and Diana snorted into his shoulder. 

"And one you were dancing with earlier? Does she share your sentiment?" Her voice was teasing, and now Jason was red hot with embarrassment.

"Don't- don't you even start with me- _look_ , its not my fault alright, it was the timing, the kids-"

"Of course, blame it on the children." Her voice was mocking.

"You she-devil." Diana burst out laughing at this, and Jason flicked her ear softly. "You're stirring up trouble, you know that? I was so damn close as well." He shook his head.

"It was very sweet, I promise."

"I can't _stand_ you."

Jason tried to hide his laughter but he failed, and the two snickered to themselves ungainly before settling into a comfortable silence.

A while later, Jason spoke, voice calm.

"I'll try." He tried to keep his face neutral.

Diana looked at him, blinking, before the realsiation dawned on her slowly, and Jason mock-rolled his eyes at the beam that stretched across her face.

"Yes." His voice was sarcastic, slightly biting, but there was no heat in the words. "It _occurred_ to me-someone suggested that I didn't have to-look, what I'm trying to say is...we'll, we-" Jason sighed, shaking his head. "God, the things I do for you this woman. _Fine_ , I'll...consider it, alright? Having you in my life and with Bruce. I'll...I'll _give it a go_ , that's all I'm saying. No promises."

Diana looked like the entire damn sun threw up on her face, Clark style, and she leapt up, hugging Jason tightly across his neck. 

"Can't, _breathe_ " Jason choked out, and Diana instantly loosened her grip, apologising, smoothing his hair and face, but she bounced on her toes, practically off the ground with joy, and it was all Jason could do but smirk, holding her hands. 

"I...I'm not saying I'm fine, fully, or that I'm all for it, but...I'm willing to give it a test run. A mini, tiny, itty-bitty try. If I don't feel I can do it, then don't hold it against me - I at least have that right. Again, no-"

Jason was cut off by a hard, swift kiss to the check, and he rolled his eyes, flushing, even as Diana laughed breathlessly by his ear. "Of course Jason, you have my word! I promise, I won't force you into anything, and if you need to take a step back, of course, of _course you can_! oh, Jason, you've made me _so_ happy tonight." She stared up at him, cheeks pink, blue eyes bluer than ever, and Jason sighed dramatically, though his mock-disgust couldn't keep his smile from reaching his eyes. If he could maintain a relationship with _Tim_ of all people, even with Bruce in the kid's life, after what he'd done to the skinny dweeb, then for Diana?

He could at least _try_.

"Yes, I know, I'm a real sucker. Harp de harp-" but Jason couldn't keep up with the false self-pity, and he chuckled, faking his _Ow_ as Diana swatted him on his arm.

They broke apart now, aware that the space had been practically cleared for them, people watching, and the League's intense focus was on them both. Jason turned his back on them, chest broad, and quirked an eyebrow at Diana, who was a rosy pink from the attention. 

"Wanna get outta here?"

A little bit of mischief flashed across his Ma's face. "Took you long enough. I want a private tour, and don't you dare skimp out on me."

"Anything for the Princess." Jason offered Diana his arm, bowing with exaggerated flair, and she took it.

Arms linked, and Diana giving Bruce a loving smile, the duo made their way out of the square, heads following their departure.

 

 

 _Almost one in the morning, Lielr's house_.

Bruce sat on the couch, eyes closed.

The League had called it a night a while back, and they had returned to Lielr's house,-Clark to Jason's with Klose-, full, excited, and relaxed. Of course, they'd all seen Diana and Jason in the square, close, and what could have been a confrontation had ended in peace, something that had relieved them all. Bruce had to admit been jealous of the two's proximity, but Clark had given him a nudge, to _stop_ , Shayera had thrown him a _look_ , that Diana wouldn't, and so Bruce had watched the pair from the sidelines, laughing, staring up at each other before leaving eventually. Jason had ignored them, long legs striding, Diana keeping up pace effortlessly, throwing him a happy smile from across the square, and it was the _joy_ that radiated off her frame, her beam, that kept him where he stood.

She was happy.

Which, of course, that she and Jason had patched things up, presumably coming to an understanding, and with how happy Diana looked, that meant one thing:

Jason was agreeing to having Diana back in his life, even when that meant accepting him.

Bruce watched the pair leave, chest thumping.

He would, at some point, be around Jason, _again_ , after so long.

A Jason he wanted to know, but one that didn't feel the same way.

His throat was dry, and wordlessly, Clark had passed him a drink. 

"It won't happen all at once. Give it time." That's all Clark had said, and Bruce had nodded before taking a swing. 

They had spent a little more time exploring the rest of the town, Bruce keeping an eye out for Jason and Diana, but eventually they called it a night, returning home to Lielr's house tired, with Barry having to be helped up once again. 

And now, the time was twelve fifty in the morning, and Bruce should have retire-

A quiet knock broke the silence, and Bruce felt the sleep drift almost instantly as he stood to his feet. A little anxious, he made his way to the door, opening it, only to find Diana held up in Jason's arms, one hand fisted into his shirt, seemingly asleep, her shoes and bag around his neck, and Jason staring at him, a trace of amusement across his face.

"Hope we made curfew." There was a glint of...something in the man's eyes, Bruce couldn't be sure, but it didn't sound as if Jason was being anatognising. He stared a little longer, that here he was, _Jason_ -

"Do you wanna-" Jason's eyebrow was raised.

"Of course, sorry. Let me-" The two moved in close as Jason moved Diana from his person to Bruce, taking a little longer to pry Diana's iron grip from his shirt. Jason huffed, the sound fond, and even Bruce couldn't keep the smirk off his face.

Diana settled, Bruce took a moment to look at his beloved, features softening, only to look up and find Jason watching him, with an expression difficult to interpret. He noted the look for later.

"Shall we?" For a moment, Bruce read Jason's startle, but the man masked his surprise well, smoothing into a more neutral stance. 

"After you."

Bruce made his way upstairs, Jason shutting the door and following a few steps behind.

It had been a long time since they were this close, away from work, and the two were very aware of each other. Bruce opened the door to Diana's room quietly, putting his love down on the bed softly, sweeping back her hair as she drunkenly muttered something intelligible, and the sound had Bruce and Jason smirk almost in unison. Bruce set about pulling the covers over, smoothing the pillows, whilst Jason soundlessly placed Diana's shoes onto the shoe rack, hanging her bag by the chair. They came back to the door, standing less than an arms length away, watching the woman they both loved settle in her slumber, before the two made eye contact, and Jason leaving the room first.

The walk back downstairs was silent, almost peaceful, and it was when Bruce reached the bottom, Jason at the door, already turning to leave, that Bruce blurted the first thing that came into his mind.

"Care for a drink?"

Jason froze.

Bruce froze. 

_Why had he asked that_ , his mind screamed at him. _Look what you've done now, you've scared him off!_

Jason didn't turn around, but his head did shake to the side. "I..I've got an early start." His voice was a little strained, but for some reason, anxiety, an element of fear even, Bruce was terrified of letting Jason leave, as if he'd _walk out_ and _never come back_.

Bruce didn't know why he said it, but as soon as he did, he felt like peeling off his skin, crawling into a hole and staying there forever. "Just one. _Please_."

The silence was deafening.

Jason's shoulders were tense, and the ticking of the grandfather clock seemed louder than ever. _Tick_. _Tick_.

Bruce's chest was pounding. _This was a bad idea, Jason doesn't want anything to do with you, don't you underst-_.

"Alright."

Bruce was rooted to the spot. 

Jason was _agreeing_?

Bruce found that for a moment, his voice was tight, and his legs felt like lead. Jason, seemingly aware of his shock, turned and walked straight past him into the kitchen, opening the fridge door with a _whoosh_ , staring at the items for a moment before selecting a dark red wine, rich and slightly bitter, and another bottle Bruce was unfamiliar with, the liquid almost colourless. More items came out of the fridge, some sort of lemon and a spice bottle from the cupboard. It was clear from the way he moved that he'd been here before, selecting glasses, fishing out the corkscrew, and Jason didn't hide his ease, back to him, focused on the task at hand. Bruce watched as Jason set up various pieces on the worktop before setting to work. In one glass, the red came first, no more than a quarterful. Then a pinch of the spice, some sort of nitrogen ice bubble, a frosted layer, which Jason allowed to sit for a few minutes before starting the same process with the other. Once the second ice frosting had been applied, Jason returned to the first, filling up the rest of the glass with the lighter liquid, squeezing two drops of lemon into the glass, before leaving it on the side. He repeated the same steps with the second glass, and drinks made, Jason wordlessly handed one to Bruce, before making his way into the patio, resting against the white marbled wall, staring out into the garden. 

Bruce, now having managed to collect himself somewhat, took his own glass outside, standing near Jason.

For a while, the two stood there, drinking in the silence, watching the Yamato leaves glow a golden white in the distance.

"She loves you." Bruce held his glass to his lips, savouring the mild, fruity taste.

He'd give anything to have this drink back on Earth.

Jason didn't respond. Didn't even look his way, but Bruce knew he was listening. The ground of his jaw always gave the boy away.

"She asked, when we....stated, in fact, that she was going to have you in her life, no matter what. That...that your relationship would be separate from mine and hers."

Jason merely sipped his drink.

"That as long as we could at least keep things....civil, it, it would be enough."

Bruce sipped his own drink, watching Jason out of the corner of his eye.

Jason didn't speak for a long while, but then he _did_ , and Bruce was _thrown_ by his response.

" _To Kill a Mockingbird_." His voice was thoughtful.

Bruce stared at him, skin flushing. As if he could _ever_ forget.

Jason continued as if Bruce wasn't there.

"I remember when we first started reading that book. One of our earliest, in fact." The man began, swirling his glass in his hand. "You told me that ita make me think. I remember-I think I scoffed at you 'cause I thought it kinda sissy from the title, but then you started reading, and the _moment_ you did, I was hooked."

Bruce's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I told you you reminded me of Scout." He couldn't believe that Jason had remembered so much of their time together.

Jason turned, _actually turned_ to him, green eyes dancing, and smirked. "I was put off by that; wanted to be Jem, but as we read, I couldn't be more thankful. Girl had bigger balls than most."

Bruce smiled into his glass. 

"That book opened up a whole lotta questions, I knew that. You-you were always patient, taking the time to answer each one. I asked you about everything, the _whys_ , the _hows_ , and when we found out what happened to Tom in the end, after everything - I was devastated."

Bruce's chest hurt. "You refused to read with me for three days afterwards."

Jason chuckled. "I did. You can't have that kinda voice and think the story would remain just that, a story." His voice quietened, laughter faded away, and now the man looked down at his own glass.

Bruce was struck by how much _man_ Jason had now become.

"I asked you, what-what if, if things were bad, if I ever did something so heinous - whether you'd let me go. Give up on me. Even when the world was against me, and it was clear I'd done it, clear as day."

Bruce stuttered to a stop. The words wouldn't come out.

"You took my face with your palm and made me look up at ya. I remember how your cologne was more of a wooden scent, old but comforting, and I always felt safe whenever you were near. You looked at me, right in the eye, and said: _never_. That somehow, someway, we'd find a way out. And I-I, I looked at you, you my...I looked at you and I told ya that it didn't matter how old and wrinkly you got - I would always find you, that I'd never leave. You were real touched by that, I could tell, your eyes got all shiny and everything, and you pulled me in real close. That night, that...that was special." Jason managed to finish, voice slightly raw. His eyes were closed.

Bruce was struggling.

"I'm sorry, about that. I..I made you a promise, and I broke it, I know I did."

"Jas-"

"Shut up and let me finish, cause I probably won't have the balls to say it again. Just...shut up and listen. For all the shit we've been through, let me be the first to say that _I'm sorry_. I...I didn't think really, I was caught up in my anger, that I felt betrayed, and all I wanted was to lash out at you. I was a mess; emotions all over the place, I couldn't think, barely slept, I was always on edge. But not once did I ever consider how _you_ musta felt, what it was like for you with me being gone....I never took that inta consideration. It was only through Tim that I began to understand a lil bit of what grief can do to a man."

Bruce closed. "I gave up on you." His voice sounded hollow to his ears.

"That you did." Jason didn't mince his words. "And I on you. We _both_ did, because it was the only thing stopping us from breaking down permanently. The cycle...it was too much, the fighting, the pain - I knew I had to get out, I knew a while back but I held out, that things would somehow change, that we'd _get_ there, but the longer I stayed, the worse I became. You remember our last fight?"

It was a miracle Bruce was even standing. "Yes." His head was throbbing.

"Interesting." Jason's voice sounded slightly amused. "I don't, and that's because they were always the same. The same arguments, the same accusations, my way versus yours, right and wrong, justice and vengeance, and on and on. The same fights, the lashing out - we were getting tired, real tired, and there was no sign of either of us changing, not really. But a few days later, when we crossed paths? You remember?"

"I remember". His voice was hoarse.

"We crossed paths, went right past each other. I saw you, you saw me. Your face was still bruised, my knuckles were still bloody. And, as we walked past one another, I didn't look back. Not even for a second, nary a glance, nothing. Am I correct in saying that you didn't either? Look back, I mean?"

Bruce nodded once, white hot with shame, and Jason paused, reading him quietly, before turning away. "No need to be ashamed. We had reached breaking point, and that's when I made the decision to leave, to move, and it was the right one. It hurt, don't get me wrong, and deep down I didn't want to, but it was necessary at the time, and I wished Ida done it sooner. _Much_ sooner. You were right, by the way. The broadcast with the League, denouncing the Red Hood, saying my acts were a childish call for attention. Looking back, I was pretty heartbroken, but I see now that you were right. I wanted a rise outta you, just like Superman, but you saw right through me."

"Jason, _please_. I'm-I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry. I was so caught up, so-" Bruce's eyes were full, his words coming out in a rush, almost pleading, and Jason looked at him.

All Bruce could see was sadness, and in the midst of it all, resignation.

"I know, Bruce. I know." The man offered him a brief smile, a shaky one, before taking a sip of his drink, calm.

Bruce put his face in his hands.

"Leaving gave me the fresh start that I needed. Gotham had me feeling trapped...enclosed, like you were always _there_ , ready to drag me off to Arkham, just waiting for me to fuck up. I didn't even know I could have a life outside Gotham, but once I got out, and started seeing the world, learning, growing - my eyes opened. The pain, the hurt - I'm not saying all that's gone, but it no longer _drives_ me like it used to. Doesn't have a hold over me, and with that, the Pit can no longer control me like it once did. And then, I got a job, one that's pretty cool, and I get to do things, work with my hands, see places, help people - I love it. That gave me focus, a structure, something that was routine that I could look forward to. Tim...Tim he's honestly such a great kid, truly is, kept me grounded, sane, smart as a whip, and I'm amazed he could ever want to know me after the hell I put him through. That's another thing I gotta apologise for - hurting the kids, Tim, Damian. They didn't deserve what I did to them, wasn't their fight, but I took it out on them, and for that, I'm sorry."

Bruce's face was wet. "Tim told me....how if it hadn't been for you, he-he would-"

"Have committed suicide? That's right. You think he opened up to you _about_ me _without_ me knowing? C'mon Bruce." Jason's voice was soft, albeit a tad teasing.

Bruce tried to wipe the tears away, but they wouldn't stop.

"Thank you, for Tim. He's...he's a lot better now, than before, and he says that's down to you. _Thank you_ , Jason."

Jason held Bruce's gaze, nodding, before turning towards the front again. "For that kid? Anything."

After a pause, Jason spoke again. "Tell the kid that you love him, alright? Doesn't hurt to remind the little shit every now and again."

Bruce smiled through the tears. 

"And..look, Damian's your kid, alright, and I know I have no right to be speaking about him, not after....but they're _your_ kids, treat them as such. Intentional or otherwise, you pushed one out in favour of the other, and that ain't right. Drill it into their heads that they're family, brothers, and they're to have each other's backs, not clawing at the other all the damn time, alright?"

Bruce swallowed. The truth was painful to acknowledge, but Jason was right.

He could only wish he'd taken a firmer stance with Dick and Jason.

Jason took his silence as an admission of guilt. "I honestly...I don't know how this-" Jason waved a lazy hand across himself "-started. You put something in my drink? Couldn't you just ask me out like a normal person?" His tone was light, teasing.

It was Bruce's turn to chuckle. "I thought you wouldn't notice." His voice was snarky.

Jason smiled at the tone, and the two shared a look of amusement, as brief as it was, before silence dawned once again.

"A parent will always be a parent." Jason spoke suddenly, holding Bruce's gaze deeply. "We....we're not that, but I admit that we were, once."

Bruce looked hopeful, and Jason saw it-that hope- it was too dangerous. "Could we-"

"Start over? Back to square one? Back to working together? Braiding each other's hair?" Jason smiled into his drink, head shaking a little. "I don't think you understand what you're asking."

"I made a mistake, Jason, I was wrong to stop thinking of view as my son. I was _wrong_ -"

"Or what its taken me to get to this point-

"But if we-"

"I told Diana I'd try and I will. That much, I can do-" Jason paused here, taking time to find the words. "I...you say you want this, but who knows whether that will last until even the next day? Remember, as I said before, we've been down this route far too many times to make sense any more. The interventions, the truces, working as partners - it only lasts for a short while, and I'm not about to put myself through that, not again, Bruce. We're different now. I'm not that same little boy anymore, not the one who will just do whatever you tell me to do. But: I can do polite. I can do civil. Seeing you at a birthday or event every once in a blue moon - for a few hours? I can do that. But no more than that, I ...can't, I honestly,I-I don't think I can. This is the freedom that I've struggled for since I came back from the dead, Bruce, since _Joker_ \- I get to _live_ again, to make my own decisions, and now that I'm better, stable, my decisions, my actions - _they're all on me_. I don't have the Pit, or Joker to use as excuses. I've been away too long and experienced enough that going back to making the same mistakes of the past is just stupid, naive and childish. No. This, you there, me, here, living our lives - this works. It's stable, I get to live my life in peace with the ones I love, you do too. And if for a few hours, I can't handle the fact that you're somewhere in my proximity, then that means I've failed to grow the _fuck_ up, its as simple as that." Jason's voice was firm, unmoving.

Bruce was looking away, but Jason didn't care. The man needed reeling back to reality - they'd been here long enough.

"I'm fine, Bruce. I'm okay. I'm doing really well, and I'm _happy_. If you've ever held any ounce of care for me in the past, then you would understand that for now, this is how it is. It works, and the space is healthy. Tim mentioned to you to _let me go_ when all this was over, didn't he?"

Bruce didn't respond, but the tension was all in his shoulders.

 _Fuck_ , Jason thought to himself. Bruce- he-he _did_ want this. _After so long_ \- he shook his head. 

_No_.

He couldn't handle the disappointment again.

Jason sighed minutely. "He did. That's what I want you to do. Let it be, and let me go. You make Diana happy, and that's all I care about: her happiness. I'll do my best to play ball, but I'm telling you upfront- I will defend myself if necessary, and I won't back down. Apart from that, well..." He ran a hand through his hair, thinking, before remembering the Boy Scout currently lodged in his house. 

"Clark will need all the support in the world. I'm sure you guys have put two and two together. I..heard you were over at mine, and as much as I wanted to rip you one for _invading my private space_ \- if being around Clark helps him at it, then so be it. You guys are his friends, you're his best bud. Get him though this. It'll be hard, he'll lash out, and have more breakdowns than you can count with one hand, but never push him away. If you guys are finding it too much, take it in turns, and give yourself a breather. Always, _always_ be there for him, even when he tells you to fuck off, that he can handle it. You don't even have to say a single word - your presence will be enough more often than not. When he's going through the worst of it, the shit that makes him freeze up on the spot and spew vomit everywhere, be there. A phonecall, a text, chilling for an hour or two - it'll take his mind off himself and onto something else. That's what he needs, that and someone to talk to, to confront the trauma. He needs to overcome it, for himself, to move on with his life. We both know I'm speaking from experience."

Bruce stilled turning to look at Jason, who simply looked at him.

 _Child prostitution - rape-_ Jason's sordid history, one they'd never properly confronted, not enough.

He opened his mouth to say something, his failure as a father, the shame flooding him whole, but Jason held up a hand. "Save it. We're not talking about me, not _that_. This is about Clark."

Bruce clamped his mouth shut. _No_ , he thought to himself. _No, we're not done_.

They finished their drinks in silence, but Bruce felt heavy, drained, regret threatening to drown him in his guilt.

"Stop that." Jason broke the silence.

Bruce looked at him, confused. "I didn't say-"

"You have your wallowing in self pity face on. _Stop it_ , alright? You-you weren't a bad father, not at all. You made mistakes, as did I, but for the most part? You...you were _there_ , and you were _it_ , so reel it the fuck in. I meant what I said last night, and despite our volatile past, the truth was that you were my Dad, and I loved you."

Bruce's chest was tight. "I wasn't enough-" His voice was bitter, almost angry, but Jason interrupted him once more.

"It was more than I ever had. And if I'm honest, I couldn't have asked for anyone better, so thank you, for taking care of me, and for being my father." Jason held his gaze firmly before throwing the last bit of his drink down.

Bruce felt something give way now, and he staggered slightly, only just managing to hold onto the stone wall, blood turbulent through his ears, palms clammy, heart beating too loud.

"Thanks for the drink."

Bruce looked down at his own, barely untouched. He was losing himself.

 _No, this-this can't be it, that we end things like this, no, no it just can't-_

He sank to the floor, eyes blurry.

 

 

By the time he looked up, Jason was gone.


	45. All good things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The League's stay in Gerebeta comes to an end.

_Early morning run, Vasetbre springs, Unoko valley._

" _Fuck!_ How are you managing to keep going like this?" Jason panted, only a few steps behind Clark, who chuckled, barely out of breath.

They were over an hour into their morning run, and even with his enhanced Lazarus-infused abilities, Jason had began to slow down, his efforts becoming more visible.

Clark, far weaker than normal, still looked as if he'd just somewhat rolled out of bed, hair only mildly tousled, a slight sheen of sweat across his forehead, and the man grinned wolfishly at Jason, who rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, skin tinged pink with exertion, and shirt soaked.

"I'm a corn fed mama's boy." Clark turned to look at Jason to his left, who had by now slowed down to a walking pace. The man in question gave him a _look_ , failing to hide a smile, before laughing quietly, shaking his head.

"It's like the jokes write themselves, honestly." Jason was full on smiling now, and Clark chose now to walk beside the man. Apart from a few puffs here and there, the area was quiet, peaceful, and Clark felt himself relax. He'd woken up not long ago - unable to sleep yet again-, and had blearily stumbled downstairs only to find Jason at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around hot beverage, and gazing solemnly into the distance. The man hadn't said anything but to tilt his head towards the kettle, and Clark had made himself a large cup of of coffee, opting to sit next to Jason at the bar stool counter. For a while there was silence, comfortable, before Jason had spoken, his voice low and thoughtful.

"When a fish is plucked out of water, is it wet or dry?" Jason's eyes were still far away, though he sipped his tea quietly.

For a moment, Clark hadn't the words, and the strange _cluck_ heard in his throat had Jason turning to face him momentarily. Their eyes met, smiles crinkled, and almost in union, both men burst out laughing, Clark shaking his head, incredulous that at _four thirteen_ in the morning, of all the shit to be thinking about - this was the first thing that Jason could come up with. It was nonsensical, meaningless, completely illogical - and yet neither of them could stop laughing, Clark having to wipe tears away, Jason's shoulders hitching as he laughed heartily into the crook of his arm. Eventually they managed to gain a semblance of composure, but the atmosphere was significantly lighter, companionable, and Clark, understanding Jason's attempts at making him, _them_ feel better, was grateful for the comedic approach. 

"Is there a particular reason as to _why_ you're asking this?" Clark held his mug of coffee in his hands, eyes creasing with pent up laughter at the corners, as he looked at Jason.

"Just curious. Was walking past coupla kids by the Refie stream on the East side and they were proper debating whether a fish outta water is wet or dry." Jason's tone was warm, and Clark could still detect a trace of amusement. 

" _Dry_ -why- _why_ is that even a question? It's _dry_." Clark was smiling again.

Jason raised an eyebrow to him, a glint in his eye. "Is it? Think about it, C. To us, sure. But to the fish? A fish that, for all its life, spends all its time in water, then to suddenly go without it. Surely in the water, one could argue that the fish is _dry_ 'cause _that's all it knows_ , and then to lose that is the opposite, so _wet_." Jason looked smug at his line of reasoning, and all Clark could do was to stare at him.

"You're..you're _serious?_ What- _no_ \- heck _no_ \- the fish is dry, Jason! What kinda question is this-its _dry_ for crying out loud!"

"But how does a fish recognise what is wet? Water itself isn't 'wet' - its a liquid. You can't make it 'more' or 'less' wet. You putting something _into_ water or taking the thing _outta_ water - 'wet' only applies once there's been a _change_ in environment. His environment or 'water', which we call 'wet' because we believe water=wet -which _isn't the case_ -, is actually _dry_ for _him_ , so to _lose_ that contact with water means-"

"Jason, you-you _cannot_ be serious. Absolut- its _dry_ \- I cannot _believe_ we're having this conversation. Water, a liquid, automatically has the properties that define a state of immersion as 'wet', so to change that state is to _lose_ those properties, which therefore becomes _dry_ as a result of evaporation due to the now exposed air. Its-its's- the _heck_ -tell me, did the fish swim up to you and tell you his side of things? "Oh, actually, we're pretty dry up in here, thanks for asking?"

Jason was laughing now. "You're imposing your human way of thinking onto the fish-"

"Who gives a _damn_ what the fish thinks-"

"I'll give you a hundred bucks to say again to Aquaman." Jason's eyes were _gleaming_ now, the man turned fully towards him, and Clark felt his cheeks burn.

He clamped his mouth shut but failed to suppress the loud chuckle escaping. "This is-you'-you're ridiculous, you know that? It's-it's _wet_ -I mean, _dry_ , for hick's sake-"

"The word you're looking for is "fuck", Clark, don't be such a pussy." Jason's tone was snarky.

Clark turned red. "It's all the same-"

"Like fuck it ain't. See what I did there?" Jason was grinning now, and all Clark could do was smile, shaking his head. 

"Fine. Have it your way." Clark held up his palms in mock surrender, conceding, much to Jason's delight, and the silence returned, warm.

For a few minutes, all that could be heard was the ticking of the kitchen clock.

It was Clark's turn to speak next, and he did, looking at the table. "You...you've changed, Jason." His voice was soft, almost uncertain, as if Jason would take it the wrong way.

The man in question glanced over at him but said nothing, only to huff slightly. A confirmation, then.

"I'm..I'm happy for you. Honestly, I don't know anyone else who deserves to be as happy as you." Clark turned to look Jason in the eye, a little startled that the man's gaze was already on him, intent.

"Even if that means letting things...people, go?" Jason was watching his reaction now, carefully. Clark didn't back down, not this time around. He had heard... _snippets_ of the conversation between the boy and Bruce - unintentionally - he had accidentally picked up on Bruce's erratic heartbeat, slightly distressed, and had tuned in, only to find himself hearing Jason speaking aloud, about _you, there, me, here_ , that _the space is healthy_. Clark had switched off his hearing, embarrassed to have intruded on such a private conversation, and the blush gave him away to Jason now, who continued to watch him, face carefully neutral. Clark couldn't tell whether the man was pissed or otherwise, another sign of just how much Jason had changed. The young teen he knew years back wouldn't have hesitated to demonstrate his anger. 

Clark swallowed, looking away briefly. On one level, it would be nice, to have father and son reunite again. His observations from early yesterday morning, as well as Jason's remarks at the dinner, led him to conclude that the two men still cared for one another, deeply, but it was _Jason_ who was unwilling to take it any further, and the boy was quite right in his hesitancy, in many ways. Clark, heck - all of them were at least aware that Batman and the Hood had worked together at times, the allies, truces, but it didn't matter for what, nor for how long - in the end, their partnership was always temporary, frail, easily disintegrating by one wrong word or a look. The peace was always short-lived, and Clark had stayed by a frustrated Batman on one or two occasions, pacing up and down a dirty Gotham rooftop, a man who was tearing himself apart over his estranged son. It was the same for Jason. The Hood had soured things greatly, and the man's disappearance from public spotlight, especially his international exploits, had lifted the dark cloud that seemed to cloak the Bats. 

But now Jason had come back into the picture, albeit briefly.

A man Clark been tempted to smush to a pulp, with all his taunting that day back at the watchtower. Unrepentant, smug as hell, and dealing blows so stinging it made him want to dissolve into the ground.

The same man who had surprised them all. Jason, who was much calmer and in control. Close to Tim. A should-be enemy who had rescued the League and given them safe passage to a world they didn't even know existed, rescued him, protected him, gone out of his way to comfort him, shown a level of understanding and maturity far beyond his twenty years, and here they both were, in his house, sitting and drinking tea in his kitchen.

Clark knew, really, that he should be encouraging the idea of reconciliation between Father and son. Bruce, who now wanted his son, to reconnect with him, the same one he'd publicly and privately given up years back. Jason, who despite everything, confessed that Bruce had been his father once, and that he'd thought the _world_ of him. They were better now, both of them, and in some ways, Clark would have very much liked to see the pair reunite.

But...Jason had changed - and that was due to him _leaving_.

Leaving Gotham, her pocketed cesspits of madness and cruelty, Leaving Bruce, Batman, fallen expectations and bitter disappointments. The man had left, and had flourished in every way. Even his physical appearance - no-one could have ever imaged the once lanky, greasy haired, chain smoking _Jason Todd_ to look as he did now, well-built, healthy, and settled. That was the term Clark was looking for - Jason was _settled_ , and as much as he loved Bruce, as _much_ as he wanted to take his friend's side - Jason was settled, and Clark couldn't find it in him to _encourage_ something that could potentially destroy all of that man's progress.

 _Even if that means letting things, people go?_ That was Jason's question, but it wasn't from _his_ point of view. Not that Jason was asking whether to let Bruce go - he'd done _that_ already.

It was for Bruce. Bruce, who wanted to reach out, to connect once more, another go, another try. 

Jason knew it, as did Clark, and the man still looked at him now, waiting.

 _Bruce - he...he needed to let Jason go, this time around_ \- it was dawning on Clark, as sad as it was. It wasn't fair to Jason, to have come so far, and done so well - to have made a life for himself, with friends, family, to be stable and grounded, only for Bruce to potentially threaten that by asking to step into the frame once again. One he hadn't thought of in a long while. Clark had been to dinners, birthdays, movie nights, outings, breakfasts, in the Manor, or at the park, picnics, with Bruce and Diana, with the boys, and they'd sat together, laughing, eating, enjoying each other's company - _family_ \- and not once, not even a little bit, had Jason been mentioned.

Not a single consideration.

Not a " _wonder how Jason's doing?_ or " _where is Jason anyway?_ "

As if his existence had been somehow tucked away into the attic.

Clark closed his eyes momentarily. Bruce would hate him, he _would_. That on some level, he might be dissuading a potential relationship with his former son.

But Clark knew couldn't do this to Jason. 

By now his palms were warm, a little clammy, and Clark, swallowing in his throat, laid his hands flat on the table, forming the words in his head, before speaking.

"I...I didn't mean to overhear, I didn't, not all of it. Bruce's heartbeat was picking up, I thought he was in distress and so I tried to locate him, I'-I'm sorry, Jason-"

The man waved him off, as if he'd been expecting it all along. 

Clark continued. "I...I-" He found it difficult to speak-

"You love Bruce, I know. You're his bud, that will always be the case, I get it, not contesting that, and I'm glad you two are tight. But take that out, just for a sec. If he were anyone else, if you weren't as close." Jason was still looking at him, patient, waiting for his answer.

Clark bowed his head. "You're happy." he began, voice low. "I was out of it, when you came to rescue me, I don't remember too much because of the pain and-and everything else, but you and your friends...You work well off one another, the trust- its all there, and that would have never happened had you _stayed_ in Gotham. Even your relationship with Tim, I feel, has partly flourished due to you been in a different head space, physically. A new environment. A chance to live again, to breathe, without all the...past reminders getting you down. Bruce too...I-I don't mean to say your absence was 'good riddance' or anything like that, but seeing that space between you guys, with Bruce and the boys....I think its done some good, Jason. You seem really settled, and I just-I _can't_ find it in me to encourage something that may or may not do both of you harm, _again_. I think...seeing you again after so long, and how well you are - its kinda like seeing your kid all grown up, a real adult, and it does something to you, a parent especially. What I'm trying to say is...I-" Clark paused, voice barely a whisper now. " _Bruce will hate me for his_ -I think, for now...you're making the right decision. If you feel the distance has helped you immensely, then I think for your sanity, your peace of mind...continue, as you are. I...I'm glad you and Diana are on the mend, its great seeing you two together...I'm not sure how Bruce fits into it, but I-I think I'm more for the space apart. It's good, for you, and for him. Maybe, one day...if time permits, if you both heal....but at this point in time? I...I would keep things as they are."

Jason said nothing for a while, and as Clark watched him, the man seemed much calmer, as if the right decision had been made already, and Clark was simply confirming it.

"Thanks." Jason's voice was slightly gruff but sincere, and he looked at him in the eye. "Thank you, Clark. I needed to hear that." 

Clark could only nod at that, and the silence resumed.

A little while later, Jason spoke again, now standing, having drained the last of his tea. "Up for a run? I reckon I'll be able to beat you now that the odds are slightly more in my favour." The snark was back, the cocky grin on his face, and Clark welcomed the challenge, taking Jason's extended hand to stand. 

"You're on."

 

 

The rest of the morning was spent with the League outside, opting to enjoy breakfast in the town for a change. Clark too was present, giving word that this was supposedly their last day here, and the League were a little saddened by the thought. Bruce had declined to join them, though Diana had managed to cajole the man to spend the afternoon with them. Something was wrong, Diana knew, and Bruce, though reassuring, couldn't quite keep out the pain in his voice. She knew Jason had taken her home last night, and so whatever had happened in between Jason coming over and this morning was sure to have affected Bruce. It was hidden in the corners of his eyes, the slight stiffness of his shoulders, and the man had put it down to tiredness, promising to join them all later. Diana had let it go, kissing him goodbye, much to the League's smothered snorts of approval.

Last night was quite an adventure. She and Jason had had a grand time together, walking hand in hand, or his arm over her shoulder, whispering into her ear, as Jason showed her some of the well-hidden mysteries of the town, much to her delight. Diana found herself drinking more and more wine, fruity liquids that bubbled in the mouth and lit the eyes, Jason, beer, and as the night went on, the pair of them felt lighter, full of giggles, swaying, their voices rising and falling with every drink, enjoying their adventure. At the height of their inebriation, Jason had, for a moment, stopped, staring down at her, his arm low on her waist towards his person, his lips a hairsbreadth above Diana's own, head titled down at hers, her chest at his, heaving, their distance _too_ close now, _damn_ too close that the line was daring to be crossed, blurry with loosened inhibitions, an _almost_ , that it would take just one move, one slip, Diana's breath stuck in a throat, that this **couldn't** happen, eyes locked on Jason, reading hints of _desire_ and _want_ in his eyes, the _intensity_ strong and burning as it radiated off his skin,- the _struggle_ in resisting the urge to _give in_ but Diana could see it was too much for Jason, his guard loosened by drink, the _yearning_ too stirring for words, and before she could put an end to this, the man moved _in_ without warning, his lips warm on _hers_ , the kiss full and deep- before Jason seemingly remembered himself, his promise, jerking backwards as if burned by fire, eyes wide with shock, unhooking his arm from around her completely, putting a more appropriate distance between them. Diana's throat was stuck for words, lips still tingling, mind recalling what Jason had said earlier, that he would never cross that line, that this was new for him, her being back in his life, now grown up and a _man_ , and she let him move away without comment, the two trying to compose themselves. They had continued their walk in silence, a whole arms length away, Jason red faced and unable to look in her vicinity, Diana unsure of just how to approach _this_ without hurting Jason's feelings. It was Jason who eventually spoke, looking anywhere but at _her_ , his voice strained, words stuttering.

"I'-I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry, I didn't mean to do that, I-I don't know how-it won't-I could _never_ -I'm sorry, Diana. It's...it-I'll get it under control, I couldn't-not to you or Bru-"

Diana crossed the distance, grabbing his hand. Jason had coloured even more deeply, mouth open to protest, but she cut him off, voice soft.

"Jason, I understand. I do. I..what you want is not poss-"

"Trust me I _don't_ want it, you, like that, _God no_ , _not_ in that way." Jason pulled away from her, one hand running through his hair, evidently distressed. "It...its...a lot, alright, just these feelings and just kid stuff, I-I didn't really get a chance to deal with all of it growing up, _fuck_ , I can't believe I'm discussing puberty with you-they don't mean anything, it-its just coming out now because-you know- I'm all grown up and you're you - _fuck_ \- Diana, I'm really sorry, I couldn't never-you're my _Ma_ for pete's sake, please don't think-" Jason's eyes were wide and pleading, and Diana felt her heart almost burst at the sight.

She hugged him.

Jason was stiff, uncomfortable, and he tried to remove himself, not wanting to be near her, but Diana held him tighter, speaking softly into his ear. "I understand, Jason. With...the events of the past, you didn't have the time nor the mental capacity to deal with the issues that go alongside normal development. I know what you're saying, and if there's anything I can do, please, let me help you. I understand, my love, and I am not angry with you."

Jason began to relax into her touch. "I...there's nothing you can do, honestly. Not like you can become any less gorgeous or anything, that's just how it is. It's just-just one of those things that will take time and patience, I _swear_. I meant what I said, I wouldn't, not to you and Bruce, you guys belong together, I'm _your_ kid for fuck's sake. I'll sort it, its a mixture of childhood crushing and teen...you know, I'll get over it, alright. Just...just-"

Diana understood. "This remains between us."

Jason seemed to sink with relief in her embrace, and said nothing to that, holding her tight. 

The last thing he needed right now was to deal with _Bruce_.

"It _was_ a good kiss, though. Any woman would be lucky to receive that, truly." Diana's voice was a murmur, thoughtful, and Jason laughed over her shoulder. 

"Really, Di? Well, gee, thanks." The man shook his head, laughter now a embarrassed chuckle. " _Thank you_ , Di, for understanding, and for not making a bigger deal out of this."

Diana's response was to simply kiss the back of his head, smiling to herself.

 _My boy_.

She would not lose him again.

After a short while, Jason lifted his head, a sign to be let go, and she did, but Diana would not allow him the chance to withdraw internally. Instead, she linked his arm with hers, and eyes bright with determination, frog marched him forward, much to his pathetic protests. Jason, now getting the message, that _nothing could drive her away_ , that she was here to _stay_ , relaxed a little more, and the conversation was re-started. As time went on, numerous young women had walked past them, their eyes on Jason, shooting Diana poisonous glares, but Diana had only laughed till her sides hurt at Jason's increasingly desperate attempts to explain their 'togetherness'- _no, this isn't what it looks like, baby come back_ or _Uemo, you know I'm crazy about you, I could never_ , or _she-she's not-we're not, oh hell, look what you've done, Di_. They had stuffed themselves to bursting point along the way, and at one point, danced together to an old musical folklore. It was nothing but magical, and Diana only regretted that the night, or early morning rather, had eventually drawn to a close. 

And so the League were now out again the morning after, finishing a breakfast at Yvre's restaurant on the outskirts. They had walked past Jason's workshop not long after, the man too heavily engrossed in his work to notice them at first, bronzed arms bare and muscled, much to the delighted whispers of a few young women who walked past, ogling. It was Barry who waved hello, at Jason looking up, and Diana smiled warmly, growing bigger on watching the young man flush shyly in response, before coming out to meet them. The man had offered to take them around after dinner, which the League were thankful for, before taking his leave, his gaze lingering on Diana's a touch longer than the rest. The League spent the next couple of hours visiting as many places as they could, taking pictures and enjoying the scenery one last time.

Dinner eventually came round, the last of their stay, and the affair was a relaxed one, low-key. Jason had chosen to take his three friends, their families, and the League to a restaurant called Bank, aptly named due to its location beside the Liluae river. An open plan seating that led straight onto the water, with white lilies in the heart of the Yamatao trees, the sight was nothing short of beautiful, and Jason smirked on watching the League enter, their oohing and ahhing filling the air. He too, looked to survey the scene. It was this time of year where the sky was an inky orange for a few hours, and the Yamatao trees had a habit of 'hmming', a low rumbling noise generated by the wave currents of the stream. It was magical, and Jason smiled to himself, remembering Tim and Talia's reactions when he'd first brought them here. Tim had immediately snapped away on his damn camera, whilst Talia had stared, breath soft, eyes round, before walking by the side of the river, dipping her toes in. She had extended one hand to Jason, and they'd walked like that across the entire bank, Jason explaining the history of the area. Tim had taken a break from the scene to snap away at he and Talia, and Jason still had one of the photo's now, where he had an arm around Talia, her head tucked into her side, her foot midway into the stream, in the midst of conversation. Jason turned his mind back to the scene. The League's were still canvassing the area, talking over one another, some in pairs. He found his attention drifting to Bruce, who stood a little distant from the rest, closed off. He couldn't read the man, his expression a mixture of tense and faraway, and Jason thought about their conversation, the way Bruce seemed so...broken, over the finality of where they stood, how the older man's emotions had left him slightly taken aback. It had been more than two, heck, three years since they'd last seen each other, in the flesh, and to have seen Bruce last night, a Bruce who apparently was _wrong_ and willing to reconnect once more- Jason turned away, a lump in his throat.

A tiny, small, minute, almost minuscule part of him... _did_ think about it. What it would be like to have _Bruce_ around again.

He had sat outside a cafe once, a long time ago, watching a father wait for his son, who had presumably returned from college or whatnot. The joy was there for all to see, child and parent now the same height, and the two had hugged each other with all the force in the world, the boy laughing into his dad's shoulder. The father had broken the hug to put a hand over his eyes, trying to stem the tears, and the son, seeing his father's upset, rubbed the man by his shoulders before placing a kiss on his head. The pair had stood outside for a while, surveying the son's car, the father mocking him, the son returning the quips, until the two entered the same cafe Jason was sat in. All Jason could do was to listen to their conversation, the son explaining how his studies were going, the trips he'd been on, a girl that he'd met, and Jason _sat_ there that afternoon, eyes full, wishing with all his heart that he and Bruce could be like this, one day. That he'd come back from college, studying, whatever, come back to meet his father in town for coffee, lunch, that they'd hug as fiercely as the two he'd seen, that he would be able to kiss his father's head, to pick out a car together, go for a roadtrip, to sit down and share lunch, to talk, laugh, joke. The feeling still remained, even now, but it was small part of him. Long ago that desire had been awash with hate, betrayal, confusion, _anger_ , and now it was just...cold, foreign-

Resignation.

A...distance, of some sorts, that the scenario Jason had played out in his mind a thousand times over - it never would come to pass. 

That things had changed too much to make sense anymore. A man Jason had loved more than life itself, that the word _Bruce_ meant so much to him, feelings and thoughts too difficult to accurately describe, and now here they were, strangers, mere metres apart from the other.

Clark had been hesitant, Jason knew. To say what they were all thinking - that the separation, the distance, him leaving - that had been the best thing for him, for Bruce. Jason turned towards the front now, tuning out the noise around him. He-they _couldn't_ , not again. Even if a tiny part would have at least... _no_ , that was old sentiment speaking. The kid who still pined for Daddy's approval. He had grown now, grown the fuck up, and that meant logic over sentimentality. Truth, reality, over wishing thinking. 

Even if it _did_ hurt.

Even if a part of him, _had_ , for a brief moment, felt something akin to _joy_ on realising that Bruce wanted to reach out...the possibility that-

A movement had him turning slightly to his side, and Shayera was next to him, calmly sipping away on her drink. She looked at him, holding his gaze, and gave him a small, knowing smile, understanding the reason for his internal distress, before nudging him gently with her shoulder. Jason smirked a little, admiring the redhead, who murmured an "eyes up top, sailor" without blinking, and Jason let out a chuckle. 

"One day." His voice was soft, teasing. He wasn't lying either. 

"You wish, Jason." Shayera held her glass to her mouth but Jason could see the smile regardless. He said nothing for a few moments, still gazing at her, before looking away.

"John doesn't deserve you."

That left a note.

Shayera didn't move, but Jason knew it needed to be said. "We all make mistakes. You've gone above and beyond to try and rectify yours, and if that asshole can't see it, then he doesn't deserve you, not your strength, and sure as hell not your determination. I'm sorry, Shay. You....hold your head high, and don't let anyone tell you any different, alright? Stop hiding, stop accepting any and all their excuses, the public included- its all bullshit anyway. _Go out there and live_ , 'cause I'm telling ya; there's nothing worse than losing what you already have. Live, Shayera. _Live and be happy_."

Shayera was frozen beside him. Jason let it sink in for a few moments, before gaining the courage to kiss her on the cheek. "Let them look." He winked at her, and Shayera finally looked up at him now, her eyes a tad shiny, but there was a tiny smile on her face. 

"Much better." Jason gave her a smile of his own, warm and understanding, before nudging her to the table. "Food. I'm a growing boy."

"What, not tall enough for Diana?" Shayera found the courage to speak now, voice slightly hoarse, but Jason ignored it, chuckling. 

"Certainly taller than you, that's for sure. Have to be if we want our kids to be strong and healthy." Jason laughed aloud as Shayera spluttered into her drink, red faced, but she began to laugh too, shaking her head slightly. "You're impossible, you know that?"

" _Impossibly_ good-looking, absolutely. Saw how you were looking at me the other night, we...didn't get to finish what we started." Jason moved in closer, voice sensual, an air of _lust_ and desire between them, and Shayera saddled up close to his chest, red hair spilling over her shoulders. 

"Is that right?" Shayera's voice was half teasing, half dangerous, but Jason ignored the latter warning. Not with this strong, beautiful woman at his front. One arm was now on top of the wall, close to her arm, and her fingers stroked the underside of his skin, eliciting a small tingle of electricity through his body.

 _God_ , she was _fire_. Pure, unadulterated, straight _fire_ , sweet mother of _Gawd_.

Dick had been right all along.

"Woman, you have my permission to _ride_ me any day, anytime, any _fucking_ where, just say the word and whatever you want, consider it done." Jason was half lost in her eyes, pout plump and inviting, and for a moment, he was tempted to forgo food, the League, dinner. She smelled so _good_ , all breathy in that wanting kinda way, and Jason felt his skin warm, flush, tracing the soft yet firm curve of Shayera's collarbones, the heave of her chest, plentiful, the _dip_ of her waist, fittingly snug, hips inviting- 

"You remind me a little of Billy." 

Jason stopped for a moment, smile confused. "The fuck is Billy?" _Billy needs to get the fuck outta the way_ , he thought to himself.

The winged woman laughed a little, eyes bright. "Sorry, I was just thinking of a character in a television series I'm watching, its called Strange-"

Jason's eyes widened a tad. "Stranger things? _You watch Stranger Things_?" His voice rose a few octaves. 

_Shit_.

Shayera cackled at his surprise, swatting him lightly on the shoulder. "Who doesn't? That goes for _Game of Thrones_ , _Ozark_..." The woman rattled off a few more names but Jason could only stare at her, at those soft lips, sinking inside, then back at her. Shayera trailed off, eyebrow raised, and she folded her arms across the chest. "Problem? You were doing so _well_." Her voice was teasing, slightly mocking.

" _Fuucckkk_." Jason sighed dramatically, one hand coming up to his face. "I can't...ah shit, _I can't_." At Shayera's confused look, Jason went on to explain, face red. "You're...you're _cool_ , damnit, you've got good taste. Damnit Shayera, whydaya have to get so interesting? Cause now you're becoming a friend and _that_ means you're off...you know, limits." Jason groaned loudly.

Shayera couldn't help but laugh, even with the insult. "So I can only be _boring_ in order to fu-" She guffawed uncaringly.

Jason was a deep red by now. "What- _no!_ Of course not! I mean-what I'm saying is- what else do you get up to? I mean watch, music, that sorta thing? Maybe you can redeem yourself."

Shayera was smiling as she listed a few things, Jason's groans getting louder with each revelation. "Shay.." he eventually spoke, voice solemn. "You're part of the gang now, mine and Tim's. I-we can't, friends are off limits. I'm sorry, I really am, but you brought this on yourself. Otherwise it gets complicated, one person catches feelings, its-its not worth it, especially over losing a friend." He looked so mournful, so upset, that Shayera was cackling, bending over, even as Jason was smiling, shaking his head. "Jason.." Shayera breathed out "did you actually think you had a _chance_?" She was off again, and now the League were staring at the pair, confused smiles, and Jason cross his arms, mock offended.

"I _had_ you-"

"You're dreaming, kid." Shayera's eyes were bright with mirth.

"I _did_ , you were getting all hot and flustered - I saw the _look_ in your eyes, I mean _just look at you, at us_ Shay, stop denying that you did and _still do_ have the hots for me. It's not healthy, Shay, to lie to yourself like that, but I'm afraid I've gotta put a hold on things for now, at least til you become less cool." Jason was grinning now, and finally Shayera had stopped laughing, though her smile reached across her face.

"I do apologise." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. 

Jason rolled his eyes now, laughing as Shayera punched him lightly. "It's really inconvenient, you know. Have to change all my plans."

"Plans huh? Well I'll be damned, I've really thrown a wrench in the works, haven't I?" Her eyes were dancing.

Jason shook his head. "Honestly, it's a blow, but we'll get through it. I mean this-" Jason waved a hand between them "we can still do that, right? And if you ever wanna _netflix and chill_ , no strings attached, if you're happy with it then I sure as hell am-"

" _Excuse me?_ " John had suddenly interrupted them, looking every bit as furious as Jason imagined, and the pair straightened quickly, Jason forcing a cough. 

"Gosh I'm hungry. Shall we?" Shayera smiled sweetly at John, linking arms with him in a friendly gesture, and Jason watched them go to the table, Shayera turning back to wink at him, John shooting him a poisonous glare, and Jason grinned widely in response. Jason waited a few moments before he took his place near his friends, and now that everyone had arrived, they began to eat, conversations filling the air. Dinner continued, relaxed and filling, before the large party decided to tour a little of the town, Jason leading the way. He took the League to the places they'd never even known existed, smirking as they were continually astounded each time. Bruce was a little more conversational this time, and for that, Jason was glad, at least to see an expression other than 'glum' on the man's face. Eventually, the night drew to an end, goodbyes shared, and the group dispersed to their respective homes.

 

 

Jason and Clark took their time getting back to his house, stopping for fruit cake an ice-cream.

"So." Clark began, savoring the warm spongy taste of the cake.

Jason gave him a look, smirking, and now Clark blushed, ears red. 

Clark had _heard_ , of course he had. "Seem to be overhearing a lot these days, huh." Jason's voice was slightly mocking, though good-natured, and Clark flushed in response. 

"It's not my fault, I'm still re-teaching myself how to tune things in and out." His voice held an embarrassed strain to it, and Jason grinned.

"What, too grown up for ya? Tell me Clark, how are you gonna get with a woman if you can't even give a lil _sumin sumin_? C'mon man, you can't look like the way you do and have weak game, it ain't on. " Jason was waggling his eyebrows suggestively, and Clark took a moment to stop laughing, skin hot.

"I..do, actually, have..someone." Clark's voice was quieter this time round, causing Jason to look at him. "I..I'm married, Jason."

Jason stopped where he stood, eyes wide. " _Married?_ to who-wait- _Lois?_ Did you finally- _Lois Lane?_ Really? Since when? For how long?!" He sounded incredulous, questions rushing out.

Clark smiled. "The same one. Not long."

"So she knows, right? _Tell me_ she knows, there's no way in _hell_ -"

"She knows."

Jason breathed out. " _Wooooow_." He looked impressed. "Lois Lane, huh? Man, she's-she's something, really, _really_ something. Howdya manage that?"

Clark shook his head. "Another story, another day." That was all he would say. 

The thought of having to go back home, with all that had happened....it caused his chest to flutter a little, and his face must have shown something, because Jason quietened, throwing him an understanding, kind smile. "What....Whatever it is, Clark, you can. When you're ready. She... She'll love you, _no matter what_ , I guarantee it."

Clark could only nod. His throat was tight. Jason placed an arm on his shoulder, and Clark found himself wheeled round into facing the man.

"Clark look at me." Jason's voice was soft.

Clark looked up briefly, only seeing a face open and warm. He looked away. He didn't deserve such kindness.

There was no way he could hide this from Lois. Not this. 

"I don't know her, but what I _do_ know is this: Lois loved you enough to marry you. A marriage means the good with the bad. The ugly. The not so good. The unexpected. It comes from both sides, and it happens, Clark. I...You, this - you can get through this, trust me. If I can, then you sure as hell too, and you've got the support to help you. Your wife-listen to me, I don't know much about this, but I study people, Clark, and this is what I know-Your wife, husband - they're your partner. Your best friend. They see you when you're all dolled up in a suit, and they're right beside you when you're ill and stink to high heaven, snot down ya face and vomit on the floor in the bucket next to ya. They're there when you get the job, the promotion, and they're holding you up when you're let go or when the business fails. Your other half is your support. Your foundation. And the only way to know just how _strong_ your foundation or support is, is by _testing_ it, C. You put it to the test - you flood it, put it through fire, the heat, subject it to pressure. That's the only way. You love her, right? Trust her, that she loves you? Then don't undermine her love and her ability to _get you through this_. Choosing to... _not_ say anything is only gonna 1. make you feel miserable, and 2. make her feel that she isn't enough, 3. weaken your trust in each other, and in the love you share."

By now, Jason had placed both hands on top of Clark's shoulders, whose eyes were tightly shut, frame trembling a little. 

"Trust her, C. Talk to her. I'm not saying now, but...when you have the chance, when you're ready, you tell her what happened. It doesn't even have to be all of it, or in detail - that you were taken advantage of, and that you were hurt. Trust me, she'll get it, and she'll understand. If you want space, tell her. You want comfort, to feel her close to ya and get to know her, _tell her_. Lois can't know what's going through your mind unless you speak up, and speak out, you hear?"

Clark brought a hand to his eyes, his chest now bursting. 

His worst fear was coming to light: that _Lois wouldn't love him anymore_ , and he could no longer keep it in.

"Oh hell. Come here." Jason brought Clark to himself and held him tightly, hugging him as the man wept. Clark was shaking, ever so anxious, and Jason spoke quietly to him, telling him to _let it out_ , that he had him, that he would make it through this, absolutely, without a doubt, that he was loved, and all Clark could do was cry into the younger man's shirt, holding him, as if letting go would cause him to fall apart in tiny pieces.

Jason continued to hold Clark, rubbing comforting circles on his back, ignoring the dampness of his shirt, the way Clark seemed so _scared_ , uncertain - the man was _afraid_ , afraid of what his wife would say, whether she would love him anymore, and that made Jason's throat tight. That this guy right here, big and all boy-scout kindness, would be deathly afraid of being unloved after going through some traumatic shit, and the thought made Jason furious. Clark spoke through the tears, that Lois might never love him again, or look at him the same way, that she'd be disappointed in him for not being strong enough, that he had let her and everyone down by being _weak_ , that he had broken her promise to have _only_ her, the only woman to have him, that he had _betrayed_ her, and Jason, teeth gritted, let Clark speak, listening to this man's insecurities flood over like a dam.

Eventually Clark's tears slowed, and the man was red faced, eyes full of sadness. Jason sighed, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, and then held Clark by the shoulders, holding him at the sides _tight_. He shook the man as he spoke, voice fierce.

"I never, _ever_ want to hear that line of thinking again, dya hear me? **Never**. A marriage is for better or worse, richer or poorer, thick and thin, young and old, well and sick. You go through the trials to make you _stronger_ even though its ugly as hell, to make you more connected to each other, and Lois, Clark - hear me- _**Lois will never stop loving you**_ , Clark. **Never**. The fact that you were brave enough to tell her the truth, of what happened - trust me on this, she'll love you _even more_ than humanely possible, and her respect for you will be _through the roof_. You opening up to her means you respect her, as a person, a wife, your partner, you respect and value your marriage, your lives together, and I believe Lois will recognise all that in a heartbeat. Listen to me again, get this idea of not being strong enough outta ya head, you hear me? It's not about being strong, or being physically resistant- not at all. You don't think men get raped, huh? Big men, tall, short, fat, thin, black white, rugby player, whatever - you don't think sexual assault happens to them too, from women _and_ men? That they're so afraid they freeze up, unable to fight back 'cause their either frozen and/or scared that they'll be blamed by the narrative turning on them? Listen Clark - you-you didn't deserve it, any of it, not the torture, the assault - no-one does, no-one asks to be humiliated and taken advantage of so horribly! Get that outta your head right now or I swear I'll beat it outta ya - you being in this situation was **not** because you were weak, or that you weren't strong enough physically or mentally! **Stop thinking that shit right now!** \- do you know how damaging that is, to think of yourself so lowly? I'-I _refuse_ to let you continue in this way, thinking so piss poor about yourself. You- _God, give me strength_ -" 

Jason was _furious_ , and now he could feel the Lazarus tinge seeping in, provoking a rage that he hadn't experienced in a long while. " _You. didn't. betray. Lois_ and I'll say it again - _You. didn't. betray. Lois_. You didn't step out on her, you didn't partake in any of this _of your own volition_ \- you did **not** , and I highly, _highly_ doubt Lois will see it that way. That bitch took advantage of you because she's nothing but a hell-filled, evil creature who deserved _**much worse than I gave her**_ , you hear me? She's gone, and she'll _**never, ever hurt you again**_ , never, I promise you with every ounce in my body. This is what she would want - you to be broken up over her influence, to live in fear, in pain - don't give in. **Don't** give into her satisfaction - live, Clark, fucking _live_ and fight and make sure this doesn't stop you, your life, your happiness, your love for Lois, your marriage, you guys being together. Don't let that devil rob you of your future Clark, you hear me?" 

Silence.

Clark was staring at him, slightly wide-eyed.

Jason loosened his grip, closing his eyes, focusing on the Lazarus, loosening, uncoiling from his gut, and the rage began to drain from his very being, regaining his control. The result left him feeling a little worn out.

"Clark." Jason's voice was soft, understanding. "You can do this, I promise you. Lois loves you, and together you guys will overcome this hurdle. Don't underestimate her love for you, and with that, her willingness and ability to do whatever necessary to stand by your side and have your back. Alright?"

Clark nodded, once, twice, and then a few more times, wiping his tears away. He spoke after a while, voice hoarse. "... _Thank you_ , Jason."

 _Thank you, Jason for the support and the encouragement. For getting me out when it seemed impossible. For making sure that bitch got what she rightfully deserved and then some, that she isn't out there living it up, that I never have to worry about her again. Thank you_.

The words remained unspoken in Clark's mind but Jason understood all of it, that one all-encompassing _Thank you_ and he squeezed Clark's shoulder one last time before offering a small smile. 

"Oh no, the ice-cream's melted." His voice was pathetically mournful, and Clark let out a snort, the sound causing both of them to chuckle.

"Can we...I wouldn't mind getting another round." Clark's voice was shy, cheeks pink, and Jason put his arm around the big man, grinning, already steering them back the way they came.

"That's the spirit."

 

 

 _Last day in Pepo, Gerebeta_.

Their stay had come to an end, and it was met with sadness.

The League, though finally looking forward to going home, were sad to be leaving this wonderful, magical place, having being welcomed by such kind, warm, loving people. The towns people felt likewise, having enjoyed spoiling their guests, visitors who appreciated them, their culture, who respected the sanctity of their world. Many had come to bid personal farewells to the League, dropping off presents, gifts, foods and various assortments at Lielr's house, hugging the League, and wishing them well. Jason had spent the early morning and afternoon at his workshop, finishing up all the repairs, checking the town's defence systems, and saying his goodbye to the people's in turn, particularly his friends, younger and older, and their families. Jacu was upset, very upset that his new friends were leaving, especially the winged lady, and Shayera had flown him several feet into the air to console him, much to the child (and town's) delighted surprise. It seemed as though all the townspeople had gathered to see them off, many waving, and Jason had presented the elders of the town with three envelopes, along with gifts. The elders, as humble as they were, had refused, but it was in vain - Jason would not accept the returns, and he had secretly deposited a large amount of money and expensive resources into the town bank, asking that the deposits be kept secret, at least until after their departure. Jason's friends, Ishbioth, Klose and Lielr had hugged each League member tightly, kissing them farewell, and the League made sure to return the love even more, thanking them over and over for their love and hospitality. Jason had had a moment with each of his three friends, Lielr holding tight the boy he loved as one of his one, and none had dared to comment on the tears Jason had wiped back, head bowed, as Lielr kissed the top of his head. 

Finally, by four in the afternoon, the ship loaded, goods on board, and the League safe and sound, it was time to go home.

Waving goodbyes, the ship took off in the air, slowly, children jumping up and down to be seen, bringing smiles to each of their faces, before a sudden _boom_ filled the air, and they were moving fast, heading home. Jason had prepared the ship in advance, and the League had entered a large dark grey, streamlined beauty, spacious, with awe at the elegant paneling, comfortable, large seats, everything from food and bathrooms to thick blankets and comfortable clothing, catered to their necessities. The man had gone above and beyond for them all, and now, on their way, the League took their rest, lights dimming as conversations petered out in favour of sleep.

At the front, Jason had contacted Tim via his official Red Robin line through the watch-tower communications, estimating their arrival time, and having been momentarily deafened by his brother's screeching, switched the ship from manual to autopilot control, taking the opportunity to rest for a while. It was just after seven, earth time, and they still had another three hours to go, give or take. Behind him, the League were steadfastly asleep, and Jason dimmed the lights further to add to their comfort. He smiled to himself, looking over at the galaxies at his front. The beauty of it all, dense, thick balls of matter and light, the expanse of space, of _time_ , it would never cease to amaze him, and he found himself stretching out his legs, a cup of tea in one hand. It was a short while later before he heard footsteps, soft, padded, and he glanced a little to his side to find that _J'onn_ had come to occupy the passenger seat. Jason could only smile at the action, and leaned forwards a little to open an anterior compartment, which held a box of Oreo that Tim usually liked to eat absent-mindedly. The Martian took the box with a grateful smile, and the two sat in silence, comfortable, before J'onn spoke.

"It has been a long time, Jason." His voice was deep, almost sonorous, and Jason found the sound lulling in a pleasant way. He turned to J'onn, who was by now rested back into his seat, eyes gleaming. Jason nodded. The Martian had been good to him as a child, and Jason was glad that he'd been able to return the favour in some way. 

"It has. J'onn...I never said _thank you_ , that time." Jason swallowed to himself, remembering how badly his mind had rebelled against J'onn's telepathic intrusion in that old, musty safehouse, when the Martian had tried to alleviate his nightmares for a more peaceful sleep. He continued, wincing a little as he remembered the profanities his mind had yelled at J'onn. "I'm...sorry, for that. I understood what you were trying to do, and in arrogance, along with everything else, I pushed you away. Thank you, though, for trying to help me."

J'onn looked at him, understanding, _forgiving_ , a humbling thought for Jason, and all of a sudden, his mind was _flooded_ with ideas, lights, auras that seemed to talk then they moved. He gasped, book forgotten, mouth ajar as scene in front of him changed, from the inky black of space, to vivid pinks, purples, _wind_ that seemed to move in a dance, white-blue, sonorous echos that stretched across the sky, and Jason was _floored_ \- this- _this_ was what J'onn could see? 

_Yes_. 

Jason could detect amusement in the Martian's telepathic confirmation, and he grinned, listening intently as the Martian began teach him the mysteries of the universe.

 

 

_Ten minutes past ten, evening, Justice League watch-tower._

Jason watched the large steel doors open, and with Tim at the controls, giving him the go-ahead to enter, Jason steered his ship carefully into the watch-tower, breathing a sigh of relief as the giant object came to a full stop. He took a moment to himself, eyes closed, _damn tired_ , before switching on the announcements.

"Wake up, gang. We're home."

He flicked the lights on, yawning, and continued on with the rest of the powering down, flicking various controls overhead, all whilst the League stood blearily from their seats, yawning, stretching. It was late, and they were tired, but they were _here_ , _home_ , and that was all that mattered. Jason waited in his seat, listening to the League gather their things, gifts, precious items - already he knew Tim had shut down this area of the tower so that the League could arrive in private, and he was grateful for the boy's smart thinking. He turned away at hearing Dick's exclamation of _Bruce!_ -Damian would be here, no doubt- and once he was satisfied that the League were now out, Jason stood, stretching his muscles, the fatigue at the back of his mind, and began tidying the ship, restoring order. They were all waiting for him outside, he knew, but Jason needed time to compose himself. They were back now, and that meant going back to maintaining a neutral, professional distance, but Jason knew that wouldn't be as easy as before.

Diana was back in his life, and by extension, Bruce.

Shayera was now a friend.

Clark....Jason had no idea how they'd go from here, or if Clark truly wanted to stay in contact. A part of him laughed bitterly, that he shouldn't be so silly, but its bitterness was drowned out by the fact that he and _Clark_ had, in fact, gotten along very well. They had come to an understanding, an _almost but not quite_ friendship, and Jason personally wanted to see the man overcome his trauma.

 _Bruce_ -

"Jason! Hurry the _fuck_ out!" Tim's sharp voice cut into his musing, and Jason, despite his tiredness, smiled to himself, leaving the rest of the work for later. Taking a small breath, he stepped out into the doorway, and down the steps, realising that they had _all_ been waiting for him, that the Bats were here, Dick-

" _Seven_ weeks, Jay." An angry, tense filled voice filled the air, and Jason stopped. 

This wasn't good. And if _Tim_ was like this-

 _Talia_ would be, oh _fuck_.

"T-"

"Seven _fucking_ weeks when I had no clue as to whether you were dead or alive, whether you were missing a frickin' hand or leg, if you were _safe_ \- I didn't know how to reach you, or-or what I would do if something _happened to you_ , or what-"

" _Tim_." Jason's heart felt heavy in his chest - Tim was _upset_ , and for good reason too. Tim had known nothing except that Jason had needed extra help, the _life-threatening_ kind, and he moved towards his little brother who was now agitated, _angry_ , shoulder length hair in disarray, purple bags under his eyes, looking underweight- _Fuck, the kid hadn't been eating, the stress_ -, Jason's fixed his eyes solely on Tim, uncaring of how everyone else had moved to let him through, watching the interaction.

"Tim, buddy-"

"Don't _fucking buddy me_ \- do you know what you put me through? How worried I was, _we_ were? She-she's mad as hell, Jay! No word from you, not any of you - you don't think we wouldn't have torn down the whole place looking for your stupid, _lumbering_ -"

Jason had finally reached his brother, whose eyes were bright and shiny with unshed tears, but Tim slapped his approaching hands away. "Don't-don't even-you don't get to _do_ -"

Jason hugged him.

 _Tim_.

 _Little brother_.

 _Best friend_.

 _One hundred and fifty- no, one thirty, the boy was thinner- pounds of solid flesh, warm and alive_ , and Jason closed his eyes now, ignoring how Tim pounded furiously on his chest, the attacks getting weaker and weaker, til Tim seemed to give up the anger, hugging him back, his voice shaky. "Jason.... _God_ , I didn't-I wasn't sure, if something had _happened_ to you, Jay, I don't think, I-"

Jason hugged his brother tighter, kissing the top of his head. "Never. _Never_. I told you I'd be back, didn't I? I made you a promise, Timbo, no way was I gonna let you down, not again. I-I've missed you, so, _so_ damn much-" Jason was shaking his head, throat tight. Around him, the League could hear everything, but Jason couldn't give a damn about them, not now.

This kid, this one right here, hipster blue-eyed techie nerd- Tim meant the _world_ to him, and it showed.

Jason kissed his little brother again, holding him close, inhaling the smell of baby shampoo. "Tim, little brother. I'm-I'm _so_ sorry, honestly, I am. I swear, it...things got fucked up, shit went to the muthafucking left, it-it was a mess, but its alright now, I swear, I'm here, and _God_ , I'm so sorry for worrying you, for worrying T, I know I'm in for it. Tim, I'm sorry, kid, I really am."

His shirt was becoming wet. "You-you better be, 'cause you're going to make it up to me, you have _no_ idea. T- _pfft_ , you're _so_ dead, s'not even a joke." The voice was muffled, defiant, and Jason grinned at the sound, chuckling at the joke, before releasing his brother. His hands were at the side of Tim's face, and Jason thumbed over a tear across Tim's wet cheek, looking at the deep purple bags, the dull blue eyes, the frame that had lost a little of its lean stature.

His kid brother would need some good old Jason-fed pampering, for sure.

"Give me a minute?" Jason looked at Tim, who nodded, wiping his face. 

Jason remained like that for a few seconds, himself inbeween Tim and League, allowing the kid to compose himself. Tim nodded, standing up straighter, and nodded at Jason.

 _Go ahead_ \- his cue, and Jason grinned at his brother before turning around, voice neutral.

"Alright." He ran a hand through his hair, failing to stifle a yawn, before continuing. "We...I can't do this now. It's late, we're tired - today's what, Wednesday?" 

Jason didn't wait for a reply, yawning again. "I'll need to go over a few things with ya, but for now, let's call it a night. You guys are gonna be a slightly knackered over the next several hours, trust me, so-" he yawned again, and Tim moved to his side now, allowing him to place one hand onto his shoulder, steadying himself.

Even Lazarus-enhancing abilities had their limitations.

Jason took a moment to close his eyes. They felt painfully heavy - a result of frequent multiverse travelling within a short period of time. It had a draining effect, that many travels, and he was feeling it now, having to concentrate _hard_ to remain standing. 

"Jason, we'd just like to say-" Clark began, but the man in question waved him off, the movement clumsy, eyes fluttering shut.

A dull ache was now between his eyes, moving straight through to the back of his head, his mouth was dry and Jason cursed internally, that the League had to see him like this.

He wouldn't remain upright for long.

"Jason?" Diana's voice was soft, but the worry could be heard in her tone, and she moved towards him now, stretching out a hand. He took it, grateful, but the fatigue was catching up with him _fast_. The League looked just as concerned as she did, Clark especially. Tim took over now, voice smooth, and Jason couldn't help but glance at his brother, a lazy smile forming on his face, remembering just how much he loved that kid.

"You and Jason will meet again on Friday, five pm, to conclude matters. In the meantime, the rest of the League will carry on with our duties here, as before. Jay, I've drawn up the contract already. I've isolated the bay and arranged transport should you need it."

Various thankful nods could be heard, but Jason was more focused on staying conscious at this point. He was swaying a little, pockets of his mind turning black as they shut down despite his resistance, and Diana took hold of him more firmly. 

"Jason, I'm taking-"

"No." Jason spoke now, voice final, but it was let down by a little sluggishness. "I..I need to go home-"

"Di, I've got it from here. It's okay, I know what to do." Tim was in control now, taking hold of Jason, and squeezed Diana's free hand. The woman didn't let go, however, her reluctance evident, and now Jason was _really_ close to falling, his limbs heavy like lead.

"Jay." It was Tim now, voice firm. "Hang in there, alright? We're nearly home, I promise."

"No, Tim. You need to go home with Bruce, be home, to-to update Br-on WE work and shit, you know how he gets and he-he's hurt, Tim, I'm _alright_ -" Jason was fast losing track of time now, his mind shutting down faster than anticipated, and Tim moved more forcefully, looping Jason's arm over his. He looked over at Bruce, almost asking for permission, and the man nodded, face..concerned- _that was new_. He turned his attention to his older brother, who looked ready to collapse any second now.

"Is he alright?" It was Barry's turn to speak now. Even Shayera had stepped forward, ready to help.

Tim addressed them without looking, focusing on shifting his weight to accommodate for Jason's two hundred muscle solid frame- _and then some_. "Yeah-" he gritted his teeth. His recent weight loss was not helping with the situation. "It happens when he makes too many travels within a short period. It drains his energy reserves - _Damnit Jay_ , you _know_ this, I better not have to call Zee again." His voice was strained, muscles tense at the extra weight. Unfortunately for him, he missed the questioning _looks_ the League had thrown one another - _Zee?_ as in _Zatanna?_ _She knew what Jason could do?_ _This had happened before?_

"That's it, time to go. Let's go, c'mon." Tim was focusing on everything but his muscles, who were now screaming in protest. He moved silently, swearing at just how _big_ and fucking _heavy_ Jason actually was. A _fucking_ bear, that's what his brother was. Big and strong and powerful, all hiding a heart of solid gold, kind-

"Let me, Tim." A soft voice broke into Tim's concentration, and he looked up into the face of one Clark Kent, concern written all over his features.

Tim struggled to mask his surprise, as did Dick and Damian, but interestingly enough, the League didn't look so taken aback. Clark was already moving, taking Jason's arm from Tim's shoulders. Jason made no response, eyes shut, and with a nod to Diana, they helped Jason walk back to the ship, Tim leading in front, and Bruce's gaze _fixed_ on them. Tim noted the look for later. In the ship, it was Clark who gently deposited Jason into the cockpit passenger seat, Diana buckling her boy safely, smoothing his hair, and pressing a warm kiss to his forehead. They watched as Jason leaned into the kiss, mumbling a little, before sinking into the chair further and the three of them shared a smile. Diana was first to leave, also kissing her goodbye to Tim on his cheek, who smiled in response, face flushed. Clark, after watching Jason a moment longer, turned to Tim.

"He....he loves you, you know that?" 

Tim looked at him, surprised once again, before nodding. "I know. I love him too."

He meant it with ever ounce of his being.

"You...he's changed, for the better, and he says part of that is down to you, Tim. So thank you Tim, for looking after your brother."

Tim's face was warm, baby pink, a little speechless at the praise, that it was from _Clark Kent_ of all people, and he looked down at Jason, who was all but dead to the world. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Clark nodded, smiling, and Tim was curious now, wanting to ask how _they_ came about, what _had_ happened, but he stopped on seeing how Clark regarded his brother, with...care, respect, even protection. 

A _lot_ like how _Bruce_ once used to look at Jason.

_What had happened over there?_

"You sure you don't need any help? Looks like you could use some sleep, Tim." His voice was soft.

Tim gave him a look. "Could say the same for you, Uncle C." 

Clark nodded, swallowing in his throat, but didn't contest the statement. "Take..take care of him. See you on Friday." He looked at Jason one last time before placing a hand on Tim's shoulder, squeezing it, and took his leave. Tim said nothing - _something_ had definitively happened over there, but for now, his curiosity would have to wait. He had a ship to drive, a heavy Jason to take back to Danver, back home, to tuck into bed. The man would be out for the next ten, twelve hours at the very least, and Tim was already looking forward to his bed in Jay's house, warm and plush - he couldn't remember the last time his sleep had been worry free, with all the stress over Jason's absence. They'd be stuffing themselves with food, no doubt _Jason's food, if the man was up to it hmmm_ \- Tim knew his brother wasn't happy about his appearance, especially his weight loss, but in all honestly, it wasn't his fault. It was hard to eat when you were VP of a multi-national company and half the board was trying to get rid of you, a part time whizz kid who was almost single handedly running R&D, stressing over whether your favourite big brother and best friend was lying dead in a ditch someplace outta space, a father who also happened to be out of space and unreachable, a younger brother who hated your guts, your eldest brother who looked at you with a weird, sad look in his eyes, as if he wanted to reach you, desperately and yet, is afraid of you, _for_ you.

You know, normal things like that.

With a sigh, Tim made himself comfortable in the pilot seat, flicking various switches and controls.

"Rest, Jay. We're going home."

 

 

_Friday, Auburn meeting room, a little after five pm._

The League sat in the meeting room, waiting for Jason and Tim.

They had all returned back to their various places, and Jason had been right - the tiredness had hit each and everyone of them like a _freight_ train, and they'd all spent the next day and a bit sleeping for the most part. It had been...worrying, seeing Jason like that, Wednesday evening. It was as if the man seemed to shut down, losing control, capacity, a Jason very different to the strong, calm, well controlled individual they had come to know over the past few weeks, and many of them felt concern towards the young man who had worked tirelessly on their behalf. Diana had called Tim at one point, to see how things were, and was relieved to hear that Jason was fine, albeit sleeping. 

Tim had called Bruce from Jason's, updating the man on all that he'd missed - his city, things at WE, all of it, and Tim had blushed deeply over Bruce telling him " _Good job, Tim. I knew I could count on you._ " He'd promised the man to be back at the Manor for the weekend, once Jason was back to normal and after the League meeting, to which Bruce had grunted. Tim couldn't tell whether the noise was disapproving or accepting, and he held back his tongue, opting to wait until seeing Bruce in person. Part of him...suspected _why_ Bruce might feel a little odd - he had known, right from the beginning of all this, that Bruce, after seeing Jason -and how well the man was doing- might want to reach out to the man, to reconnect, which was partly why Tim had come to a Manor that day, asking Bruce to _let Jason do his work_ , and when it was all over, to _let him go_. It was easy to see the attraction to Jason - indeed, the first time Jason had returned from his work overseas, Tim had been downright _stunned_ at the man's change in physical appearance, and Jason had laughed heartily, sweeping Tim into a giant hug. 

Jason tended to have that effect on people.

He and his brother had spent Thursday sleeping, before ordering from a variety of food outlets - Italian, Chinese, Thai- Tim lost count, but he didn't care, and he and Jason sat in the man's living room, piled high with blankets, stuffing themselves as they caught up on season five of Game of Thrones.Tim had sat right beside Jason, stretching out his lean limbs across his brother's lap, and a large bowl of popcorn had been placed between them for their pleasure. Jason hadn't said much, still too drained for the travels, and Tim didn't push it, knowing that Jason would open up when he was recovered, and after this League business was brought to a proper end. Talia had given him a right reaming, and Tim had listened to Jason's telling off half wanting to comfort his brother, and the other half a little smug, that he hadn't been overreacting to Jason's lack of contact. It was agreed that Jason, Tim also -Talia was explicit- that both boys _rest_ and eat, and that she would see them both soon before Jason would travel with her. Jason had grinned at Tim's inclusion in Talia's strict orders - Tim couldn't escape now even if he wanted to, and the boy had scowled a little, knowing that Talia wasn't joking in the slightest.

Clark had, in fact, opted to go back to _Smallville_ to his parents, wanting a bit of a breather. He spent most of Wednesday night and early Thursday morning alternating between light sleep and his thoughts, wondering the best way to tell Lois what had happened. She had called, of course, knowing from Bruce that the League were back, and Clark had finally decided that a change in scene, out here in the countryside, might help things. He had asked, to Lois's curiosity, that Lois meet him at his parent's farm on Friday, after work, where they would talk over the weekend, and Lois, picking up on her husband's silent anxiety, had agreed, reminding Clark that no matter what had happened, she loved him, and that she was _his_ , always and forever. Clark had held back a sob on hearing Lois so that, his chest over so tight, whispering an _I love you too_ before ending the call, eyes damp. Ma and Pa new something was wrong the moment he stepped into the house, and Clark spent the hour weeping into his Mother's side, his Pa stroking his hair, the pain in his chest, before Ma gently took him upstairs, tucking him in, with a plate of cookies and warm chocolate milk, and the two of them listened to Pa read on Clark's other side, his legs stretched out on the bed.

And now Friday was here, and the League watched now as Jason, more sharply dressed in a navy shirt and fitted trousers, entered the room, along with Tim who walked in beside his brother in causal wear, jeans and a sweatshirt, hair into a low bun. Dick had insisted on coming, and whether that was to support Bruce, or see Jason again, Tim couldn't be sure. Apparently the demon brat had too wanted to come, claiming Dick's assault at Jason's hand two months back an _insult_ to the family name, but Bruce had put his foot down with a firm _No_ \- the action surprising everyone, Damian particularly. Dick watched the two of them now, one brother, the other....something, Dick didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't help it now. Indeed, the League watched the pair as well, noticing their closeness, the ease with which they moved together, Tim right by his brother's side, blue eyes thoughtful.

Tim was good for Jason.

Jason brought the meeting to a start. "Sorry I'm late. Let's jump into it."

Turning to Tim, the boy acted right on cue, opening his laptop and typing in a few keys. In no more than a few seconds, a video was up on the main screen, showing Jason, alongside his friend, _Yena'at_ , facing what appeared to be council members in a small room, faces unfamiliar The League shifted, wondering, and Tim watched them, but one look from Jason had him turning to face the screen. A warning look - _not now_ \- and Tim accepted the rebuke.

They all watched as the Council elders read out the verdict.

"We, the House, on behalf of Congress, representing the United Nations, are here today to confirm completion of the work by those of the Earthian _League_ \- Superman, Batman, Hawkgirl, Wonder Woman, the Flash, J'onn the Martian and Green Lantern. We understand and accepted that the basis of their contractual work was agreed upon by the former Council of Elders, that your involvement, though understandable and to a degree, no fault of your own, still resulted in significant damage to various structures in and around the city. We...are aware, of Gol's involvement, those who conspired with Xan to mislead you, League, and to paint you as the perpetrators, using you as a escape goat, and on behalf of all of us, we deeply apologise for such repulsive behaviour, and to individuals as noble as yourselves. As the new government in place, we today hereby agree that the Earthian League, made up by these seven individuals, have met and completed the agreed work with outstanding success. We thank you, for your sustained efforts, your co-operation with our people on the ground, in the air, your ability and hard work, and the contracts set before you, held by Mr Red, ambassador to the League, are written evidence of the full completion of the work you agreed to undertake. We would also like to extend not only our thanks, but apologies, at your unfortunate treatment at the hands of most _despicable_ individuals, and we hope your view of us remains untainted by an evil few. We do and will continue to hold you in the highest of all regards, and we present to you our token of appreciation, the _Honreo medallion_ , our highest medal of honor to the bravest and most courageous of all peoples. We thank you, League, for your work, for your understanding, and should you wish any further visits later in the future, please do _not_ hesitate to contact any of us. We, the House, in agreement of Congress, and on the behalf of our peoples, wish you all the best in any and every endeavors, and for now, farewell. Good day to you, and good day to your sirs."

The video stopped playing.

Jason turned to the League, picking up up a number of emotions. Anger, confusion, a touch of bitterness, _relief_ \- it was all there, and Jason let them stew a while before speaking again.

"I know...it's not enough. There aren't not enough words, apologies...for all the _shit_ that went down, I get that. Don't let my face up there fool you - I was _mad as hell_ , and if not for Yena, telling me to cool it, professionalism and all that....anyway, its done now. Its nowhere near enough, and you didn't deserve to be in this mess, not truly, but its over now. In essence, there was a coup, it got overthrown, now there's a new government, and your work over there is complete. That's all you need to know. So-" Jason stood up now, and began to distribute personalised contracts to each League member, the bright, glaring red seal of the House at the top. "-if you guys can read through your contracts - each persons is different, mind you- and if you're happy with it, sign at the bottom, dating today's date, then we'll take it from there."

Jason sat back down next to Tim, and the pair watched the League read through their contracts. Across sat Dick, watching _them_ , and whilst Tim was uncomfortable with his brothers gaze, picking up easily on the jealously, Jason remained relatively unfazed, scrolling through his phone as he waited for the League to finish. The sound of papers being lifted filled the air, and one by one, the League began to side, taken aback when a copy of the document seemed to float into mid-air, before disappearing altogether. Jason watched some of them with a smile. "Yeah, its weird. Basically once you sign, a copy goes over to _them_ for their records, you guys keep the originals."

Contracts eventually signed, Jason turned to Tim, who looked at the rest of the League. It was Diana who spoke first, diplomatic hat on.

"Jason, on behalf of the League, we would like to say _thank you_ for your help and skilled expertise in this case. We know it has not been easy, in many respects, but you have gone above and beyond, even at the risk of your own life, and we cannot thank you enough. Thank you, for your help with Xan, with Gol, in the latter parts of our stay, though most...unpleasant, and for your selflessness in securing safe passage to Gerebeta. We...are indebted to you, Jason, and once again, from all of us, _thank you_."

The League stared back at him, faces firm, eyes on him, but Jason said nothing, his face neutral.

Their thanks mean't nothing - it was keeping their end of the bargain, his _terms_ , that was important to him.

It was Tim's turn to speak, and he pulled out a sleek black folder, containing two pages of a well written contract. "The terms, Jay."

Jason nodded, and leaning back in his chair, he began to read, taking his time. 

He'd only two anyway: that they do things _his way_ , and his record be wiped clean.

Not that he was ashamed of what he'd done - no, what he'd done as the Hood was a simple purging, a deep cleansing of all the corruption and filth in today's world.

But if he was going to _live_ again, to move about in peace, to work with the Ghosts without being afraid of someone spotting him and carting him off, them he needed this blank slate.

And so Jason took his time, reading between the lines, debating to himself, checking for ambiguity, shortcuts, loopholes - anything that the League could potentially use against him. Tim had written it, yes, and he trusted Tim with pretty much all he had, that Tim wouldn't do him wrong like that, but he didn't trust the _League_ , and that's what mattered in the end. The contract, Jason concluded, was as clear as can be. Tim had taken the term of explicitly detailing each and every point, sharp as anything, even going further to have each core League member sign and state their names, and that the decision be upheld for and and all future League, not just limited to those at the current time.

Jason held the contract in his hand for a moment, looking at Tim straight in the eye.

"It's good, Jay." Tim held his eye firmly, unmoving.

"It won't come round to bite me in the ass?"

"I swear to you, Jason, _on my life_ , that this contract is worth its weight in gold. I drafted it no less than twenty-seven times - its for you Jason, and I would _never_ , not to _you_ , and not for _anyone_."

Jason continued looking at Tim, unblinking, his eyes searching his brothers own.

Tim wouldn't lie to him, no. He knew that kid like the back of his hand, loved him more than perhaps anything in the world.

If Tim was telling the truth, then he was _telling the truth_ , it was as simple as. 

Besides, they both - heck, _all of them_ now knew what Jason was capable of, and only a _fool_ , a stupid, naive, harebrained _fool_ would consider trying to double cross a man like _Jason Todd_.

He nodded, sure. "I trust you." His voice was soft as he looked at his brother, and Tim took his hand, squeezing it gently.

"It would be like cutting off my own arm, Jason. I could never, not in a million years."

Jason nodded again, now sure of himself, of Tim, and with one final look at the League, signed the document.

He stared at the document for a moment longer, taking it all in, the confirmation - his _freedom_.

No more Superman dragging him out of apartment blocks, though Jason doubted a little that Clark would do that now, after everything.

No more being at the top of international watch-lists, _League_ lists.

It was as if a weight had been lifted from his neck, and all Jason could do was _breathe_.

He could _breathe_ again.

"I guess this means our work is finished." His voice was a little raw.

"It's finished." Diana confirmed, a touch regretful.

"Right then." Jason's voice became firmer, professional, and he stood now, clearing his things away. Tim chose now to take his leave, knowing the League would probably want this privacy, and he made his way to one to the transporter bays on the West side, preparing Jason's departure. The League also stood, and one by one, they each said their goodbyes. They didn't offer their handshakes -Jason wouldn't want them anyway-, but their faces were...kinder, more understanding, and all Jason could do was nod at them, trying to keep his face deliberately neutral, but he was unable to maintain his distant demeanor as before.

First up was John, who told him he wasn't _that_ much of an asshole. Jason had asked him, out of interest, whether the Lanterns knew of their trouble back on Xan, but John had simply shook his head, regretful - apparently Xan had tampered with their communications and had been false feeding them information, assuring them that all was well. Jason had looked away on hearing that, keeping his emotions in check. Next up was Barry, who actually smiled at him, that it was pretty cool getting to know him, and Jason had let slip a small smile at that. J'onn touched his arm, orange eyes glowing with pride, and Jason gave the man a bigger smile, forever thankful for the Martian's kindness.

Shayera was next, reaching up to kiss Jason on the cheek, who blushed in response. "You up for a movie any time soon?"

Shayera grinned at him. "Only if you're paying." She tilted her head to the rest of the room, aware Jason still had a few goodbyes left, before continuing. "Get my number from Tim. Stay safe, Jason." With a wink, Shayera left the room, and Jason smiled at her retreating figure, admiring.

There were only three left now, the infamous trinity. 

Bruce caught his attention, voice low as he spoke. "Jason." He sounded unsure, uncertain, as if he didn't really want to do this, not especially, and Jason forced himself to remain standing.

"Take...take good care of yourself."

Jason couldn't meet Bruce's eyes for some reason, and he nodded at the table instead. Bruce was as about to leave when Jason suddenly spoke, his voice hard.

"Break her heart, and I'll break you."

The was silence for a moment, but they all knew what Jason meant by that statement.

Jason still didn't look up on hearing Bruce's final departure, his chest feeling strange and fluttery.

 _How strange_.

At the corner of his eye, Jason could see Clark standing a little way off, hands clasped, head a little to the side, but Jason read his _nervousness_ easily. They'd spent quite a bit of time together, and it was becoming almost comical at how things had turned out.

Diana, by now, had moved to stand beside him, and waited as he cleared the last of his things. Jason knew it would be hard, with _her_ , and Diana didn't hesitate in holding his hand, squeezing it softly. He remained looking at his feet now, throat tight, but it was _Diana_ who lifted his head gently with one finger, and he gazed into her pools of sapphire, vision blurring at the edge.

" _Diana_." He whispered, his voice close to breaking.

"My _son_." the woman's voice was proud, defiant, her hands on the sides of his face, gazing up at him. "My _boy_. I am so very, _very_ proud of you, Jason."

Jason felt the tears welling, and he tried, _damnit_ he did, but they betrayed him, and one by one, they fell. Diana said nothing but to shush him, hugging him close, and he rested her head on his shoulder, tears weaving into her hair.

"Ma." he began, voice hitching. "I love you, mom. I-honest to _God_ , I do. I never stopped, and for the life of me, I always will. _Always_."

Diana pulled him tighter, her voice low and comforting. "You are _mine_. My _boy_ , my beautiful, precious Robin, and _I love you_ , Jason, with every fibre of my being. I love you, and will protect you, you have my word. Never forget, my boy and my child, my _heart_ , that you belong to me, and I will always find you." Her voice was wet, and all Jason could do was squeeze his eyes, choking out a sob.

They stayed like that for a _long_ time, content to remain in each other's embrace, before Jason finally let go. Their eyes were red, cheeks wet, and the two looked at each other before chuckling, their expressions mirroring Mother and son.

"When can I see you again?" Diana gazed up at her son, twirling a thumb in his palm. Jason smiled back at her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Where's your phone?" His voice was soft, eyes full of admiration, and Diana's smile grew as she took out her phone. Jason put in his number, saving it, dialing his number to have _hers_ , and satisfied that the two were connected, turned his attention back to his _Mother_.

"I...I'm gonna spend some time with Tim first, I want him settled and comfortable."

Diana nodded, understanding completely. She too, wanted to spoil the child, beautiful, kind Timothy."And then, I've gotta meet Talia, we need time together." Jason watched her as he spoke, and she nodded once, accepting that _Talia_ was part of reconnecting with Jason, though she couldn't manage to hide the flicker of disapproval in her eyes. Jason smiled at the sight, stroking the side of her face with one hand, "She's not...she's not _that_ bad, Di, trust me. Maybe...I dunno, maybe one day, you might meet her and see for yourself. She's...she's always been good to me, Di, she took care of me when I...she's my Ma too, Di, and I know you don't like that but she took care of me when I couldn't, when she herself was at risk, she was there when it was horrible and she-she _looked after me_ and honestly Di, without her, I wouldn't have stood a chance, not even a little-

"Hush now, child." Diana detected a slight distress in the boy's tone. "I...will admit to not liking her, nor her...methods, but for the mere fact that she had a hand in keeping you alive, enough that you are here today, as beautiful as can be, then fine, I can...accommodate, Jason, but I warn you. I can be _rather_ selfish." Her eyes were dancing, and Jason let loose a laugh.

"Trust me, you guys have a lot more in common than you think."

Diana raised an eyebrow at that, ready to contest, but she held her tongue, not wanting to disrupt the moment with her boy. Jason read her easily, and dropped the matter instead of pushing it further. He bent to kiss her on the cheek, holding her hand once more. "I'll call you, I promise."

"You will, absolutely?" Diana shook his hand a little, gaze fierce.

"I will. Besides, there's a showing of _the Lion King_ in London very soon, three, four weeks maybe. I'm thinking I come over to yours-"

" **Yes**." Diana interrupted him, leaving no room for debate. "Of course, Jason - you are always welcome to come home with me. We will see the play, and we _will_ spend time together, _absolutely_."

They smiled at each other, before Jason titled his head minutely in Clark's direction. Diana smiled, nodding, and bent Jason's head to kiss him once more on the forehead, stroking the sides of his face, her beaming, darting a kiss onto his nose, much like she used to do when he was a child, and the action caused Jason to chuckle.

"Soon." Diana took her leave after that statement, Jason watching her, happy, before Clark stepped forward, clearly shy.

"Jason-" Clark began, struggling to put into words what he wanted to say.

"Clark, we've been over this. Honestly, its all good, we don't have to pretend or anything-"

Clark stared at him as he spoke. "Pretend? Why would I- _no_ Jason, its-I'm not like that."

Jason kept quiet, and Clark took the opportunity to continue. "From the start, I...we had history. I knew you as the _Hood_ , and I didn't want to work with you. But you took on the job, the responsibilities. You worked your ass off in here, you came with us, to Xan, and you were worked harder than anyone. You..., _cared_ about us, making sure we were being treated right, even though you put it down to just being part of the job. You went ahead, the extra mile - you put our needs first and went above and beyond for us. You...you got the League out, to safety, almost single-handedly, and for me-I-Jason-you, you could have went your own way but you didn't, you and your friends, you came for me, even when I was...I was a mess, a stinking, disgusting mess but you, you were kind, and nice, you helped me, even when I felt like _dying_ Jason, when I despised myself. You kept encouraging me even when I saw myself as less than nothing-you gave me your _house_ to stay in, for pete's sake, your friends, everything - you did it all, without asking, without being prompted, for a group of people you don't get along with, for someone like me, we-we've been at each other's throats in the past. Not-not once did you laugh at me or-or make fun of it, of being...like that, you _didn't_. Jason...I, I honestly don't know-I don't have enough words, _thank you_ -its-it's not enough, Jason, it really isn't. And-and the worst thing is that I don't know..what goes on from here, whether you wouldn't mind if we stayed in touch, I-don'-I don't know anyone who just _get's it_ like you do but if you _don't_ or prefer otherwise, then that's fine, I guess I'm trying to say-"

" _Clark._ ". Jason had somehow moved close enough to place his hands either side of Clark's shoulders. "Breathe, big guy, its alright."

"No, its no-"

"It is. I'm glad, and look, thanks, alright, thanks for recognising the efforts made, I appreciate it. I know its important to be humble and shit, but its nice to be _recognised_ every once in a while, you know?" Jason was smiling at Clark, whose face was a little flushed.

"And look, as for keeping in touch? _Absolutely_ , that isn't a problem. Like I said, Superman, Red Hood - I don't care about that, not much. But Clark Kent? Boy Scout? That I do, and I, along with your friends and your family, are gonna get you through this. Be warned though, I'm not gonna be around much, have to work for my money, but that's why we have shit like _phones_ and _email_ \- we get to do silly shit like _keep in touch_ every once in a while. So if that's what you want, I'm for all it Big Blue. It's weird, I know, but I'm willing to let the past be that if you are. Not that everything is all buried and forgotten, no, but I won't-I'm not gonna let it affect what's in front, if that makes sense?"

Clark nodded, relieved, and Jason smiled, understanding where the man was coming from. _He must have been anxious that I'd cut him off or something_ , he thought to himself.

"How will we-" Clark began, a little awkward.

"Which one's better for ya? Phone? Email? I can do the latter, but I might not always have decent connectio-"

"Phone, def- _definitely_ phone, I'd like that. If you want, when its appropriate for you, not that I'm expecting a call every Wednesday or-"

Clark was cut off from his embarrassed trail of thought by Jason's laughter. "How about this: every once in a while, I'll check up on ya? And whenever you need to, a call, text, when its bad and you feel like no-one else gets it, or if you just wanna talk, then you go right ahead and call Auntie Jason, capiche? Ring, text, whatever. If I can't get back to you straightaway, its usually 'cos I'm working or in the middle of something, but I _will_ get back to ya. So don't worry about it. Here-" Jason handed his phone over to Clark, who looked at him, grateful, eyes slightly misty, before entering his number.

"Thanks, Jason." Clark's voice was soft.

"Wasn't hard, was it? Like I said, whevever, even if that's everyday, or once in a full blooded moon, you go right on ahead. I get it, honestly I do. I'm...I'm just glad I can help, C. We all need the support every now and again, alright?"

Clark nodded, anxieties dissipating, and Jason gave him another one of his warm smiles. "If you don't mind me asking....you...you talked to Lois yet?"

Clark swallowed, his voice scratchy. "Not yet. I...I went to my parents, on Wednesday. She-she's coming over for the weekend tonight, I'-I'll try to tell her then."

Jason nodded. "Good man. You're doing the right thing. Remember all the things I've said, alright? It will take time, and you've just gotta be patient, but hang in there. Don't give up, don't give in to the self pity. Use your family, your friends. When it gets to much, switch your attention to something else - a movie, getting some fresh air, chilling with the Bat in his cave."

Clark smiled at the last bit.

" _You can do this, Clark._ I promise you - you _can_ , and you _will_. It seems hard now and it _is_ , but with time, it'll get easier. You have my word." Jason finished now, and the silence was comfortable.

"Welp, better be on my way, got a hungry Tim to feed. Need a lift anywhere?" Jason's tone was kind, friendly, and Clark couldn't be more thankful to have gotten to know this man.

"No, I'm fine, but thank you Jason, for everything."

It was Jason who moved to hug him, and Clark reciprocated. "Take care of yourself."

Jason nodded, grinning, and pressed into Clark's hand a slim brown envelope. "When it gets too much, and you can't sleep - when the hatred is thick, almost suffocating and you feel horrible about yourself, _watch this_. It's a...reminder to keep going, that you can do this, that this shit doesn't have to have a hold on you _any more than you let it_."

Clark took the envelope, staring at it. He looked up to find Jason watching him, a kind smile on his face, and with a two fingered wave, the man, formerly known as the _Hood_ , took his leave.

Clark watched him go, a little more sure of himself.

He would get through this.

 

 

_A few months later._

Clark looked at his phone, frowning a little.

 _Eight missed calls_ -Who on earth- _Tim_?

Clark called the younger boy immediately, anxiety beginning to blossom in his best. Beside him, Lois had stopped eating, eyes worried, and Clark reached over to squeeze her hand, aiming for reassurance.

Tim picked up on the first ring. " _Clark!_ Thank God its you- Clark, I need your help, its _Jason_ , I'm worried about him! He hasn't been returning any of my calls, I can't damn well track him, and I'm losing it Clark, I think he's in trouble but I-I don't know where he _is_ -"

Clark stood up, meal already forgotten. "Tim, slow down. What do you need me to do?" The boy sounded distressed, tripping over his words.

His chest felt tight. _Jason_ was in trouble?

They'd only spoken a few days back, laughing over a joke or three. They'd kept in regular contact ever since the Xan fiasco, and Clark had come to know Jason as a _friend_ of some sort, one that he had become very fond of. They were supposed to meet up in a short while, a festival they'd both been keen to go to, and the two already had tickets for the event.

"Clark! Help me track his signal, I can't-do you know his heartbeat -I'm scared and I don't know what to do, _Talia's_ not heard from him either, C, and she's really worried - its not like him, he always keeps in contact with us-" Clark could _feel_ Tim's agitation through his phone, and already he was up in the air, hovering.

"I'm trying, Tim. Send me what you have, I'm on my way-"

The phone dropped with a click, and Clark was moving quickly now, gathering various necessities. _Would Bruce help?-_

"Clark what's going on-" Lois's eyes were round with worry, and she too was standing now. 

"Jason. He-he's in trouble, I'm not sure-" Clark was trying to downplay his panic, but horrible scenarios kept rushing through his head and he-

"Go, _go_ Clark, its alright. _Help him_." Lois kissed him swiftly on his cheek, knowing how important Jason was to Clark, and with a whoosh, Clark left their apartment.

 

 

It wasn't long before Clark found himself holding the lifeless body of one _Jason Todd_ in his arms.


	46. Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take an ugly turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves, people! Shit's about to go _down_!

_Bolivia_.

Jason closed his eyes.

They-things had turned to shit, Jason knew it the moment he stepped in this God forsaken place. He'd screamed at the rest, _abort_ , abort, get the kids- 

Time was almost out - Jason knew; he'd done this before.

The blood loss was severe, already his left side had gone numb, the pain too much for words. The rest of his body felt heavy, foreign. 

Breathing was nothing short of agony, and the wet, sticky liquid that was once warm around his head was now cool and foreign.

He'd been here for a while, maybe a few days, weeks at least - Jason wasn't sure. Day and night, it all merged into one.

His pulse was shallow, weak, he knew that. The blood pooling in his lungs had caused him to cough initially, but with the tiredness, the fatigue, the muscle strain, he'd coughed less, and now it was a real effort to stay awake, far too straining.

He was losing consciousness.

It was a full circle, really. Dying once before in a warehouse. Dying here, _again_ , in a warehouse, out in the middle of a jungle.

Dying trying to protect his mother, dying to protect kids from sex traffickers.

Jason thought about turning to the side, but his head was too heavy, and his brain felt like squish in his skull. Squishy and sloshy, _ha_. 

The memories were flurrying past now. Him and Talia eating one sunny day somewhere in Italy, her black hair dancing over her shoulder. She was trying very hard not to smile but one joke later, the woman he called _Mother_ was cracking up so loud the other diners had turned towards them, amused. She wouldn't stop laughing, her eyes were all twinkly and shit, and in that white dress, skin dark and glowy, Jason could all but memorise her form, forever scorched into his memory, dainty yet strong, powerful.

 _God, she was so beautiful_.

_He'd never see her again._

Tim and himself at his house, watching a movie of some sort. The kid was trying to concentrate but failing to, laughing instead at Jason's biting commentary. Shoulder length hair, the boy was drowning in Jason's sweatshirt, but Tim had refused to give it up, curling into it like a baby bird. Foodie. Clever little shit, blue eyes, shiny, oh _God_ not him, not Tim, _please_ -

 _Little brother_.

Tim would be _devastated_ , and Jason no longer had the strength to cry.

Alfred sipping from his tea, his right eye twitching as they read over the museum brochure. Somewhere out of Gotham, Jason couldn't remember, an literary event of some sort. History. Alfred rather relaxed in his navy fleece and brown loafers. Brown shiny eyes. Kind and warm and knowing, yet not afraid of him. _Never_ afraid, grandpa.

 _He was going to break his abuelo's heart. Again._.

Diana came in, at some point. Him dancing with her in her kitchen -he'd visited a few weeks after the League - Xan fiasco, and Jason had kissed her temple at the side, marveling at being tall enough to lead _her_ , not the other way around. She had blushed of course, but still-she'd let him twirl her around, holding her softly. That night was nothing short of magical. _Peaches, roses and cream_. Always those three things, and Jason could practically smell it now, the warmth, the love.

 _God, Diana._ _Her_. _Mother, his heart_.

_Not again._

Bruce- _Bruce?_

Big tall warm deep voice rumbling blue eyes smirk smile cackle belly laugh warm safe protected warm safe, dad, _Dad_ , upset sad angry sad stranger hurt regret I miss you, _I'm so fucking sorry, Bruce_ , I can't believe-this is it-not _again-_

__No_ \- I didn't get a-_

His friends. Yellow ribbing Purple, Blue, Fusch, Orange, drinks, beers, cooking food over a teriyaki grill in Balti, going surfing with Grey, White, Black _Ghosts_ , Taupe and accents, Brown singing, Green burning bloody toast, useless man- brothers in arms, protect each other, you have my back I have yours, _cheers_ , bandages, sweat, save-get the kids, job well done, we-we-we-

they were melting away now, the memories. It was getting warmer, brighter, quieter.

 _Quiet_. _Peacful_.

Jason closed his eyes, feeling his body take one last breath. He could feel himself slipping, going, _going_ -

 

 

_A few months ago, starting early November._

_Friday morning, a week after the League's return to Earth._

"Jay! You nearly ready to go?"

A muffled response came from inside the house, and all Tim could do was to roll his eyes, failing to hide a smile.

He huffed to himself as he stuffed the last of their belongings into the boot of his brother's car. It was getting colder, and Tim pulled his jacket over his thick sweatshirt a little more firmly. They were due to fly out of Danver in less than an hour's time; privately, since neither he nor Jason were keen on overcrowding, screaming kids, exhausted mothers, and the chaos that went with travelling. The League had returned back to Earth last Wednesday, concluded _Xan_ that Friday afternoon, and Tim had visited the Manor for the rest of the weekend before going back to his brother's house. After spending most of the week indoors, the two of them had decided on a much needed trip abroad over lunch; they were to visit Johannesburg, SA, then to Nairobi, Kenya, and randomly, Thailand. Jason had decided that Tim was in need of good food and actual sun, and Tim couldn't agree more, even though they both knew of his tendency to burn rather than tan. He checked the time on his watch - _seven fifteen am_ \- before straightening against the Cadillac, stretching with a loud yawn.

They needed this.

It was their thing, going on brotherly getaways, a chance to chill and relax without the weight of work or other responsibilities on their shoulders. Tim knew how much Jason disliked visiting Gotham - if not for him or Alfred, the place would have been nothing less than a black hole in his brother's memory, and driving to Danver was difficult when there was WE, patrol, school, and other various bits life enjoyed throwing at him. Bruce had been... _understanding_ , and that had taken Tim aback quite a bit. He'd been slightly apprehensive of Bruce's reaction to him going away with Jason, especially now that the man knew the two were close, but Bruce had agreed with a nod, a small, pained smile flickering across his face before smoothing out, clearing his WE schedule without so much as a fuss. It was strange...that Bruce could be so willing like this, and Tim had stared at the man for a few good seconds before swallowing, realisation dawning on him.

Tim had suspected, since the League's return, that something fundamental had changed, and he was _right._

He had come to the Manor last Saturday, the day after he and Jason's visit to the watch-tower. Bruce....Bruce had been oddly quiet about the whole thing, only wanting to review his WE work and go over patrol over the last few weeks, remaining tight lipped about Xan. Tim had obliged, and the two had sat down in the Cave for the most part of the day , going over case files, notes, reviewing videos, noting areas that needed improvement. Bruce had been...a little too neutral, as if it were a real effort to maintain his stoic but fatherly composure, _typical_ Bruce, and Tim had sat a little to the side, glancing curiously every now and again. The man's praise had been another surprise; warm, genuine, _a job well done_ , and he had smirked at Tim's speechlessness before squeezing him on the shoulder. It was at that very moment that Tim's phone had vibrated, a text message from _Jason_ , and Tim had watched Bruce turn to the phone, a strange look on his face. Regret, hurt, the usual, but there was also.... _want_ , a wistful longing of some sort, and that had Tim set on edge. He hadn't seen that look in a long time - in fact, Jason's name, the _Hood_ , hadn't been mentioned aloud in the Manor for years now, as if he'd been swept away from existence, and now Bruce had this weird ass look on his face, as if he... as if Jason was going to emerge from the thing at any moment, before turning away, his shoulders tense.

 _Fuck_.

Tim had closed his eyes, feeling stiff. He'd been sat rigid in this damn chair for the last few hours, anxious at the prospect of possibly disappointing Bruce.

_Fuck, fuckity fuck._

He'd known this would happen.

That Bruce would want to reach out to Jason. To connect. To have him _back_ , as if he were some kind of object to possess, a play thing that one could request, and Jason deserved _better_. _So much better_.

It was the very reason why Tim had _specifically requested_ to Bruce that he let Jason do his job, and at the end of it all: to _let him go_.

That the Jason Bruce would meet again for the first time in years was unlike any they'd ever seen. Taller, taller than pretty much anyone he knew save Clark. Bigger than ever, _strong_. Stable. Happy. _Sound_ , in mind, in heart. _Well_. A man who had a job, friends, his own house, a life that he was finally enjoying for once, who laughed freely-

and Tim knew it deep down, _knew_ that Bruce would see all this, the change, the _difference_ , and want Jason _back_ , like a selfish fucking child.

The same Jason he'd given up on. The very same person he and Tim had poured blood, sweat and tears into building their relationship. That it had cost them, so, _so_ much, but it was worth every last drop, and Tim would do it all again in a heartbeat, no hesitation whatsoever.

Bruce saw tall, handsome, walnut-brown Jason, fully grown, a _man_ and in control, and he wanted to reclaim the boy as son once more, without having put in the work.

Attracted to the glitter, the shine, the beauty, and Tim had felt anger begin to mount as he watched Bruce's back turned away from him.

What he didn't see,- call it laziness, ignorance, selfishness, whatever- what Bruce had _failed to acknowledge_ -and made Tim _pissed as hell_ \- was all the _effort it had taken Jason to get to this place in the first instance_. That underneath was a man he, Jason, Talia, Alfred - they'd all worked on, pulled together, helped break through and conquer his demons - _and now that all was well and fine, Bruce wanted to step back into the picture_.

He understood of course, why Bruce had let Jason go, and part of him agreed that it had been the right thing to do. 

But they say they truth is bitter, and Tim thought to himself now - _it sure fucking is_.

His eyes were shut - the memories were flooding in- horrible fights, the kind that left broken hearts, bloody noses, and throats hoarse the following morning. Fights where he'd made his brother piss blood for a week, the sames ones Jason had fractured his ribs. The yelling, the frustration, shaking and shouting and screaming, having to hold the man down for fear of killing himself, the _tears that always came afterwards_. At the height of Jason's instability, his brother struck mad with Lazarus, unable to recall even the time of day, not so much as to eat or sleep. A man that would _howl_ , that Tim would spend a good part of the night comforting, wiping down sweaty locks, clearing vomit bowl after vomit bowl, cleaning bloody knuckles, the same man who would try to push him away, spitting curses - _replacement_ -, struggling and weeping all in one ago. How much it had taken, _both of them_ , to make it work. To exist to the point that they could be in the same room without tearing the other apart. To eat next to each other. Watch a film together - heck, sleep in the same proximity without fear of a throat been slashed or a knife to the eye. To be able to talk about mundane shit, the weather, sports, a movie. That Jason could let Tim into his space, as shabby as it was, into the many places he called home temporarily, and let him work at the kitchen counter whilst he cooked. That Jason would have his many breakdowns, twice, three, heck, five at one point, in _one fucking day_ \- and still let Tim stay, even when he didn't want the boy to touch him. That Jason would come to trust Tim enough to give him his number, even though getting him to text back was like plucking hairs off a feral cat. That they could meet for breakfast, or even lunch, out in the daytime, and Jason-Jason _would actually show up_ , even when he was a little hungover sometimes, or unwashed. Even when his eyebags had bags, his face was ashen, and the dried tear tracks on his cheeks were still visible. That the man would sit, and eat, even if it were only a few morsels, when it was clear he hadn't slept for several hours, so much so that the cutlery in his hands trembled, his mug of chocolate spilled over a little, but still -Jason would remain, seated in a rundown dinner of his choosing - Tim always let him choose the place- still fucking _sit_ and eat, and stay, even when everything screamed at him to run, that it was all a trick, an illusion.

To their current standing, that Jason called him _little brother_ , _Timbo_ , _mister Timmers_ his _best fucking friend_. That the man considered him important enough to have an entire _room_ in his house, in Danver and in a whole multiverse away, his own room, decorated how he wanted it, trusting him with a key to his place. It wasn't just him; Tim knew that Jason and Alfred, precious, dearly beloved _Alfred_ \- had had fights, not the physical kind, _God no_ , but the type that brought tears to Alfred's eyes as Jason would be told to leave, _that kind_ , his voice trembling as Jason would actually leave, weeping, angry, and Alfred would retreat to a quiet room, tears leaking silently as he tried to continue polishing the family's china. Jason never spoken about he and Alfred's rare disagreements - there was no need to, not with the slight hitch in Jason's voice at the mere mention of having hurt the old butler. Not to mention _Talia_ of all people - the woman had never shed proper light onto it, but of all people Tim knew - she, Talia al Ghul, had seen the very worst of Jason, and they knew it. The worst of the _worst_ , that Jason had not yet shared with him in depth, only to clarify that Talia had been there, through it all, and she'd never once left, and that she was _everything_ to him. That Tim knew his efforts had been _nothing_ compared to Talia's, and what she and Jason had been through, and it was clear to Tim how much Talia loved Jason. Clear as the sky, even with her amused silences and glinting eyes - that woman loved Jason _deeply_ , and heaven help anyone who tried to take Jason away from her, _Bruce_ included.

 _Bruce had no fucking right_. _None at all_.

And so Tim, only just barely able to control himself, left Bruce down in the Cave, gathering his coat. A creak in the chair indicated that Bruce had turned to watch him, but Tim refused to look back, knowing that if he did, he would lose it at the man he called 'Dad', that _no, you don't get to pick and choose, not this time around_. He'd left the Manor, ignoring Dick's calls to _come back_ , Alfred's sad's eyes, knowing Tim would not be staying for dinner, Damian's...confusion, or whatever that demon brat had on his spiteful cat-like face, and driven the hour's journey straight to Jason's house, stuffing his key viciously into the lock, before stomping off to his bedroom, even as Jason watched him from the living room, saying nothing. There was no reason to stay at the Manor, not really. He'd been coming over a little more since the League travelled to Xan, but that was only at Alfred's insistence, and to get Dick off his back. Now that Bruce and co were here, it was back to normal for him, and that meant his penthouse in on the Upper East Side. There was no need to pretend anymore, "family" or whatever - looking at Damian and Dick made him feel feel all sorts, and there was nothing Dick could do or say that would make the jealously, the hurt, the anger go away completely. Not while Damian would be right there, looking smug as hell, his place as son firmly cemented, oh no. His penthouse was pretty much a bog standard IKEA showroom, a little cold, mostly impersonal apart from a few things here and there. It was at _Jason's_ where he had most of his things, clothes, sneakers, books, tech - Jason called his room the _land of the hipster_ , and they'd spent hours arranging things, framing his photographs, little artistic quotes that Jason chucked at heartily. Jason's house...that was _home_ , truly. The Manor...had become less and less like that since Damian's arrival, and it showed now, with once-in-a-blue-moon family dinners that were rather stilted, and patrols that had him alone at one end of Gotham, Nightwing and Robin at the other.

_Awkward didn't cut it._

And so here they were now, Friday morning, chilly as fuck, ready for some much needed sun. A slight breeze had Tim shaking his head; it was too cold to be out here any longer.

"Jason! _For fuck's sake_ , get out here already! Let's gooooooo!" Tim turned an irritated eye towards the door, where Jason had at _last_ appeared, patting down his jacket pockets. He too had on a warm sweatshirt, the layers making his broad chest far bigger than normal, and Tim mock rolled his eyes at the unfairness of it all. _Damn him_. Jason caught his actions, chuckling, and turned to lock the door before making his way to the car.

"Checking me out, Timbo? Like what you see, huh? Sorry bro, you ain't got the right parts for one, two, incest is kinda a no-go for me, three, hipsters look like they taste of stale garlic bread. Try Dick, he might be a little more receptive-"

" _Fuck off_." Tim huffed, face warming, failing to hide his grin, and Jason burst out laughing, clapping him on the shoulder before moving round to the driver's side. "Honestly you're such a jackass, I don't even know why I bother half the time."

"Its 'cause you love me-"

"Doubtful-"

"Isn't there the blondie- no, or was it the girl from-"

"Get in already, will ya!" Tim's face was red hot -how the _fuck_ did he know about-, and Jason sniggered, knowing he was spot on. The kid really rocked the hipster look, and had the snarky personality to pull off being a loveable but arrogant little shit. Raising his palms in mock surrender, Jason waited till his brother was seated before speaking.

"Tim-" He paused, putting his hands on the stearing wheel, before looking at his brother straight in the eye, who stared back, curious. "...don't ever doubt how much I'd do for you, alright?"

Tim looked back at him, understanding. _You mean the world to me, I love you, and thank you for being enough that we can go away like this._. He grinned, punching his brother lightly on the shoulder. "Is this the part where we make out or-"

" _You little_ -" Tim was broke off from his laughter by Jason's lunge, and found himself receiving a well deserved noogie to the head. After much spluttering, Jason let him go, his face radiating happiness, and Tim flipped his visor mirror down, beginning to rearrange his hair back into a bun, ignoring Jason, who sat watching him, amused.

"What?" Tim looked at his brother as he spoke, adjusting his glasses. Jason angled his head at him slightly, a small smile on his face. He pursed his lips before turning away to start the ignition, making himself comfortable.

"The look." He gestured to Tim without looking at him. "It suits you. Man bun and all. It-you look _great_ , Tim. No wonder you've got girls making fan pages over you."

Tim blushed at the sincerity in Jason's voice. "I...-" He was a little lost for words. The papers, girls - they all loved Dick, he was the playboy prince of the family, and if Damian were to ever soften up a little and play along, he'd be right alongside too. Jason - well, there was no explanation needed, the man got stares wherever he went. Tim had always felt like the odd one out, lean limbs, quiet, unassuming. "..I-you sure? I mean, I'm not you or Dick-"

Jason turned to him now, the movement quick, and his eyes were sharp. "Don't sell yourself short. Honestly, and I'm saying this as man to man - any girl needs to be worth her weight in fucking _gold_ to have you. Don't settle, and for fuck's sake, don't sell yourself short. You look great as you are. It's not about height or build or whatever, it's about being comfortable enough to not give a damn otherwise, you hear? I'm telling you straight up, the baby-blue eyed, suit-wearing, part time hipster-nerd thing ya got going on is really spot on, and you rock it, seriously. Be proud of yourself and own the fuck outta it, cause I sure am. Damn proud, I tell ya."

Tim swallowed, unable to stop a small, silly smile appearing, and he looked away slightly, cheeks pink. "Thanks, Jay." His voice was quiet.

Jason nodded and turned his attention back onto the road.

"Hold on...fan pages?" Tim felt a little horror on seeing a smirk appear on his brother's face. He gulped - _he shouldn't have asked_.

Jason quirked an eyebrow. "You didn't know? Oh man, there's a whole lotta smut out there. All about Mister _Timothy Drake Wayne_ and how he cleans up real good in a suit-"

"Oh _God_." Tim blushed fiercely into his hands now, feeling warm all over and Jason cackled like a mad woman.

"Kept reading _that_ a lot, too. You've got fans, kid, all over. They love it when you switch it up between corporate and casual, the pic with you kinda looking like this, in a bomber jacket, bun, glasses and Timbs was a real hit, got nearly thirty thousands likes, mate. There's was talk about wanting to strip you down and-

"Oh my- _enough_ Jay, Oh _God_ , stop already!" Tim's face was all hot and red, and he turned to his brother, mortified, who laughed harder at his embarrassment.

"Alright, alright, I'll can it for now." Jason's laughter died down but the mirth was still in his eyes. Tim shook his head, smiling, and began to fiddle with the sound system, plugging in his phone and scrolling to his spotify playlist. Soon the car began filling with today's pop music, the kind that made Jason's ears bleed, and he didn't hesitate in letting his younger brother know.

"Tim..Tim what the fuck is this?" Another one of Sia's hits, _the greatest_ , came bleating out, and Tim laughed on seeing his brother's incredulous reaction.

"You don't like Sia? Ah, c'mon Jay, she's an amazing singer! Okay, how about some Adele, huh? Hello is one of my faves-"

"It's too early to be listening to that sad shit and whatnot. Change the-you know what? My car, my music. Here-" Jason shifted in his seat, trying to pluck out his phone from his back pocket, but Tim steadfastly refused, placing his hands protectively over the sound system. "Uh-huh, Jay, nope. Just listen for once, alright, stop being such an old man and get with the times, bro."

"Well, "bro", today's music ain't shit compared to that of the eighties and nineties. I mean, fucking Taylor vs Destiny's child? My girl Kelly? Tina Turner, Chaka, Bee Gees, Bon Jovi, Journey, Whitney? Fucking _MJ_ \- Tim, you'd betta move your skinny ass hands from my system before I pull over."

Tim remained stubborn. "No Jay. For once, we're gonna do this, you're going to sit your fat ass down and listen to something different, and hey, tell you what - if can't name even up to five that you like, I'll wash your car for a month. No I mean-"

"A whole month? Done deal, Timbo. You're gonna regret it, trust me." Jason's grin was practically feral by now but Tim was resolute - Jason _would_ come to like his music, end of story,and the rest of their car journey was filled to the brim with pop song after song, autotune galore.

By the end of their trip, Jason wished he'd never made the deal in the first place. 

Nonetheless, they'd had an amazing time, from stuffing themselves on many different types of foods, each as delicious as the other, to trekking, enjoying sights and various activities, Tim's camera had quickly filled with photos of sunsets, animals, dishes, and he and Jason, smiling, laughing, even a couple of Jason lounging in a chair on their outside balcony, nose buried in a book. Tim had mentioned Bruce's change in demeanor- Jason had been oddly...quiet, unsure of what to say, and Tim had let it go for the time being, knowing his brother would open up later. Alas, it was over almost too quickly, and almost two weeks later, the boys had bid each other a tearful farewell, Tim going back to Gotham, and Jason straight to _Talia_ , whom he was long overdue to visit.

 

 

 _Two weeks later, mid November, somewhere off the coast of France_.

Jason twiddled his thumbs, shifting a little on the leather interior. Usually he'd take in all the little details, mahogany panelling, soft white touch, smooth wood shine finish, but-

he was _nervous_.

It was going to three months since he'd last seen Talia. They kept in contact, of course, but actually being with her, near her....there was nothing like it. The initial anxiety, the apprehension, then coming face to face - Talia was safe, she was familiar, to be trusted, and their reunions were always something deep within, of the heart, that words were never enough, not as Jason would cling to her, burying his face into her hair, inhaling the jasmine, the vanilla, and Talia would let him, completely, before turning to look upwards at him, taking his face into her hands, memorising all his features, the freckles. She knew always knew when he'd been sleeping well enough, whether the stress was due to tiredness, work, or being just plain irritable. _She knew_ , and Jason would let her study him, top to bottom, eyes making assessing, tongue clucking, the _Tt_ when she was unhappy, before she would step back a little, declare under her breath, eyes shiny, - "ابني", or "my son" in Arabic, take his hand, and they'd walk like that together, linked, her grip firm and comforting.

 _God, he hadn't seen her in so long_.

He had missed her far too much.

At last, the driver pulled to a stop, and Jason felt his heart miss a beat in his chest. Their coastside villa, a white brick building, private, similar to the one they had on the Isla Vrika, the small private island they called _Home_ off the south of Spain. He got out of the car, nodding his thanks to the attendants who'd kindly taken his bags for him, and looked to the entrance of the property, only to see a familiar figure in the distance.

Dark hair, long dress. She stood calmly, waiting, as if the one she called son hadn't been in contact for the past several weeks.

Jason didn't even realise he was moving until he was halfway there, past the stone ornaments, the water fountain, the _crunch_ as his feet made contact with the gravelled driveway, up the rose-buses, the steps, closer, till Talia was visible, a small smile on her face, skin brown, peachy flowing dress, looking as beautiful as ever, and it was all Jason could do really but to _sweep_ the woman he called _Mother_ into his arms, holding her tight as he swung her around, smiling with his eyes closed as he heard her laughter, her _Jason_ , delighted yet a warning at the same time but he ignored it. He held her like that, up in the air, before placing her down gently, but she didn't move away, not when she was so close to her child. 

_Talia_. _Mother_. Jason swallowed thickly in his throat, looking down at her, emerald green eyes round with worry, searching, and the tears fell the moment her palm made contact with his cheek.

"ابني" Talia's voice was warm, understanding, and her smile - _God_ , her smile- had him burying his face into her shoulder, the tears coming down fast. She held him, muttering soothingly, "ابني, طفلي, ولدي" - "My _son_ , my _baby_ , my _boy_ ", and now Jason really let it out, holding onto Talia as much as she could. She was the only one who could possibly understand just how _hard_ it had been for him, to be around _him_ again. He'd put on a brave front with Tim, convincingly, in order not to worry him, but with Talia - she just _knew_ , and she _understood_ , for she'd been _there_ , back when he was nothing but a shell, a mess, emotions draining out of him. She knew him, and read him like a book. Beneath the jokey smiles, the laughter, the ribbing - Talia was the only one who truly knew of the _hurt_ Jason had struggled with for a _long_ time. The anger. The betrayal, the _pain_ \- how much it had taken Jason to get to this point, the efforts, the disappointments, fighting to overcome the Pit every damn day. Tim-he didn't understand, not really. What it was like, having to deal with overwhelming _rage_ , one that you had to force back and choke to death. To feel the heat well up inside, threatening to burst. To _smile_ through the tears. To fight and push and fucking _refuse_ to give up, or to give _in_ , to hold firm, steady, to work and practice and field and do it over, again and _again_.

Talia had been by his side through it _all_ , and Jason couldn't love her enough.

Tim would never understand just how much she meant to him. Not that he _wanted_ his little brother to know what exactly he'd been through at the hands of Ra's, the League, what both he and Talia had suffered as a result, the decisions she had made for herself, for him, for _Damian_ \- that brat had no idea what they, all three of them, had been through. The League, his training. That Jason had killed and bled for him. _Protected_ him. Shielded him from the worst of it, even though he was too far gone, a catatonia of lost causes. Jason couldn't remember all of his time back with the League - the Pit had that effect, warping and twisting memories, along with his own severe brain damage- but he remembered bits. Bits that had come to him _after_ , after he'd damn near killed Damian at the height of his insanity, forgetting who the boy was, hurting innocent Tim, when it all started coming _back_.

Little bits and pieces, like a young voice by his side, a warm weight on his lap. _Soft_. Hair smelling like jasmine, like _her_ , the one who held him and combed his hair.

That Damian had no idea it was he, Jason _street-rat_ Todd -Talia had slapped him _hard_ one day during an argument, when he'd referred to himself as _that_ , that he was to never again refer to himself with such foul language in her presence- Jason fucking Todd who'd held him as he stifled quiet tears from his latest beating, the same Jason who would later go on to kill the teacher in question with his bear hands. The _Todd_ , who, despite being unable to speak except fucking grunt, whose eyes were open but his head was empty, rocked him to sleep, covering him with his blankets. Who washed his feet when they were dirty and cut up, who would smile when hearing the child stumble over English words when the boy read to him, though he had not a fucking clue what Damian was saying. His tiny rapid breaths against his slower ones. Dark middle eastern skin that would turn several shades darker after being forced to sit in the sun for failing to impress his tutors, and how Jason would rub aloe over his back, rocking the boy. That same Jason who would _take on_ Damian's punishment and sit in the heat of the sun, uncaring and unknowing about the effects of heatstroke, burns, how Ra's himself would whip him until his skin fell apart in strips, until pieces of fleshed were gouged out of him like playgoh, until Talia would beg for his life, on her knees, and how Ra's, enraged at his disgrace of an heir, the pet project who refused to obey, the daughter that soiled herself with empathy and pity - would punish her too, making him and Damian watch, delighting in their screams towards her mistreatment, punishing her further. That Ra's realised that punishing _him_ for _Damian's_ failures meant the boy did better, moved faster, was stronger, and so for every of Damian's mistakes, miscalculations, weaknesses _through no fault of his own_ , Jason would bear the punishment ten times over, that his screams could be heard halfway across the secret city-

 _None of them had any clue_ , and Jason's breath hitched at the memories, even as Talia rubbed his back softly, her voice also thick. He had taken on the League's assignment because _Tim had asked_. Tim, little brother, had asked, and Jason couldn't say no to him, _even_ despite his feelings towards the League, who could rot in hell for all he cared. To _Bruce_. That he was able to get a good deal out of it was simply the cherry on top, but for Tim, Tim who'd never asked for anything in return, who'd taken all his punches, cursing, mocking, taunting, the _hatred_ that filled his voice - the boy had soldiered all of it, and had _still_ come back to help him, to reach out to him, and Jason knew he just _couldn't_ disappoint Tim like that, no way.

"My love, it is well." Talia was speaking now, and Jason was brought back to the present, his head buried in her neck. Slowly, he lifted himself out of her embrace, but Talia held onto his hands, wringing them gently.

"It is well, my son. Come, dry your tears, and let us eat." With a soft smile, Talia reached up to kiss Jason on the check, smiling at the man's flush, and taking his hand, led the two of them into the dining room. Jason would spend the next few days at her side, resting, enjoying being around Talia again, out for sightseeing, quiet lunches and fancy dinners, but they both knew he'd have to take his leave eventually. Talia was powerful now, almost as powerful as Ra's himself, controlling close to half of the al Ghul empire, but her supposed control did not give her room to be careless, especially with those whom she concerned herself over. Both he and Damian were targets should anyone discover just how much Talia loved them, and it was important, for all their sakes, that she remained distant but watchful. Jason also recongised that the longer he was around her, the less he'd want to be _away_ from her, but they both knew that _Tim_ would be crushed should Jason stay away, as would Alfred. Talia understood the nature of Jason and Tim's relationship, indeed, she encouraged it, recognising that the two balanced each other well, and made the other stronger, though she still held out hope that Jason would come to love Damian with the same ferocity as he did Tim.

It was only a pity Damian had _no idea_ Jason had been around when he was younger, back with her and the League. 

_Ra's_ had made sure of that.

Jason cut into her thoughts now. "What you thinking, Ma?" His plate was piled to high heavens with food, much like Timothy, and Talia smiled at the thought.

"You must eat, Jason." That was all she said, sipping her glass of wine, and Jason grinned at her before continuing to eat.

The boy would never truly understand just how much she loved him, and Talia allowed her smile to grow bigger.

 _ولدي_.

 

 

 _Early December_.

Jason was back in Danver, having spent more two and a half weeks with Talia. He'd texted her constantly on the flight back, missing her already.

It was always difficult to leave, but it had to be done.

He wasn't a child anymore, and he had a life, friends, a job, but still. _Talia_ , man. What a woman.

The weeks past saw Jason spending time with a few new people. True to his word, he'd visited Diana in London, and a part of him had been touched to see that she'd kept all his things, his little notebook and terrible handwriting, his tiny apron, and there had been more than a few tears spilled. They'd eaten out in various establishments across central London, particularly a rather romantic one as they walked arms linked beside Millennium bridge, eating ice-cream, and Jason's favourite part of his visit was the dinner they shared on her balcony, overlooking London at night. They'd received admiring looks several times during his stay, and Jason had all but bragged on the woman hanging onto his arm, to which Diana simply laughed, swatting him lightly across the ear. At one point, Jason asked asked after Bruce - he didn't know why, but he had- and Diana had smiled at him knowingly, to which Jason rolled his eyes. The old man hadn't tried to contact him, and a tiny part of Jason was slightly...disappointed, though he knew it was for the best. All in all, it was almost as if Jason had never left, not really, and the man enjoyed making her laugh. Neither were ready for the end of Jason's visit, and Jason had actually prolonged his stay by another four days, unable to let himself leave. Diana would be over at the Manor for Christmas, though her lovely eyes couldn't get Jason to visit -he would be with Shayera in Greece; Jason wanted to spoil the woman with his company-, but they agreed on spending time together again soon afterwards. 

And all throughout this period, on a few occasions - Jason had been in contact with _Clark_.

It was weird, completely unlike either of them, but it worked. Jason had allowed the man to text him first, knowing that the last time they spoke, Clark was staying at his parents, and had planned to use the weekend to tell Lois what had happened back on Xan. It had been a few days after when Clark had first texted, a _Hello Jason, how are you?_. Jason had mulled over the text for a while before responding, leaving the dialogue simple, and it had been a few back and forths before Clark had opened up a little. _Lois knows_ , one text had read, and Jason had forgone the usual method to actually call the big man, who seemed relieved by the call. Initially awkward, they'd talked for a quite a while that day; Clark's voice a little raw, and Jason had understood immediately that the man was drained, and so he'd kept his voice low, warm, in an effort to calm the man.

It had worked, and Clark, for the first time since he'd been back -Lois had noted- had smiled, even laughing a little. They would get through this, come hell or high water.

Over the next few weeks, months, New Years- their conversations became longer, a little more frequent. Jason found that he ... _liked_ talking to Clark. He'd always thought of the man as a red-necked simple minded hillbilly, but that was a straight up _lie_. Clark could hold his own against him, witty and sharp, and they'd shared quite a few laughs if he were honest. _Tim_ had caught hold of him one evening during a call to Clark, perking up on hearing the man's voice over the phone, and the boy had watched him talk to Clark, curious. At the end of the call, Tim had folded his arms across his chest, eyebrow raised, clearly wanting the deets, but Jason had grinned at him instead, shaking his head. "Long story, kid", but that didn't throw Tim off - it only made him more curious, and so Jason took to explaining that shit had gone down in Xan, and that he'd helped out a little, and in the process, gotten to know Clark, only a little anyway. Short and sweet, and Tim obviously wanted to know more, but Jason refused to budge, aware of confidentiality and all that. They talked enough to agree to meet up sometime not long after New Years; the legendary _festival of earth_ would be coming to Danver, and Clark was rather excited at going, to which Jason simply laughed, teasing him.

Christmas came, and boy was that a blast. Shayera had easily become a pal, their adventures in Greece nothing short of legendary - he had the videos to prove it, despite her threats of feedings his balls to the dogs should he fail to destroy the evidence. The woman was a real fire-cracker to be around, and Jason enjoyed being able to let off some steam with someone who had the strength and capacity to match him. With her, it was easy to let slip his true Gothamite roots come out, the slang, staccato speech, and it was...nice, being able to call her a friend, though they flirted far too much to be entirely safe. Apparently _John_ the fucking Lantern had asked her out for New Years, and Jason had been unable to mask his surprise, and of course _jealously_ , much to Shayera's cackle. "You'll always be my girl, the one that got away-" but Shayera's laughing had him too laughing, her legs draped lazily over his, but they both knew what he meant. There would always be that.... _something_ between them, that had it been another day, in the right circumstances, an _if_ , _possibly_ , but Jason was for the most part, happy to keep things as they were. 

And then, one February morning, after _Talia_ had stayed with him and Tim in Danver for New Years and a few days afterwards, after painting the orphanage down in Crime Alley, carrying out repairs in the local community centre, starting on his house extension for a fourth bedroom, building a conservatory, Jason got a call.

A call that would change things as he knew it.

 

 

 _Sometime in early/mid February_.

Jason was at his kitchen counter, eating a sandwich, when his phone rang.

"Yello." He answered, not bothering to check caller ID.

"Yo, big man, whatup! How was your Christmas?" Orange was far too cherry for this time of morning, and Jason chuckled.

"Too good to be true, honestly. We have a job?"

"Sure do. Usual meeting place, five pm, we fly out a nine." Orange answered, voice clearly muffled with food. Jason shook his head fondly.

"Any deets?" Jason was already up from his seat, dusting down crumbs. 

He was looking forward to the job already. Busy hands meant a busy mind, and that gave him purpose.

"No idea, probably trafficking rings or cartel shit, you know how it is. Heard some prince or other was kidnapped, might be asked to look into that as well. Anyway, five, we'll short shit out once the gang's back together. Bring food." 

"Hold on-" _cheeky bugger_ , Jason thought.

"Byeee!" The line cut, and Jason stared at the object, smirking, before putting it down.

 _About damn time._

 

 

 _New York, secret base, briefing centre_.

The mission was in fact, rather straightforward, at least for them anyway.

Suspected traffickers. Mostly sex trade, though possibly drug runners.

Operations based in South America due to laxity in customs and what not, code for "bribery and corruption" local, at government level, same shit as usual.

Headquarters supposedly up north of the Bolivian jungle, ie Amazon. Spread out - _hmm_ , harder, would require each person covering several hundred kilometres by themselves. Not great, but certainly do-able if the search was narrowed down.

Air travel monitored, official, bigger airports a no-go, _watchful eyes_ \- so they'd need to fly in under the cover of darkness, several miles away, and make their way through the jungle by foot.

Limited communications equipment, so back to old-age Guerrilla call.

Moving "goods" through heavily armoured trucks. Mix up routines to avoid suspicion ie night day day night day night and so on. 

Political tensions meant that the job had to be done on the down low. Minimal artillery use in case of tracing. 

_Observe_ for a few weeks - establish a pattern, routine. Familiarise. Get to grips with locals dialect, common slang. 

_Infiltrate_ \- pose as international buyer? possible, but could raise too many suspicions. Better to simply take them out then get the juice.

_Get in, get out._

Traffickers to be extradited to the US hush hush. Avoid any mentions in media coverage.

Not an easy task by any stretch of the imagination, but they'd done countless missions before, and this was similar.

"No problem." Jason had chorused, mind already working. He and Brown had discussed weaponry, equipment, whilst the rest of the Ghosts planned their strategy and loaded the jet. By nine in the evening, they were off. A six hour journey, and the men took the opportunity to rest, knowing they wouldn't have the same chance again for quite a while.

Their arrival had been uneventful, and the first few days passed without incident. They worked as normal over the weeks: set up base, blend in with surroundings. Minimal movement. Establish pattern of movement, strategy one, tactic a, b,strategy two, back up c, and so on. Things were going well at the beginning, but somewhere along the way, Jason began to feel uneasy. He had no tangible reason, only that things felt...off, somehow.

He couldn't put his finger on it, nor could he shake it and so Jason conducted rounds. Assessments. Patrols - he didn't want to leave this, this niggling-ass feeling at the back of his mind and so Jason went further than the others, took watch for longer, stayed up later - and came up with _nothing_. No signs of anyone unfamiliar, no unusual activity. They were professionals, the best of the best, and they knew their shit. Many of them had lived around the world, Jason himself had spent a long while all across South American, and knew several dialects like a native.

 _Still_.

Jason wasn't happy, but he couldn't find anything concrete enough that work could be halted, and so they continued.

The feeling still remained - _unease_ , like a heaviness on his skin, but Jason largely concentrated on his work. 

Oddly enough, despite their best equipment, the connection down here was utter _shit_ , and so Jason had made one or two trips downtown, calling Tim and/or Talia no more than few times, knowing they'd be worried if they didn't hear from him, texting Clark on a few occasions. But as time went on, the work became more demanding, far more intense, and Jason hadn't the time to make the two hour trip into town for a five minute phone call. It wasn't feasible, not with so many lives on the line.

And then, one day in the early hours of the morning, things changed. Weeks had gone past without too much headache, but in the space of no more than a few hours, all hell broke loose.

It was as if something had...spooked the traffickers, and there was suddenly an increase in activity. Tense orders, yells even, trucks moving in and out of the gated compounds at breakneck speed.

The Ghosts knew then that there was no more time to lose - they had to act _now_.

Jason didn't like it. Not one bit. Having to move like that....not as prepared as they'd like to be, unclear of what had changed, what was getting the traffickers scared. It left them in the dark, and he voiced his concern, a few others agreeing. He was better than pretty much anyone at thinking on his feet, using the unexpected to his advantage, but this? This was....too much, too sudden - in the space of a few hours, and the more Jason thought, the more he knew he was right. More and more of the men spoke up, realising that Jason was correct, that something was amiss.

Why..this mission? Why these people? What was so special about- Nope, something was fucking _wrong_ and it was time to go, _let's go_ -

and that's when they heard it. _Them_.

The sounds.

 _Children_.

_crying, tiny, scared voices. the sound of someone being whipped. pleas and begging for mommies and daddies-_

And in that moment, there was no debate. No "buts", no hesitation - the Ghosts moved as one, a smooth unit, focused, hard, channeling their emotions, and, stationing themselves around the entrances to areas they'd been monitoring, attacked swiftly, and with great force.

By all accounts, it was an impressive feat. 

Twelve men, and yet they attacked with the force of a hundred. Brutal. Unexpected, and Jason had taken a moment outside one of the dark rooms of the warehouses, panting, to reflect on the team, the unity, thanking every star under heaven that he had friends, _brothers_ like these. 

They were almost through, having gathered most of the children. Just one more group to take to safety, and really, had Jason had taken just a few seconds to look over to his upper left, he'd have seen it coming.

But he didn't.

The almighty _crash_ that came ploughing through the windows momentarily deafened him. The communicator in his ear was crackling, someone was screaming his name, the children were screaming, crying, and all of a sudden, there was smoke.

Then came the noise - _gunfire_.

Bright whizzes of life and energy, and Jason felt a sharp pain tear itself across his right thigh.

Another by the left side of his ribs.

His mind was in a panic, his mouth moving, gasping, _calm down and think, think, focus, don't get caught up-_ but there were too many sounds, commotion, and Jason moved, arms heavily, mouth wet and metallic tasting, only to see little tiny fingers and hands and legs all over the place, children who looked like sacks of bloody flour, eerily still, eyes unseeing. He opened his mouth to scream, the horror overtaking him, the rush of despair flooding his bones, but the pain, it was too great, and then-

 _darkness_.

It would be two days later when he awoke, head throbbing painfully, mouth tasting like sawdust. Vision hazy, Jason tried moving, only to find his arms hurt like hell. Slowly, awake that his neck felt like falling off any second, he turned his head, only to see one arm suspended in the air above and diagonally. He stared at his arm, confused, before slowly looking at the other side, and found the same thing.

It dawned on him, gradually.

He'd been tied up, and by the looks of things, was due one hell of an interrogation.

 _Fuck_. His mind was alert, panic setting in, but Jason forced himself to concentrate. Already there was movement, and now that his senses were fast returning, he could make out three or so armed guards at the sides of the room. Jason slowed his breathing, channeling his mind to his core. 

Interrogation? 

_Pfft_. 

He'd been trained by the fucking League for pete's sake, by Ducre, in the hearts of shadowy mountains and scorching hot caves. This was nothing. In fact, if he broke through all this, then his training would have been for nothing, and Talia's investment a damn fucking waste.

And so, for the next several hours, the men tried. Jason took the time to memorise their faces, accents, dialects. The weight of their boots. Six four, five eight, five seven and a half, one thirty, one twenty, two hundred, their weaponry, rounds. The number of strokes they gave him. The cuts, shallow to deep, till he was howling in pain, but still.

He didn't break. 

He was bloody from top to toe, beaten severely, shot several times, fingernails pulled off, but Jason held firm. Resolute. He'd been strong even before Lazarus and her enhancement, and he'd continue to do so now. All he had to do was to hang on, the Ghosts would be looking for him, no doubt. Jason couldn't be sure whether there were still kids out and about, he couldn't think too deeply into it, but as long as they kept their attention on him, then they had a shot. His mind was foggy, but he shook himself awake every now and again. _Just hang on and keep their focus on you_ , Jason willed himself. The Ghosts had to be alive, _of course they would_ , no doubt about it. They'd need time to plan, regroup, and gather as much shit as they could before attacking once again. _All they needed was a little bit of time._ , understanding that it was crucial the Ghosts remain just that, _Ghosts_. Jason concentrated inwards, shutting down parts of his mind to conserve energy. No way could he portal out of there. The pain made everything more difficult, but that was torture, it was meant to be damn fucking hard. They starved him, off course. Had him in chains when they dragged him outside to relieve himself. Switched randomly between searing darkness and blinding light, noises too unnatural for words, pain, sleep deprivation - you name it, they did it, but still, Jason _didn't break_ as they wanted. It was as expected, almost amateurish, though they did manage to strike in a few lucky hits every now and again. All throughout, the questions were the same. _Who are you?_ _Where are you from?_ , on and on, but Jason kept quiet, even smirking once in a while. Riling them up wasn't arrogance, he wasn't being cocky - as long as they kept their efforts on trying to break him rather than the kids, he could handle this. A walk in the park compared to a sparring session with Talia.

But he should have seen it coming.

Honestly, well and truly - _he should have seen it coming_.

As time went on, Jason had begun to lose track of things. Hours, days, he wasn't sure. It was merging into one, and even with Lazarus, he knew his body wouldn't stand the strain for too much longer. He'd been holding out relatively well, but as his body grew weaker, so did his mind's defences. They were slipping, just a little, but nowhere near enough to give up info like his captors wanted him too. Already there were gaps of time missing, presumably from when he'd passed out from yet another round of interrogation, and waking up after bit was proving more difficult to do each time. The men themselves were frustrated - the man wasn't breaking, but then one of them had a bright idea.

Jason had just finished one round, and he was panting, trying to catch his breath. Another gunshot to his right flank, - that one hurt like a bitch, probably shattering bone-, one to his shoulder. Fuck, even thinking had hurt. But then, in the stillness of the room, a cry rang out.

A tiny, whimpering cry - a _child_.

Jason went rock still.

Unluckily for him, his captors noted the movement, looking at each other with a smile. _They'd gotten him_.

More sounds, something like material being dragged on the floor, and then a child was roughly shoved into Jason's view, trembling, big eyes watering. He was praying, pleading in broken Spanish, but a brutal kick to his side had him curling up into a ball, crying into the ground.

Jason felt his rage unleash like never before. "Let him go." He spoke quietly but the heat of his voice could be detected.

His captor simply smiled. 

" _ **Motherfucker, I SAID LET HIM GO!**_ " Jason was shouting now, skin red hot, shaking furiously in his bonds.

"Who are you?" The captor ignored his request, staring at him coolly, but Jason had begun to rain curses in Arabic upon the man, his movements becoming more frantic, desperately trying to reach the child. Already his heart was beating rapidly.

His interrogator looked at him, almost bored. With a shrug of his shoulders, he bent, hauling the disheveled child to his height, face to face. 

" _ **NO-**_ " Jason screamed, eyes wild with fury, but the man pulled the trigger, eyes still on Jason.

_Silence._

Jason stared at the sight before him, brain matter on his face. It was-

Not a sound could be heard. Even his heartbeat felt too loud to his heard, blood rushing past.

It-no- _no_ -

"Who are you?" The interrogator repeated his question but Jason's throat was dry, dazed, and the man sighed, before hauling up another child, the same as before.

"No-" Jason's voice was a whisper, and he moved his chains, begging, but the man ignored him, and after a few moments, _pulled the trigger_.

It felt...surreal, as if time had slowed down, and he opened his mouth, throat raw, at loss-

"Who are you?" A third child was being hauled up into the air-

and this time, Jason screamed as loudly as he could, his chest screaming with his fiery ribs.

One word, over and over, his mind already losing-

two more shots rang out.

_Everything went black._

 

 

 _Gotham, a few hours ago_.

"Anything?" Clark settled onto the ground with a heavy _thud_ , his normally pristine hair in disarray. Bags under his eyes, fists clenched, he looked miles away from the easy going Clark Kent, or even well composed Superman, not that he was wearing his uniform mind you - the last thing they needed was sightings of an frantic Superman all over the world. They'd all been working non-stop the last few days, searching for Jason. Bruce had been down here the entire time, working even harder than Tim, who was currently into Day four of staying awake, refusing rest, much to Alfred's despair. Tim had refused Dick and Damian's help at first, claiming he didn't have time nor the energy to be distracted right now, but Alfred had cajoled the boy into letting them help, that two pairs were better than one. Tim had snarkily remarked otherwise, angry, but Dick let it slide, taking over one screen and its console without a word, giving Alfred a brief, grateful smile before starting the search. Damian had ventured to Dick's side in silence, understanding for once - _now was not the time_. He had _never_ seen Drake like this, Father, Pennyworth, that there were this many people looking for _him_..the _Hood_ , the man who had shot him once ago and had never seemed too bothered about his actions. As much as he wanted to purse his lips, to leave them to it...there was something in Father's voice, the haggardness, the despair in his voice as demeanor slipped each day, voice hard, working side by side with Drake, that made Damian hold fire. If the most he could do was to help Richard, at least to play his part more than anything else, then so be it.

This was hard for Bruce, horrible for Clark, maddening for Diana, and for Tim?

 _Devastating_.

And the longer Jason went without contact, the worse Tim became, erratic, lashing out, not caring that he'd spilled his coffee several times over, or that his hands shook unnaturally. Eyes wild with determination, frantically typed across keyboards, eyes flickering over the various screens, watching for anything, _something_. Bruce too was a mess, forgoing sleep, that _Jason_ was out there, a man he'd given up once, only to want back, and now having to face the possibility that _he might never see him again_. Diana had cleared her schedule of all appointments, her rage simply terrifying all those who dared to stand in her way. Clark - Jesus, Clark was fast unravelling, all kinds of angry, and the man had flown through it all, the darkness, buildings, searching, heart heavy each and every time, looking for dark reddish curls and bright green eyes.

Alfred looked like he was close to collapse.

_Jason was missing._

Flash was off world with Martian and Lantern.

 _Jason was missing_.

"Nothing." Tim's voice was like gravel, hoarse, and Clark closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, ignoring the headache that was now forming between his eyes. He'd been searching for Jason all across the world, but Tim hadn't been joking when he'd mentioned that Jason was a Ghost. Literally, a fucking Ghost whose work was damn near top-secret. They hadn't been able to find anything on him, not a sighting, flight inventory, absolutely fucking nothing, and Clark was close to tearing out his hair with the stress. By now, he was running on pure adrenaline. Tim had last heard from Jason a few weeks back, but the call had been bounced, professionally of course, with no way of tracking Jason's true location. 

An almighty _swoosh_ , and Diana landed onto the floor, cracking the asphalt slightly. She looked worse for wear, eyes red, black hair flying about, arms grey with dirt and soil. The moment she'd heard, Diana had set to work, dropping everything in an instant. Shayera too had picked up her mace without even so much as a pause, slipping on her mask, and the two had split across entire countries, searching in vain for Jason.

They all looked to her now. The woman looked as close to tearing the room apart, and Shayera now entered the cave, placing a hand on a shoulder, trying to steady her friend.

"Nothing. No- _nothing_ ". Her voice cracked at the end.

This couldn't be happening. Not again.

Tim held his head in his hands.

He was struggling. 

Really and truly, this-this was unlike anything he'd ever been through before, and he was close to breaking point. So very, _very_ close. 

Sleep was a distant cousin, food an illusion - where the _fuck_ was Jason?

For a moment, there was silence in the Cave, and then his phone rang, jilting everyone to attention. Tim scrambled for the object, not caring how everyone stared at him, his voice both shaky and fierce at the same time.

It was _Talia._

"Tell me you have something." His voice was pleading, but Tim didn't have the strength to care. 

"Nothing. I-I can't find him, Timothy. I can't find him - where is he?" Talia had long since lost her cool, neutral tone, and the worry was as clear as day. Tim knew she'd been putting all her efforts into finding Jason, but still, that wasn't enough- she was _Talia al Ghul_ , for fuck's sake.

"You haven't been tracking him - _why not, Talia?_ How the hell could you not know where he is?!" Tim was all but shouting now, red faced, and he stood up abruptly, his chair clanging to the floor. A few paces away, Damian had stiffened, staring at Tim with shock, his reaction priceless were it any other day, but Tim couldn't give a damn, not when he was fast losing control of his faculties. 

"Don't you **dare** take that tone of voice with me - I promised Jason I wouldn't place tabs on him, that he would have this work to himself-"

"Like hell you did, there's no way you would agree to-"

" _Timothy, remember who you are talking to. You have no idea how much I would do for Jason, or Damian._ " the sudden steel in Talia's voice sent a chill down Tim's spine and he stopped, taking a moment to gather himself, before speaking more calmly. "Alright." He breathed out. "Al-alright, okay. I'm sorry, T, I didn't mean that. I know, I just- _I can't find him T and I'm losing it, I don't know what to do, we're all here and we can't find him!_ " Tim's voice had climbed several octaves by the end, and he closed his eyes, the tears already beginning to well up.

"Timothy, I understand. I am most worried -give the phone to your fath-"

" _ **Wait**_." Clark's deep voice cut into the cave, and his hand was held towards them all for silence.

For a few agonisingly long seconds, all that could be heard was the slight flickering of the computer screens. Even Talia was silent on the other end of the phone.

"I...I hear something." Clark screwed his eyes tighter, shaking his head at Diana, who had by now taken three steps towards him, desperate.

Clark listened.

The voice...it was hoarse, broken, but unclear, but could it be-

_**CLARK!** _

" _ **Jason**_ "-

Clark sped out of the cave with a sonic _boom_.

 _Hang on Jason_ , Clark gritted his teeth, Diana and Shayera someways behind him. _We're coming_.

 

 

 _Bolivia, somewhere deep in the jungle_.

Clark landed with a thud, eyes moving quickly, searching. He had traced the Jason's voice here, of that he was sure, though it had taken a good number of times across the globe.

Beside him, Diana moved, but he grabbed her arm, holding a finger to his lips. She glared at him, the look fierce, intending to shake him off, but then she heard it too.

 _crying_.

_Children, great hera._

"Find the kids. I'll find Jason." That was all the instruction Diana got before Clark moved, flying high into the air. Already his heart was pounding, anxious, looking, tracing heartbeats, but he didn't, listening intently for the man's voice, but there was nothing. 

" _God, Jason where are you_ " He muttered, moving about, until something grazed his left cheek, and Clark whipped his head round, only to be caught in the midst of _gunfire_.

"Diana, hold them off, I'll get the kids, _go_ Clark, find Jason!" Shayera ordered, swooping high in the air. It was chaos now, bullets flying, screaming, but Clark forced himself to focus.

Clark didn't need to be told twice, and he moved now, a-

 _crunch_.

Clark froze, chest beating furiously, praying that was't what he'd just heard. _Please, God, no, not that._

He looked down.

A children's finger connected to a hand, then an arm....and then, _nothing_.

Clark turned away, bile rushing into his mouth, and he vomited, shaking.

What had _happened_ out here?

He staggered about, moving, wanting to get out now, panicking, until he caught sight of a small building at the back. Shabby entrance, and Clark listened for a heartbeat. 

None, but it was far off. secluded. Could it be?

In under a second, Clark had the door knocked down flat, and entered cautiously. There was somethi-some _one_ lying on the floor. A figure.

Clark moved closer.

And closer.

His stomach dropped.

"No." He breathed out, voice shaky, bent now over the face of one _Jason Todd_ , whose skin was dull, mouth slightly parted, teeth stained with blood. Around him was a pool of blood, several bullet wounds visible, lacerations everywhere, left arm at an unnatural angle.

"Jason, oh God, Jason, _no_ , please, _not again_." Clark was trembling as he began recalling the basics of ALS. Check-check the airway, no-nothing, check-check for signs of life, no movement of the chest -oh _God no, no, not Jason, no no no no-no-no_ \- his tears were beginning to blur his vision, and Clark wiped them hastily away, hands clammy, voice shaky. He started with CPR, but his fingers - they-they wouldn't lock, wouldn't stay still, and they kept slipping from the boy's wet, sticky chest, the chest that moved like _glue_ , ribs that snapped under the pressure, _God, no Jason, why, why-_ "

"Clark! Have you-" Diana was outside now, her voice desperate.

"In here!" Clark all but screamed, the tears beginning to fall. "Jason please, _c'mon son_ , I know you can do this, please, hang in there, wake up, wake up-"

In an instant, Diana was by his side, the horror on her face. "No, no, no, Jason-Jason! Wake up! _Jason_ -oh no, my baby, no _no_ -" her voice was hitching, tears streaming, as both heroes tried in vain to assess for a response, anything, but it was no use.

Clark tried, God he did, Diana breathed for him, blowing air into Jason's lungs, but it was no use, but neither of them would give up, and they continued, pressing, pushing, pumping, head lift chin tilt, nose pinched, _blow_ , another _blow_ , their fronts stained heavily with blood, desperate, eyes tearing, begging that-

A heave.

"Jason, oh _God_ Jason, you're alright, stay with me, you hear, Jason!"

"Jason hang on, we're here, Jason baby please!" The voice was wild with despair.

No response.

Both sets of voices were frantic, Diana digging her nails into Jason's wrist, checking desperately for a pulse. _weak, thready_.

 _Alive_. Barely.

"Diana, we have to go, _now_ , go lets go!" Clark was up, cradling Jason in his chest like a newborn babe. The man had yet to open his eyes, and his chest heaved unnaturally. Clark hugged Jason closer to himself, already picking up on the Batjet's wheels making contact with the ground. "Diana, we need a hospital, the nearest one, he-he might not-" He couldn't finish that sentence, and he rushed out now, Diana holding Jason's wrist, to Bruce, who had now dismounted, staring at them with round, frightful eyes, Tim, who was running as fast as he could, tears streaming, already screaming, but Clark couldn't focus on that the sounds, the fear, not now, not when Jason- he moved in the blink of the eye, shouting at Bruce to gain his attention.

"Bruce, Bruce! Listen to me - where's the nearest hospital?! _Bruce!_ Mother of God _I swear_ -"

Bruce wasn't listening. His eyes were on Jason's bloodied form, rooted in deep shock, and Clark turned to Tim now, whose hands were frantic on his phone, but the boy was distracted, slipping, crying and Dick took the device from him. Clark was in the air now, ready to go, that Jason was about to _go_ \- they didn't have the time for this, and he was about to take off, eyes searching the land furiously, when Dick shouted in a rush-

"Hospital Universitario Japonés, two miles South, no more than-"

Clark was already gone.

 

 

_Emergency department, a little after three am._

Clark burst through the doors, the hinges coming off. "Help him!" He screamed in broken Spanish, and the personnel, shocked to a complete silence at the ferocious _boom_ of the stranger's voice awoke from their stupor, prising Jason away from him, the man buried under tubes and concerned hands, before being wheeled away.

Clark staggered into a seat, exhausted, and held his head in his hands. There were few people around, and those that had been in his vicinity had wisely decided to move, sensing danger in the big man's distress.

 _This-this couldn't be happening._

A short moment later, the doors burst through again, Diana leading the way, and behind her, Bruce and the boys, all looking to him with wide, scared eyes, Bruce who looked about ready to faint, face pale, heartbeat erratic.

Clark raised his head to them tiredly, then stood, looking at the doors Jason had been wheeled through. "He's..he's-they've taken him, through there, I think."

He closed his eyes at the immediate cacophony of voices.

"What's happening-"

"Do you know-"

"What do we do-"

"Clark-"

" _ **I don't know, alright!**_ " Clark suddenly boomed, voice cutting into the air like a knife.

Silence.

Clark held his face in his hands, struggling to control his breathing. The rest could see that he was shaking, tiny, minute tremors radiating throughout his frame. Worse than that, though, was how heavily stained his shirt and trousers where, hands a deep red - _Jason's blood_.

"I'm..I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to yell." Clark re-started, his voice softer, but no less shaky. "They took him just a a few minutes back, I think, they didn't say anything, I don't know-"

He broke off here, throat tight.

No-one spoke.

By now, their vicinity had all but cleared.

A middle aged voice broke into their silence. "I am sorry to disturb you; am I right in assum-"

" _Yes_." Clark's voice was fierce, almost desperate, and the group whirled round to meet a woman in scrubs, clearly a nurse, who looked at them with a degree of understanding. She nodded at them, inviting them to sit, but no-one moved.

"The young man, do we have a name-"

"Jay. Jay Perez." Tim supplied automatically, using one of Jason's aliases.. None made any move to contest the statement.

The woman looked at him a touch longer before speaking. "Very well. I am Rene Moreno, one of the nurses looking after Mr Perez. He has...his condition is critical. He requires urgent surgery but he must be stabilised first, which we are having difficulty with. I cannot provide you with any more details at the moment, but please...be aware that his condition is severe, and at this point....the outlook is not good." Her voice was low, and for the rest of them, it was as if she had already pronounced the death sentence.

Tim spoke now, eyes filling. "There's-there's still a chance?" His voice was high, hitching, and Nurse Moreno took off her glasses, wiping them, before looking at the group.

They were distraught, the young teen especially. 

It seemed she too was having difficulty speaking. 

"I cannot say for sure. All I can tell you is at this point, unless we can stop his bleeding...well enough to operate, then there is little we can do-" One of the nurses opened the set of doors, beckoning to Moreno, and the nurse began to move now, her smile brief and sad. "I will do my best to update you as soon as I can. For now...please, wait." The woman gave them one final look before disappearing, and the group watched her leave.

She hadn't been able to give them a straight answer.

Jason's condition was critical. Unless they stopped the bleeding, he wouldn't make it.

 

 

 _Two hours later_.

The group had been sitting in the emergency room for over two hours now, and they hadn't received any update on Jason's condition since.

Dick had tried, but he was turned away, and he returned slowly to his seat, looking at Damian, who was asleep, having valiantly tried to stay awake. At one point, there were several urgent shouts, and the group had lifted their heads, looking at one another, but the voices had melted away, and silence quickly returned. Tim had left them at one point, phone in hand, walking like a dead man on his feet. Bruce presumed it was to update Talia on the situation, but he couldn't bring it in him to care. The woman had no right to Jason, even with their estrangement. By his side, Diana was a mess, sunken eyes, unfocused, and Bruce had taken her hand, squeezing it weakly. The smile she offered in return was weak, fragile, much he himself was feeling, and Bruce turned away, his heart too heavy for words. 

On the other side of those doors was Jason, and none of them knew whether he would make it.

The boy he'd once loved more than anything in the world, a man who he had given up, who was now _back_ , who made Tim happy, Diana happy, the same one who'd rescued Clark. The man in question was in the corner, head bowed, shoulders rigid hands, clasped together, probably praying, still as a rock, and Bruce took a moment to watch him, _Jason's_ blood staining his fingernails, in his hair, before turning away, stomach churning a little. He had been surprised when Clark had appeared in the Cave a few days back at the start of their search. Apparently he and Jason had been in regular contact, their last conversation only a few days back, but the man had refused to say any more, and for a long moment, Bruce had stared at him, _jealous_ , envious, wanting nothing more than to find out how long _this_ had been going on, but then Tim had come down, speaking in a rush, eyes frantic, and Bruce had let it go for the time being.

 _God, if Jason didn't make it..._ Bruce couldn't bear to finish the thought. _He wouldn't get a chance to_ -

"Mr Perez?"

It wasn't Moreno this time, but a man in his late fifties, scrubs -surgeon probably-, looking at them sombrely. Beside him stood Nurse Moreno, and she too looked like she'd rather be anywhere but here.

The all stood up, hearts in their mouths. Was Jason-

"I..." The man paused, then removed his scrub cap, wringing it in his hands slightly. "Mr Perez lost a lot of blood..."

 _No_.

 _No_.

 _This couldn't be happening, not again_.

The shock was rippling through the group now, the realisation dawning on them quickly. Tim's _no_ was breathy, heavy, and Bruce felt the blood drain from his body. 

He sank back on his seat with a heavy thud, the room rushing, spinning, heart pounding, blood turbulent in his ears.

"The young man's outlook was severe from the start. Heavy internal bleeding, six gunshot wounds...including o-on-one to the femoral artery, the other a few short cetimetres from the abdominal aorta, multiple deep lacerations, signs of weight loss, dehydration, wound infection, sleep deprivation - all pointing to.. to _torture_ , I'm- so, I...by-by the time he arrived, his heart was close to giving up...we tried...but Mr Perez by then....his heart went into cardiac arrest on the table, and we did _everything_ we could but it was too much....I'm sorry. I'm-I'm _so_ sorry. Truly."

Tim keeled over, his guttural cries desperate, ugly sounds cutting through the air like a knife, sobbing, _completely broken_ and he sank to the floor, hitting Dick's chest weakly, who struggled to hold him, his own tears streaming, _regretful_. Damian was awake by now, only just realising what had happened, and the boy had shrank back into his chair, wide eyed and afraid.

Diana, oh _God_ \- the woman's scream rang out in the room, unnatural and dying, before she too gasped, chest heaving, and face wet, fled the room as if being chased, chairs scattering in her wake.

Clark-he-he- the man turned to the corner and threw up, before holding his head deep in his arms, shaking his head, pulling on his hair, trembling, the _no no no_ sounds muffled and hitched, strained, as if wasn't real, that it was all a misunderstanding- that no, this wasn't-it-it _couldn't_ -

Bruce was dead to the world, knees buckling to the ground the moment he'd heard _cardiac arrest...I'm sorry_.

 

 

 _Jason was gone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTICE: I'm afraid we've come to the end of the series- _nah_ , just joking, don't kill me! I had real difficulty deciding how I wanted to end this chapter, especially with what comes next _eeek!_ Was gonna write a whole long chapter but I really wanted to build the suspense, plus my neck bloody hurts so stay tuned for next week!**


	47. Mother's here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talia comes for Jason.

_Boliva, five forty one am_.

Talia tried the boy again. A few rings, and then-

"Hi, you've reached Tim-"

She cut the call. A little behind her, Ubu, her loyal henchman, shifted but remained silent. He was one of the very few who knew of her connection to Jason and Damian, and had long ago sworn to protect all three, even to the point of death. Talia took a moment to herself, pushing down her anxiety. Tim had called not long ago, stating that the doctors were trying to stabilise Jason for surgery, but it was _bad_ , and Talia had held herself firm, not letting the fear into her voice as she reassured Timothy that _all would be well_. _Jason is the strongest person I know, and he will live Timothy. He has been through much worse than this, I assure you, and I promise, Timothy, he will not give up. He shall live._ She had told young Timothy that, tone hard, and the boy had held back a shaky sob, whispering an " _okay Talia, okay._ " before ending the call. 

That was then.

 _Timothy should have called by now_.

It was nearing six am, and Talia had been awake for almost seventy two hours straight. The last few days had been tiring; all her efforts focused on finding Jason, and as the days had flown by, her normally cool, distant demeanor slipped gradually, tension lacing her tone, and her eyes sharper than usual. It was several hours ago that dearest Timothy had finally called - Clark, or the one more commonly known as _Superman_ , had located her boy somewhere deep in the Amazonian jungle, North of Bolivia, and Talia had taken a few breaths to quench her initial frustration at Jason before focusing. They had arrived at the coordinates Tim had sent sometime after three am, only to find a complete _mess_ \- several bodies of _children_ lying about for heavens sake, scattered artillery, and the eery silence of the camp made it all the more unnerving.

 _Traffickers_.

Talia knew it the moment she stepped into the clearing. The fires had long since dulled, and the smoke lifted a little to make it obvious. _Sex trafficking, probably drugs-related_ \- it was _sickening_ , and Talia felt a slow-rising fury mount in her veins. Ubu had reported himself to her a few minutes ago; her men had been in pursuit of soldiers fleeing the camp, and had finally captured around ten or so men, charred clothing, kneeling, hands behind their head, chins jutted with defiance, and Talia walked behind Ubu to meet them, only to come face to face with _Hector Zuleica_ , otherwise known as _the devil's right hand_ , a man feared for his sadism, brutality, and connections to the belly of the black market and her cruelty, with a particular interest in _child prostitution_. His numerous connections, as well as a guerilla warfare group loyal to his cause, had made him a... _challenge_ to apprehend, if Talia dared to admit, and now he stood, or rather knelt before her, a flesh-eating grin on his face, surrounded by his henchmen, _ugly dogs_ , and her temper flared within. Talia stilled, masking her disgust into a neutral stare, and Hector chuckled, earning a well-deserved backhand from Ubu, before his laughter subsided into a smirk instead.

" _Talia al Ghul_." Hector drawled out her name, and he grinned now, blood discolouring his teeth, before spitting near her feet. Ubu raised his rifle to strike him, the _disrespect_ , but with a small tilt of her head, the henchman obeyed, bringing his rifle back to his side.

"Such a good little _bitch_ , aren't you? Here, why don't you go play fetch whilst me and your mommy here have a little.... _one to one_ , put it that way." Hector raked his eyes over her form, approving, licking his lips at the corners, but Talia maintained her composure, even though her skin crawled at the thought of having anything to do with such a foulsome creature. To her right, Ubu also stood, letting the insult roll over him, though Talia knew the man would like nothing more than to grind Hector's skull to a pulp.

"What was your business here, Hector?" Talia kept her voice cool, distant. Hector would never get the satisfaction of seeing a rise out of her, _never_.

Hector smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, you know, the usual. Have to keep my customers happy, _al Ghul_. Supply and demand, you know the business as well as I do."

Talia's stomach curled with rage at the thought of Hector comparing himself to _her_. "Is that right, hmm? And yet, now you stand-apologies, _kneel_ before me, like the abhorrent creature you are, you and your worthless dogs, and all for what? it appears that your days have come to a fitting end."

Hector shifted, grin lessening into a glare, before he continued with the unaffected pretense. "Nonsense, my dear. If not I, then someone else. At the very least, I had a little... _fun_ here, wouldn't you agree?"

_Silence._

Talia felt her blood run cold. 

Ubu had shifted imperceptibly into position, ready to attack. 

Hector chuckled before continuing. "No? You didn't think I recognised him, Talia? Took me a while but it came to me, eventually. Your little _pet_ , the one who'd been disrupting my operations along the Pacific and in Russia, and by _chance_ , just so happens to have been seen with _you_ not too long ago, hmm? What, you didn't think I knew my enemies as well as I did, fooled by all bravado and arrogance? _C'mon now._ Changed quite a bit, hasn't he? He's got your eyes, you know-"

"Enough of that-" Talia straightened, masking her sharp intake - _how did he_ -, but Hector caught it, _the confirmation_ , and he grew bolder. 

"Even _talks_ like you, too. Does the whole _Tt_ thing, right down to the glare and everything. Very well trained, might I add - clearly you two have been spending a _lot_ of time with each other. I wonder how much of that time was _actually_ in training? Looks like it was a little more than that, but why should I be surprised? A woman like you-"

Talia whipped out her gun and pointed it straight at Hector's forehead, the rage taking over. The man moved upwards, centering himself on the weapon more firmly, eyes black with hatred as he snarled. "A fine one, likely the finest I've _ever_ laid my eyes on if I'm honest. Damn tall and strong and _ever so handsome_ , wouldn't you agree? A little old for me, prefer them young and easily subdued, like 'em to beg and all, but _my oh my_ , I wouldn't mind a night or three with that one. Heck, woulda kept him on my beck and call, man would he have been _great_. Gorgeous, had a _real_ pair on him too, all thick and big and everything, ripe for the taking. No _wonder_ you were so fond of him, I bet he made you _cum_ and scream harder like nothing else eh, probably fucked you till your tits were swinging to high heavens-"

Talia clicked the safety off her pistol, a tiny tremor radiating through her frame as she fought to remain in control. Hector laughed at the sight. 

"Those eyes, man, I ain't ever seen anything like it. Fucking gems, had half a mind to scoop them out and sell 'em, ya know? And the skin, _ooof_ -" Hector grabbed his crouch now, which was evidently hard, and began to grope himself, much to her ire. "- _damn_ , like melted cocoa butter, wouldn't mind licking my cum off him, but I bet you know _alll_ about that, wouldn't ya? Of _course you would_ , don't blame ya. Smelled great too, all honeysuckle and everything, bet he _tastes_ like chocolate and honey all dipped in milk and sweat, eh? Don't blame ya, personally I'd never let him outta my sight. Bet he takes you everywhere, on the couch, the damn floor, over the table till you're a mess of blood and shit and shaking like a leaf, eh? Didn't seem like the sort who would go for a guy mind you but had I a little longer, _boooyyy_ would he have switched like _that_ -" Hector clicked his fingers, before putting them in his mouth, _in and out_ , making a deep-throated motion, and a dark patch began to blossom over his groin." Heck all three of us coulda had a hella time, he fucking you, _me_ fucking _him_ , a threesome like none you ever had, real pretty, and _so damn fuckable_. Held out pretty well actually, longer than pretty much anyone I've ever had, but he _did_ break in the end. Not his body, a pity that, would have liked to bend him over and _shred his ass bloody_ but nah, it was the kids that did it. Pity he had to go down like that, one little shot to the kiddie had him bawling like a damn pig before he started scream-

Talia pulled the trigger.

For a few seconds, all that could be heard in the clearing was her heavy breathing, eyes alight with rage, and Hector's men stared at her, their confidence disappearing, fear creeping into their bones.

Talia stared down at the body, the smoking hole in Hector's forehead.

_It wasn't enough._

With a snarl, Talia fired again.

 _And again_.

 _And again_.

 _And again_.

She kept firing, her blood boiling, skin red hot, until her pistol unload empty, and then she kept clicking, clicking and _clicking_ on that damn trigger before pouncing onto Hector, punching and hitting, pressing her thumbs into his sockets, clawing out his soft jelly balls of his eyes, gouging the flesh of his cheeks till it became mottled and torn, muscles exposed, squeezing and crushing till his skull began to give way, but all Talia could hear was _Jason_ , his screams, her father's whip and other instruments breaking the young boy's skin, the flesh that fell apart, the sweat that dripped off his forehead as he howled in pain, the whimpers and tears as she bathed him, holding his brutalised shaking shell to her own whipped self, closing her eyes, stroking his hair as the child cried and _cried_ , grunting and shaking and _scared to death._ The men who were kneeling had by now shuffled away, frighted by the ferocity of her rage. Even as Ubu pulled her away from Hector, Talia fought, screaming and cursing in Arabic, Farsi, Spanish, in all the languages she knew, the pain of watching Jason be dragged away from her, _Damian_ taken from her, that none knew how much she _loved_ her sons, her children, all that she had sacrificed for them, their safety, their well-being, what they had been through together, what she _herself_ had suffered as a result, that she couldn't just _leave_ as Bruce had asked once, all those years back, that he-none of them _understood_ and she kept screaming, and screaming, fighting and struggling to claw her way from the henchman's iron grip, to rip Hector _limb by limb_ , until Ubu hoisted her tight by the waist to his chest as they moved further and further away, til Ubu put her down, and with a movement too fast to anticipate, slapped her _hard_ across the face, reeling her neck right round to the side, stunning her in shock, and bringing back to the present.

Ubu moved back, waiting, and Talia, after a few moments, regained her senses. 

"Thank.... _thank you, Ubu._ " She spoke more calmly now, voice tight.

The big henchman nodded before speaking. "The men have taken care of the rest." 

Hector's men were dead too. _Good_.

Talia smoothed her hair. "Have the camp cleared. Remove and dispose of any waste, including any evidence of Jason's presence here. There must be _nothing_ linking him to this mess. Have the news leaked as an explosion from a poorly run drug laboratory run here in the jungle, the authorities will be none the wiser." It was a common occurrence, using the thick foliage of the forest, along with the dark covering it provided, for cartels to set up makeshift laboratories away from prying eyes.

"Yes Ma'am." Ubu bowed before turning to leave.

"Wait." Talia's voice was hard, and Ubu stopped. "Burn the bodies. But Hector...give me his _head_. Send it out to all of his affiliated groups, the filth who align themselves with him, and his business. I want them to know that _I_ , Talia al Ghul, heir to the Demon Head, put that _animal_ down. _They shall learn what it is to fear me_."

Ubu said nothing for a moment, understanding. " _They shall indeed._ As you wish, master." He took his leave then. 

For a few minutes, Talia concentrated on her breathing, feeling herself centre control and focus. Satisfied she was calm once more, she tried Timothy's number.

 _Nothing_.

 _Hospital Universitario Japonés_ , that's where Jason was. Where her boy was now on the brink, and who needed her more than ever.

Talia walked out a little from her position, watching her men clear the area. She made eye contact with Ubu then, nodding, and immediately understanding where she was going, nodded once before turning away, giving out another set of commands. 

With a swift turn, Talia made her way to her private jet, and settled in. She spared a glance to the small vials of _lazarus_ held in the side compartment. It was _just in case_ , in-in case that...Timothy had sounded desperate, scared, and Talia....she _knew_ that if worst came to worst, if things were so dire....but Jason-he had made her promise him once... once, that never again would she use it on him, _never_...but she couldn't be sure now, not with the lack of response from Timothy, and so Talia set the coordinates of the hospital, listening to the low _hum_ of the engine as it rose in the air, and with a swift _whoosh_ , the jet travelling fast under the night sky.

 _I'm coming, my son_.

 

 

_Hospital Universitario Japonés, a little after six am._

Talia strode through the doors of the emergency department. It was still dark, cold, but the bodysuit she wore kept her focused and her movements streamlined. The few that were in the department stared at her, one or two scattering in her wake, but Talia kept cool, walking past the receptionist without so much of a backward glance, even with woman's calls, her phone tracking Timothy.

_Down the hall, to the end of the corridor, make one left, the first room on her right._

Talia walked faster, chest beating _hard_. The boy still hadn't answered any of her calls on the way here.

 _At the end of the corridor now_. She was anxious, skin warm. _What if-_

 _First left_. It was too quiet, _Ja_ -

A little more, _first right_ -

and Talia faltered to a complete stop, staring at the scene before her.

Timothy was in the corner, still as a statue, knees to his chest. He looked unnaturally still, his eyes glazed over, _dazed_ , as if.... _no_.

_He looked broken._

As if-no, no it _couldn't_ be, _absolutely not_ , _of course not_ -

 _Beloved_...the _Superman_ , or.... _Clark_ , rather - they were on opposite ends, the former facing the wall, pale as a sheet, the later bowed facing his knees, head in his arms. Bruce looked- but she didn't care how he looked, for Bruce had no right to be here, concerned over _him_ , not after everything. The Super- _Clark_ \- he was a different story, and it was surprising to see the big man like this, _small_ , as if he could disappear into the ground and remain there forever, utterly _dejected_.

Richard looked drained, head to the ceiling, arms around Damian, who was stiff, rather rigid.

The Wonder Woman, _Diana_ \- she was a mess, eyes closed, slumped against a pillar, her forehead to the wall. A coil of jealously rose in Talia's stomach. _Her_. Jason had spoken of her a few times, but there was always a hint of bitterness in his tone, a....regret of some sorts, and to know that this woman had been there before _herself_ -

It-it was dawning on her now, the despair, grief... _loss_ -of,-oh _no no no_ -it-it _couldn't_ -not _Jason_ , _not my son_ -not-

Talia opened her fist, then closed it, but it was too- _she_ , Talia al Ghul, was too late. _Again_ , _God_ , no, not- - no, it wasn't real, not any of it. This wasn't _real_ -

 _Jason was gone_.

She felt her breath quicken, a sharp intake, and the sound caused _Damian_ to look up, curious, but Talia felt drained all of a sudden, mouth dry-

" _Mother?_ " Damian's young voice was incredulous, and the boy sat up, shocked beyond disbelief, eyes wide.

The rest of the room snapped to her, but Talia couldn't register their voices, the realisation sinking in her bones.

 _Jason was gone_.

She-she held one hand to steady herself against the door, eyes closing-Jason- _Jason_ -no, not again, not _him_ -

" _Talia?_ " Timothy's tiny voice rang in the midst of her horror, and she lifted her head slowly to see that Tim was on his feet, swaying a little, as if the effort was too much-

"He's gone, Tali-T-he's gone, Jay..I-I-he-... _please, T, I'm begg-please, I-I can't I don't know how-please-_ " the tears poured down the boy's face, and Talia _stared_ at him, the thin frame trembling the shock, red _red_ eyes, big and dazed and ever so _lost_ , usually pristine Timothy now unkempt, _devastated_ -

 _couldn't_ , not with Timothy as crushed as this, the fact that her _boy was gone_ , her Jason, strength and joy and cheeky eyes, bright teasing smile, big hearty laughter, strong and tall and strong and her pride and joy and no- _no_ -

Talia turned and walked _fast_ , mind reeling.

Behind her she could hear them getting up, the confusion setting in, the " _where is she going?_ ", the " _what-what is she doin-_ " but she cut them off, mind narrowing to a focus.

She went straight through the "No entry" doors, throwing them right open, denting the walls, ignoring the shouts to come back, that she wasn't allowed in here, the commotion as footsteps ran to catch her. People were coming towards her, speaking, pointing at her, some staring, but Talia paid them no attention, and in one movement, held out a gun at her front, hushing the entire room into complete silence.

" _Where is he?_ " Her voice was a low predatory hiss.

No-one spoke. 

" _Clearly you are deaf as well as blind._ " Talia let the rage settle through her eyes and the room as a whole took a step back. Without blinking, she fired into the wall behind them, letting their screams and pleas wash over her. One idiot made to reach for a red button of some sorts, an emergency buzzer, speaker, call for help-Talia didn't care-, and almost too uncaring for words, she shot at his hand, less than a centimetre from blowing the damn thing off. The room screamed again, the man crying, shaking, and Talia moved now to whip out another gun pointing at them, two at her front now, willing to tear the place apart if it came to it. She stood ready for action, feet apart, unflinching, hard, even as Clark, Bruce, all of them were behind her now, someone calling her name, a _Mother_ , but Talia was nonplussed.

" _ **WHERE IS MY SON?**_?" Talia roared, eyes a piercingly luminous green, and a man in his fifties stepped forward, blue scrubs, palms up in surrender.

"Ma'am, please. I beg you-please, please put the guns down. _Please_."

Talia fired once at his feet, and the room screamed again. " _ **Talia, for God's sake**_ -" Bruce's roar was distant in her ears, and Talia spoke with venom in her voice, dark hair flying about.

" _This is the last time I will ask._ _**WHERE. IS. MY. SO-**_ "

"Here! He-he-s here, I'll show you, please, _please_ don'-don't hurt us, please, I beg you, please-" the voice was a broken garble of Spanish, and a young woman was in tears, at her feet, grovelling. Talia eyed her, rage close to being unleashed, before she cocked her gun upwards, indicating her to _stand_ and the woman did, trembling, stumbling all over her feet. 

" _Lead the way._ " Her voice as dangerous, a warning. With one armed hand pointed towards the woman, Talia, without looking, hooked her arm around the neck of the middle aged man in scrubs, who let out a sob. The room moved, shouting, and Talia simply pressed the gun _hard_ into the man's temple, resulting in one terrified scream, weeping, and a stream of begging for everyone to _stay back_ , and movement halted on the spot. Dragging the man roughly, the three of them made their way to the operating theatre, where for a moment, Talia's legs almost gave way at the sight.

 _Jason_.

She ignored the shrieks of the medical team, who were previously busy clearing up, but were now scattering at the sight of her guns. 

For a long, long moment, Talia forgot how to breathe, and tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. " _Jason_ " she whispered, voice hoarse. Barely remembering her hostages, she flung the man into the corner and shakily made her way to the still body on the table, blood on the floor, bullet holes visible. 

"No- _no_ , oh _no_ , not _you_ , my _baby_ , my son, oh _Jason_ , ابني, طفلي, ولدي, ابني, طفلي, ولدي, no, _no_ , it can'- _it can't be_ -" Talia reached for Jason, voice strangled, unsteady on her feet, reaching till she could touch her boy, skin cool, long eyelashes against brown skin, kissing his cheeks, his forehead, then softly at the temple, and her tears merged into one as her voice broke, her resolve weakened, hitching, gasping, one arm over his torso which was a _mess_ , bullet holes and lacerations, her _ابني, طفلي, ولدي_ , shaking him, carding one hand through her baby's soft curls, kissing his cheek again and again and _again_ , murmuring, whispering, eyes unfocused, " _Wake up_ , _wake up_ , my boy, _please, wake up, for me, please Jas-Jason, you can do it I-I know you can my son, please, ju-just open your eyes for me, my boy and awake from your slumber, arise my son, please, oh-oh no, my Jason, my boy, oh no_ " -the sobs filled the air, and Talia sank to her knees, holding onto Jason for dear life.

Behind her, the room was deathly silent.

The rest had entered, still as ever, but Talia was lost in her grief, whispering for the _child of Talia to awake_ , _my heart, awake_ , _ابني, طفلي, ولدي, ابني, طفلي, ولدي, ابني, طفلي, ولدي, ابني, طفلي, ولدي, please, I beg you, please, please- don't-don't do this, not to me, not now, not like this, please Jason, come back, come back to me, قلبي, قلبي, my heart and my love, please._ "

No response.

Jason lay motionless on the table.

Talia broke down, and she wept, her tears bitter, sinking to the floor.

Her wrenching sobs were the only thing that could be heard for a long time.

She cried for the boy she'd held in her arms. The son she'd spent close to a year trying to retrieve from the depths of hell. The child she'd read to, night after night, who couldn't speak except grunt, who latched onto her like a newborn babe, curled into the crook of her arm, head tucked under her chin. Who saw but remained unseeing, and _yet_ \- his eyes would light up in her presence. When she moved, _he_ moved. She fed him, little balls of rice and meat at a time, slowly, waiting till he swallowed and was settled before the next bite, before she would take her own meal. Combed and washed and shampooed his hair, the curls, removing that horrible black dye, shaving away the lice and the muck, the grime, and grew a full set of curls, dark red and full of life. Washed away the failures of the past, the agony. Taught the boy how to button a shirt, even when all he would do was stare up at her, green eyes wide, focused on the sound of her voice. The one she taught a little how to fight, to throw, to defend, who took her hand- uncaring of her position- and followed her everywhere, who sat at her feet, whom she would talk to a little about her life, her past, childhood even, that _he deserved more, and he deserved better_ , but the boy would seemingly disagree, snorting even, making her smile. The same Jason who refused to sleep unless she had read to him, who refused to eat or do anything until she had visited at least once a day. The one who she would hear in her private quarters, grunting fondly at young Damian, who would take him by the hand and into her gardens, speaking freely about the types of flowers, pressing them into the dead boy's hands. Who _protected_ Damian. Nuzzled him, took on the worst of the beatings - _just for him_ , his younger brother. The same one whom everyone else had written off, whom Ra's looked down on, spat out, called filth, _abed_ , who saw as nothing more than a tool to exploit, to weld against the bats, the one she had stood up for time and time again, even when her defense resulted in punishment for such behaviour. 

Her _son_. 

Not of _Ghul_ , but of _Talia_. Her _heart_ , just like Damian, the child of her _womb_.

And now he was _gone_.

Talia's cries quietened a little, over the minutes, and still - no-one moved.

She was aware that they were all here, that security were probably somewhere, but her mind was still lost in the memories.

Jason's poor attempt at hiding his smile whenever he'd let himself into safehouse of the night, only to find her sitting there, dinner prepared, drinking tea. The boy would groan of course, mutter a few curses here and there, but his eyes _always gave him away_. The familiarity, the comfort, _relief_ even - Talia knew she meant something to him, and even though she wouldn't comment on it too much, it was there all the same. How he would watch her, admiring. Teasing, but even when angry, frustrated -he always remained until she finally took her leave. How Jason would sometimes fuss over her, insisting that her cooking _paled_ in comparison to his - it was true, but she would deny it, much to his laughter, and watch her eat his food, smug grin stretched across his face, much to her chagrin. That Jason considered her important enough to entrust a spare copy of house key in Danver, the room that he had set _just_ for her. That whether it was a picnic in the park or a one week stay in Rome - Jason didn't care, didn't mind the material things - they didn't buy him his loyalty to her, _no_. He couldn't be bought like that, and Talia loved him all the more for it.

It was quiet now, and Talia gazed at Jason's face for a long time, counting all the little freckles, one hand smoothing his hair, his cheeks, smiling to herself - he really _did_ look like her, a much darker version, but definitely like her. _Mother and son_.

Eventually she spoke, voice strained. "How...how long?"

 _How long since Jason had passed?_. 

The question had a few people close their eyes in pain. Talia wiped back another tear.

The doctor in the corner answered, his voice quiet and and low. By now it was obvious that this woman, the intruder, even with the armed presence and ferocity, was a Mother torn by the news, the death of her son. Security had arrived, but they had stayed back now, seeing the distress of the woman, though they were still willing to act if necessary.

"About forty five minutes ago." The doctor's voice was sad, understanding even.

Talia turned away in pain, resting her head on Jason's damaged shoulder.

She stayed like that for a few minutes, her boy's blood trailing into her hair, before turning to look at him again. 

And then she switched her gaze to the room. To the Wonder Wom- _Diana_ , who was in the corner, face turned away from the scene, curled into herself. To Bruce who was slumped against the wall, dazed. Richard, who had her Damian in his arms, the two of them outside the room, Damian who was staring back at _her_ , Richard doing his best to shield him from the sight, and Talia could see it all her son's face - surprise, confusion, anger, that _how_ \- how did his Mother know Jason-, and _why_. To Timothy, who simply stood there, staring into nothing, unfocused and completely _lost_. Clark by his side, not quite touching him, but the big man's eyes were closed, and the dried tear tracks were there on his face, his head that was _bowed_ , shoulders that were _bowed_ , the loss too heavy for words. _He_ had found Jason - she'd heard his voice over the phone in the Cave. The Super- _Clark_ , he had found him, and for a moment, Talia didn't have the words. A mixture of anger, anger that Jason hadn't been found sooner, that she had failed him, but... _appreciation_ , that this man, the Superman, one Jason had fought with publicly not too long ago, had found him. Brought him here. Who seemed to.... _care_ for him, somewhat like her beloved, once ago.

Talia switched her gaze to look at Jason once more.

She couldn't lose him again, not like this.

And Talia made her decision then.

To lose Jason, like this, after _everything_ , the pain, the suffering, to have her child come through and overcome, stronger than anything or anyone she knew, to _live_ again, to be _happy_ , with friends, purpose, to smile and laugh and cook and eat and grow so big and strong and _flourish_ -

all to have it _ripped_ from him in the blink of an eye.

To be doing so _well_ , only for his light to be snuffed out, _again_.

Not like this, not so and full of potential.

Jason....might _never_ forgive her. Might even _hate_ her for this, but she. _couldn't_. Timothy he....the boy-Talia saw it now, after the grief would come the _madness_ and Timothy would never be the same again. Young Timothy, whom she knew felt somewhat out of place, who had clearly been going through depression, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the family, and Talia had watched as Jason and Timothy helped one another, as the younger boy helped stabilise Jason, and as Jason helped remind Tim over and over that _life was worth living_. Dinners where she would sit and watch the two boys bickering, laughing, teasing one another, and she would smile into her wine glass at their antics, how well they meshed, and how good they were for each other, _to_ each other. 

Closing her eyes, Talia let her head rest against the table. She let her arm go slack for a moment, feeling the vial slide down to her wrist.

"I am sorry, Jason. Truly, I am. But...I cannot, I cannot let you go like this, no, I-I cannot, I-Ti-we _can't_." Her voice was barely a murmur, but it was enough that _Clark_ picked up on it.

Opening her eyes now, Talia found herself gazing at Clark, who stared back at her, before his eyes slowly rested on the vial, which was now visible in the slit of her fingers. His gaze narrowed in confusion before widening, the meaning becoming clear, and then went straight back to her.

They looked at one another.

Talia waited. _Waited_ for Clark to say _no_ , to shake his head, to smash the thing in her hand and grind the glass to dust. To protest and say it was all _wrong_.

Clark still stared at her.

Eyes still on him, Talia let the vial slip further, until it was now properly in her hands, the small needle already attached, ready to be injected.

Still, Clark made no move. Didn't even flinch.

Not one word, support nor disagreement, and Talia realised that Clark..... _didn't want Jason like this._

 _He didn't want Jason dead._ Jason's second chance at life, and already brought to a premature end - it wasn't _fair_.

Talia looked up once more, to _Tim_ , who seemed completely unaware of his surroundings, resting heavily against Clark now, eyes devoid of life.

Taking in a slight breath, Talia moved, and injected the contents of one vial into Jason's arm.

She caught Clark's eye, before looking at the clock.

 _One minute_.

 _Two minutes_.

 _Three minutes_.

Normally, one vial was enough to restore life, but Jason had been dead now for close to an hour. Talia knew all too well the importance of balancing enough exposure to the Pit to restore, and the _too much_ that drove its recipient into madness. It was risky - any amount could have a negative effect, but the more one was exposed to Lazarus, the greater the chance of losing one's mind. Last time, she was desperate, and the desperation had cost both her and Jason. Jason had been catatonic from his brain damage for more than a year, and the boy, despite all her best efforts, had made little progress towards recovery. It was only one evening when Ra's had given the order to _kill_ Jason, and if not for Ubu sending word quickly, Ra's would have certainly had his way. There was no time, back then, to estimate just how much Lazarus Jason would need to heal with minimal side effects, after being damaged for so long, and Talia had had no choice, nor time, but to push Jason right into the Pit, praying that she was making the right decision, knowing that the boy would be exposed to huge swathes of the Pit, but if it meant him _living_ , then she had to take that chance. Jason had lived, of course, but he had paid for his life with his _sanity_. It had taken almost four years to get Jason to this point, of relative stability, that he could not only function, but flourish and enjoy life again, to sleep without fighting his demons or be tormented awake by nightmares, and Talia couldn't bear the thought of putting Jason through that once more. That was the reason why _as soon as_ Talia had received Timothy's phonecall, that Jason had been located, she had prepared the vials. Timothy had asked, if there was _anything she could do_ \- the boy didn't want to say it, out loud -probably thinking if it did, it would become too real-, but Talia had understood anyway. She, however, had told him _no_ , that Jason wouldn't want it, that she'd made a promise, and Timothy had quietened in understanding, crushed, before ending the call. Talia had looked at the phone for a moment before setting to work, ordering Ubu to prepare himself. _Three in total_ , if it came to it, but two should be more than enough. The Pit worked almost instantly, at the very most, taking a minute to provoke the initial surge in cortisol (stress) and subsequent adrenaline response, but no, they were close to four minutes in, and _still_ -

_no response._

Not even a twitch.

Talia switched her gaze from the clock to Clark, whose eyes were on her, but now slightly questioning.

_How long?_

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She shook her head minutely. It was now four minutes in, and if the Pit hadn't worked by now, then it wasn't enough.

Jason needed another vial.

Dipping her eyes to her wrist slightly, Talia watched Clark follow the second vial from her sleeves and into the light. His eyes flickered to hers, and with an imperceptible nod, jaw tight-

_in agreement, then-_

_Six seconds._

_Ten seconds._

_Fourteen seconds._

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_Twenty one-_

 

 

**_GASP_ **

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The body on the table moved, chest heaving, a loud intake of breath, and suddenly-

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Jason- he-he-

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_He was alive_. _Breathing._

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Talia would have laughed at the shock on the room's faces, had this been any other occasion devoid of such morbidity. Instead, she moved quickly, stabilising Jason's head, shushing him. The boy had begin to murmur, then groan, the sounds garbled and becoming more strained, but his eyes remained closed. "Jason, its only me, my love. Breathe, my darling boy _breathe_ , all is well, I'm here. _Focus on my voice, Jason, calm down_."

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But Jason didn't calm down.

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His movements became more agitated, stressed, eyes moving rapidly under their eyelids, and Talia lifted her head to bark orders now, ignoring a few who had fainted in fright, the shouts of alarm, confusion, Bruce shouting her name, Timothy who had stumbled backwards, wide-eyed and afraid, centering her gaze on Clark, who was opened mouthed, rooted to the spot.

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"Clark. _Clark_ , I need you to hold him." Her voice was fierce, cutting the big man out of his stupor. The surprise at her knowing his name- that was there too, but there was no time for that now. The man moved, shaking, uncertain, and Talia took one hand from supporting Jason's head to reach over and haul Clark over, directing him to across Jason's torso.

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"Hold him still. You need to- _Clark_! Focus!, _Hold him down_ , and don't let go, no matter what."

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Clark nodded, face pale, and obeyed, though he kept shaking.

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Talia switched her attention back to Jason, whose eyes had now snapped open, but they were moving rapidly, side to side, _unseeing_.

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"Jason, my love, _Jason_ , its me, Talia, you are safe, and you are here, listen to me Jason, my boy-"

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Jason began to scream.

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Talia closed her eyes. "My boy, please listen-"

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" _ **BRUCE!**_ God help me- _**BRUCE!**_ _**BRUCE!**_ _**BRU-PLEASE, HELP ME!**_ I'm-I'm scared-I'm-I'm so scared, please, anyone, please help me- _ **BRUCE!**_ _where are you, Dad, oh God, I'm-I'm gonna die, oh no he's got me Dad he's gone-gonna kill me he's got me and he-he-won't let-stop it hurts oh-God-_ _**DAD!**_ _**DAD!**_ _**DAD!**_ _**DAD!**_ _**DAD!**_ " Jason's voice was unnaturally high pitched as he screamed aloud, much like a young child, tears streaming down his face.

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The rest of the room, however, were shocked to the core. _This was Jason, the child speaking. The one who had been buried. The one who awoke crawling out from his own grave,_ and the realisation was sickening to them all. Bruce looked as if he might faint, or be sick. Both probably, and two or three of the room's occupants did just that. The man made to move over to Jason, hands shaking, unsure of what do, but Talia directed her gaze to him, fierce, a warning to _stay back_ , unsure if _Bruce_ touching the boy would set him off even more, and the man halted, chest heaving with anger, before trying again. Tim moved now to hold him back, face to the side, not wanting to do it but understanding it _had to be done_ , and Bruce feeling betrayed by the action, fought to reach Jason.

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By now, Jason was proving more difficult to hold still, worsening as the Pit's effect kicked in. His legs began to flail about, the operating table shaking thunderoulsy, and a few medical team were all over the place, shouting orders to one another-

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"Diana!" Talia snapped her head up now to the Wonder Woman, who stood, hands over her mouth, shocked- "Diana, get over here! Hold his legs still! Jason, my boy, please it's alright-"

Jason was full on screaming now, and the sounds were nothing short of animalistic, wild screeching, as if an animal were being tortured to death.

" _Oh my God-_ " Bruce breathed out, and in shock he staggered, only being saved by Tim and Dick, who held him back, though they were were struggling, with Bruce fighting against them, trying desperately to reach Jason. "Tal- _TALIA_ , what have you done, **TALIA** -" He was screaming now, face red, but Talia ignored him, directing Diana over Jason's legs. "Hold him down, this is only the beginning." The woman turned to look at her, deeply afraid, and Talia held her gaze for a moment, pitying, before turning her attention once more on Jason. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Damian, who in that very instant, looked small, and worst of all, absolutely _petrified_ at what he was seeing, backed into the corner. Talia closed her eyes briefly. _This_ , this kind of life - _this_ is what she had been trying to shield Damian from, all these years.

Jason's screams intensified.

Talia knew the boy wouldn't hear her voice, not when his memories were being dredged up like this, the Pit drenching his body, and restoring life. There was nothing that could be done except wait it out; sedatives had no effect whatsoever, and Talia cut her eyes sharply at the medical team, who flinched, standing back, and clearly lost for words.

" _Wait_." Her voice was steel, and they all nodded, gulping. The Pit would heal, and restore, but Jason would still require medical attention once this was all over.

"NONONONOONONONO _**BRUCE**_! HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME, BRUCE? HOW COULD YOU- _ **BRUCE!**_ _**BRUCE!**_ HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME TO _die_ here, _**BRUCE**_! _WHERE ARE YOU, OH GOD NO-NO-NO-NO-NO-HEL-HELP! HELP!_ _**Somebody GET ME OUTTA HERE! HELP! HELP!**_ "

The man in question was gulping, fresh tears pouring down his face.

Jason was lost in his mind.

Talia closed her eyes, muttering Arabic into Jason's ear. "ابني, طفلي, ولدي, ابني, لقد حصلت عليك, لا بأس, أنا هنا, أنت أم هنا, _my son, my child, my son, my son, I am with you, and I am here_ " over and over, her eyes tightly shut, even as tears leaked and her voice hitched, but still, she spoke, and still-

Jason _lashed out._

At one point, he _howled_ into the air, shaking the bones of all who were present, and then the voice changed into something deep and frightening, that even Talia's hairs stood on edge.

"Mom, _**MOM he's got me, HE'S-HE'S GOT ME, HELP ME MA, HELP ME, DIANA! DIANA! MOM-MOM MOM-m-mMOM MA MA, PLE-MA-LEAS-MOM-MOM-MOM DIANA- DI DI DI PLEASE PLEASE COME GET ME, GET ME, SAVE ME OH GOD, DIANA IT HURTS, IT HURTS SO MUCH PLEASE COME COME I SWEAR I'LL BE GOOD I SWEAR I'-I'LL BE A GOOD BOY I SWEAR I SWEAR- HELP, GOD HELP ME- HELP, HE'S HE'S TRYNA-HE'S HE'S GONNA KILL ME, HELP ME, HELP ME-**_ "

Diana was crying, shaking her head, desperately trying to reach for Jason, and in doing do, eased her restriction off Jason's legs, allowing his _entire_ lower half to heave high into the air, holding its unnatural position, flooring all who were present.

" _El Diablo_ -" one young woman whispered, the room rocked in absolutely fear.

" _DIANA! HOLD HIM DOWN!_ " Talia shouted at the woman, who sobbed, burying her face into Jason's legs.

" _ **TALIA!**_ _**TALIA!**_ _**TALIA!**_ _**TALIA!**_ LEAVE HER ALON- _**TALIA!**_ MA! MA! MA! HE-HE-LEAVE- _ **TALIA!**_ \- _**_I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU TOUCH HER AGAIN I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU, I SWEAR RA'S, DON-DON'T YOU TOUCH HER RA'S, LEA-LEAVE HER ALONE, LEAVE HER THE FUCK ALONE-TALIA! TALIA!_** I SWEAR TO GO- _MOM! MOM! MOM!_ **I'M GONNA GRIND YA BONES INTO DUST AND SCATTER THEM OVER THE FUCKING DESERT-MOM! TALIA!** " The veins in Jason's skin were prominent, chest lurching fully off the table, high into the air._

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__Talia closed her eyes, her chest close to bursting._ _

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They were all looking at her. Damian, Bruce - they _stared_ at her wildly, and though she kept her face neutral, Talia struggled to mask the pain, as deep as it was.

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"LEAVE-" Jason gasped nosily taking in hungry breaths of air, and his voice caused everyone to wince when he next spoke, the sound hoarse and scratchy, like chalk on a whiteboard. "-LEAVE THE KID ALONE! _**LEAVE-I SAID, MOTHERFUCKER, HANDS FUCKING OFF THE DAMN KID-**_ "

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__That line had everyone halting to a standstill._ _

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__Damian, having been in the corner, knees to his chest, deeply afraid of the unnatural screams, now snapped his head up, confusion evident across his face._ _

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A _child?_ What was Todd talking about-

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__Bruce looked close to roaring, his eyes flicking quickly between Talia, Jason and Damian, who was unaware of Bruce's reaction-_ _

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" **LEAVE THE KID ALONE** -DON'T-DON'T TOUCH HIM, AKRAM, DON'T YOU _fucking_ dare, LEAVE HIM ISBHBALLAH, LEAVE HIM, GET YOUR DISGUSTING HANDS-LEAVE-LEAVE HIM, DON'-DON'-DON'T-DON'T-KID, _**AKHI**_ , _HOLD ON, I'M COMING, I'M HERE I'M_ -"

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Damian shocked inhale was all the confirmation anyone needed. But for Damian, that _name_ -

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_the_ names, of some of his _teachers_ -

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_the _way_ Jason said that name, Ak-Ak _hi_ -_

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he-he'd _heard_ it before.

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It was _too_ familiar, the sound, the tone of it all, the accent, broken, mispronounced, a slight lilt, garbled. But he racked his brain now, thinking, searching, where-where _where_ had he heard-

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until he _remembered_ something, the memory jolting sharply into his mind.

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Grandfather had been sitting in a lesson one day with one of his English tutors Fadi...tha-that word, "brother", a term of endearment. He tried to remember, pushing, and the memories were someone what hazy, something about a "pet", "abed" or _slave_ , Grandfather been angry for something he said, and had slapped him hard enough to slam back into his chair bu-but it _hurt_ now, it really did, as if someone was pushing down on his brain, and Damian closed his eyes at the thoughts, gritting his teeth, clenching, trying harder than ever to just _remember_ , concentrate, _think_ but-but it was as if...as if it something had been _put_ there to halt the process, like someone.. _didn't want him to remember_ or _suppressed it_ , much like a _memory dampner_ or-

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Damian's eyes snapped _wide_ open, staring at Talia, who was watching him, with something akin to _fear_ on her face.

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" _ **You**_ -" He snarled, standing, ignoring the confused looks thrown his way, and he moved now, only to be hauled back by Grayson, who tried shushing him, but he _struggled_ against the hands, shouting in Arabic, in Farsi - _Mother, what did you do? What have you done?_ _What happened to him?_ _Why can't I remem-_ But Jason's voice changed yet again, and the whole room quietened in shock.

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" _لأخ الأصغر, الأخ الأصغر, الأخ الأصغر_." Jason's voice was now gentle, soft, and ever so kind, a startling change from the frenzied screaming just mere moments ago. "لأخ الأصغر, الأخ الأصغر, الأخ الأصغر, _little brother_ , I've got you, I'm sorry about that, I'm so sorry they hurt you, _Akhi_ , don't worry, your M-Moth- _Talia_ , Mother is..she'-she'll-she will be back soon, you're doing a great job الأخ الأصغر, I mean it, I'm so _proud_ of-of... I'm I'm- sorry Akhi, I'-I'm-I didn't know, I _swear_ , I'm so sorry..." His voice became even quieter, softer.

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The room was silent.

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_Completely_ silent. Enough to hear a _pin_ drop.

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Damian stared wide eyed at his Mother, lost for words. At _Todd_. 

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The man had been calling _him_ Akhi, or _little brother_ \- he was the only one Todd could be referring too. Who had now apparently been around in the League compound, even though he couldn't remember a damn fucking thing.

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The room was horribly _tense._

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Damian looked at his Father, slumped in Grayson's arms, who looked so... _broken_ , so _heartbroken_ , Kent who was in tears, wiping his face, Diana whose face was buried in Jason's legs, chest heaving, weeping, Grayson himself who.. before looking once more at his _Mother_ , dearest _Talia_ , who had kept him away from Father, who had neglected to tell him that _Todd_ had been around at one point or another, who, if correct, had somewhat _protected_ him, though he didn't know from _what_ , that-that- and now Damian felt his anger flare within, and curled his fists.

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" _Mother_ -" His voice was a hiss, snarling, the rage beginning to unleash, but one look at Talia's face...the _hurt_ , some saddness in there too, _regret_ , had the boldness drain out of him, throat tight, nerves gone. Talia looked at him a moment longer before switching her gaze abruptly to the medical team, and opened her mouth to speak when Jason spoke once more.

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" _Tim._ ". The voice was deep, soft, lulling, and _full_ of love.

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__They stilled again._ _

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__" _Little brother_ , Tim, _Timmy_ -" Jason seemed to breathe out the boy's name, and it was Tim's turn to move, and _move_ , till he was facing Talia on the opposite side, holding Jason's head, running a trembling hand through Jason's hair._ _

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__"I'm-I'm here Jay, I'm here-" the boy gulped through his tears, voice hitching._ _

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___"I'm so sorry, Tim, I-I-'m _so sorry_ , Timbo, I-I _hurt you_ , I nearly ki-k _illed_ you Oh God I-I'-how could I have-I'm sorry, Tim, so _so_ sorry, forgive me little brother, my akhi, habibata, حبيبتى, حبيبتى, little brother, _my_ akhi, __**اخي اخي اخي اخي اخي**_ ,أنا آسف 'ana asif-" Jason's tears were streaming, his voice breaking, and he shook a little on the table. "-أنا آسف, _'ana asif_ , my-my _أنا آسف_ _ya 'iilhi ya 'iilhi ya 'iilhi_ , my boy, m-m _ولدي_ ولدي I am sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, not you, not _you_ Timmy, oh اغفر ليmy boy _اغفر لي اغفر لي اغفر لي_ how-h- _كيف يمكن أن أفعل مثل هذا الشيء -كيف يمكن أن أفعل مثل هذا الشيء - alshay' alrahiba_ , kl shay balnsbt la, yaghfir lia, shaqiq, _يغفر لي، شقيق_ , _'ana la yastahiqu shayyanaan_ , _كيف يمكن أن يضر واحد أحب_ , _يغفر لي شقيق، يغفر لي،_ , _laa tahmil li, laa tahmil li, لا تحمل لي, don't hold it against me I beg you, أرجوك, I'm begging you akhi, 'atuasal 'iilayk_. Jason's heavy sobs filled the air, wretched, regretful sounds, shaking his head from side to side, and Tim was crying, gasping, kneeling, his forehead pressed into Jason's temple he wept into his the older man's hair. Talia let her own tears escape, one hand reaching across to hold Timothy, who shook his own head a little, holding onto Jason for dear life. 

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_Jason, his brother, was asking for forgiveness_.

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_As if he hadn't forgiven him already_.

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The cries died down gradually, the struggling giving way, until the shaking stopped, the tremors lessened, and all that was left was a little twitching. Jason's eyes were closed, and his expression had smoothed into a peaceful one, as if the events of the last _twelve minutes and thirty two seconds_ had never happened.

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Talia waited for a full minute more before turning to the medical team, ignoring how wet her face had become.

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" _Sedate him._ He..assess his stability for operative surgery, if necessary." Her voice was firm, though wavering, and all noted how she failed to look back at Damian, instead focusing on Jason, who looked as if he were sleeping. The room watched as Talia stroked Jason's cheek, a tiny smile on her face, smoothing his hair and wiping his tears, before she bent low and kissed him on the forehead, once, twice, before walking out. She stood in front of security, who seemed... _unsure_ of how to proceed, hesitant, almost unwilling one might say, still reeling from the shock at witnessing _an evidently dead, bloodied boy come back to life_ , but Talia made the decision for them. Holding out her wrists together, silently inviting them to cuff her, they obeyed, and the group left quietly, the room watching Talia leave calm and composed.

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" _If you could..please._ " The middle aged man spoke now, voice hoarse, clearly at...no words, really, of how to describe any of this, and the medical team, at first uncertain, moved now, placing tubes and wires of all kinds into Jason. Diana backed away slowly, taking a moment to hold Jason's hand, kissing it, before leaving, taking Bruce's hand in her own, Clark with an arm around Tim, steadying the boy, who seemed to have trouble walking, unfocused, confused, who even looked at Damian for a moment, unsure of what to say, and Dick steering Damian away, who for once had no sharp retort, no- _nothing_ to offer, of any kind.

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_Jason was alive_.

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And if they _didn't have questions before, they most definitely did _now_._

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_A couple of hours later, early afternoon, second floor._

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Dr Santiago rinsed his hands for the final time. To his side was Dr Chaves, who shook his head every now and again, muttering, and the other side, the scrub nurse Moreno, who moved slowly, wiping her face on her shoulder. He swallowed, stilling his nerves, before glancing through the scrub room and into the operating theatre again. 

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"Jefe? Can we wheel him round now?" That was Martin, the Anaesthetist. He and his younger counterpart in training, Obwero, were standing by the side of the Perez boy's trolley, waiting to take him to post op recovery area, where the young man would be carefully assessed, before being taken to ICU for close monitoring. Santiago looked at the man, the one who had caused one hell of a morning, who had been _deader than dead_ for almost an hour before waking up, gasping, frightening the shit outta them all-

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_"Take him round."_

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With a nod, the two men obeyed, and Mr Jay Perez was wheeled out of theatre. Finishing with the scrub down, Santiago allowed one of his assistants to remove his gown before he removed his mask with a yawn, eyes weary, and stretched his back. Making sure the operation notes were up to date, Santiago took a moment to rest his back against the wall, drained. They'd started sometime after seven thirty in the morning, following a through pre-assessment of the patient, and now, just over five hours later, surgery was over. For a dead man, the operation had been a damn success, even with all the mess they'd had to repair, superficially and deep. It was now a matter of _recovery_ , and with cases as severe as these, especially the Perez's severe hypoxic state prior to surgery, it was routine to have patients placed into a medically-induced coma, in order to rest the brain and any minimise any potential swelling, lowering metabolic activity and thus oxygen demand, at least until ICU monitoring showed improvement of some sorts. For how long, no-one knew, but at least..at _least_ Perez was alive.

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Moreno brought him back to the present, standing beside him, watching some of the nurses clean the floor and wipe down the table. "Want me to speak to the family?" Her voice was uncertain, strained.

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___Santiago smiled wearily at his old friend. "Thank you, but no. I...I'll be alright."_ _ _

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___She nodded, the relief clear on her face. "Coffee will be waiting for you when you get back." She squeezed his arm before taking her leave._ _ _

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___Santiago closed his eyes for a second longer before pushing himself off the wall. Changing into a pair of clean scrubs, he made his way to one of the smaller, more private waiting rooms, to a group of people who stood at his arrival, wide-eyed, clearly waiting for the news. It was strange, his morning, the Perez kid, all of these people, every _fuckin_ thing. Apart from possibly the youngest boy and the woman earlier, none of them resembled Mr Perez in the slightest, and yet- he'd never seen a group of people more torn up over the death of a loved one, _never_. A platter of sandwiches had been provided for them, but it had barely been touched, blankets discarded haphazardly to the side, though there were cups of coffee still half full on the table. He cleared his throat, motioning for them to sit down, and they did, eyes fixed squarely on him. Santiago shifted under the intense scrutiny before speaking, his voice low._ _ _

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___"The surgery went well."_ _ _

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___Relief descended on the group like a cloak, some of them sinking back into their seats. The exhaustion was clear to see._ _ _

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___Santiago continued._ _ _

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___"We've managed to stop the bleeding, and we've removed all the...the bullets, from Mr Perez. He's had a couple of deep lacerations, the most severe entering his liver, but we expect that to heal very well without too much difficulty. We're treating the infection with an aggressive course of antibiotics, and Perez is receiving two full drips continuously by IV to combat the severe dehydration." Santiago took a moment to pause here, the tiredness settling into his bones. _God, what a nightmare_._ _ _

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___"It is good news, at least for now. Mr Perez, however, with his extensive injuries and surgery, has been placed into a medically induced coma, and is currently being transferred for specialist monitoring in ICU."_ _ _

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___The families faces were pale but none interrupted, and for that, Santiago was grateful._ _ _

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___"I'm not sure if you understand what I mean by that; I'll explain briefly. Though CT scans do not show any signs of haemorrhage or swelling, Mr Perez is at high risk of brain injury secondary to prolonged hypoxia, brought on by his cardiac arrest and subsequent failure to return to sinus rhythm several hours ago. As we all.... _witnessed_ , he...he returned to consciousness, though highly agitated, and in order to rest the brain, and monitor his progress, we have placed him in a state of heavy sedation. I...appreciate this may not be what you want to hear, but we feel that this is the best chance he has for making a recovery, of any kind. He has endured significant stress to the body, and mind, clearly, and we as the team agree on mechanical ventilation until Mr Perez demonstrates improvement towards independent functioning. Simply put, he'll remain in this coma until we are confident he can breathe again, as well as other things, without additional help. Do-does that make sense?"_ _ _

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___Santiago was unsure whether it would be too much, but the family seemed to understand, and already the room felt...lighter, just a little. He nodded._ _ _

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___"Good. As for-"_ _ _

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___"When-when can we see him?" The big man, blue eyes, pale skin,-the one who'd fainted the first time Santigao had delivered the news of the boy's death-he spoke now, much calmer, though his voice was shaky. Santiago offered him a brief, sad smile, understanding, but not compromising._ _ _

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___"For now, not yet. There is a few things to be done, I and the rest of the surgical team to speak extensively to the ICU team covering his care, the nurses who will look after him one to one, all these things. Then there are blood tests and other scans that must be carried out promptly - please, do understand that the first twenty four hours of any patient admitted to ICU is _absolutely_ critical, Mr Perez here especially. For now, we will _not_ be allowing any visitors, not until we are happy things are in place, and our patient is settled. Give us the rest of today to sort everything out; tomorrow, assuming there hasn't been any major surprises- we will permit up to two visitors by the bedside, and for a very short while only. It isn't what you want to hear, I know, but please, your cooperation will go along way."_ _ _

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___Nods all round. Santiago breathed out slowly, less tense, noting the absence of the dark haired woman who'd wreaked havoc not long ago._ _ _

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___"Sorry." A young voice spoke, and the doctor turned to the owner of the sound. Slim, blue eyes, though red and with heavy bags, the boy, the one Mr Perez called _Tim_. "I...about earlier, I'm-she-we're sorry, about that. She didn't know, the news came as a shock, I...I'm really sorry. We'll take care of the damages and-and everything, please I'-"_ _ _

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___Santaigo raised his hand a little, smiling at the boy, who'd began to speak a little faster, still distressed. "I...understand, my boy. Grief affects people in different ways. I...-" He moved his jaw from side to side a little. "Security have yet to update me on the matter; I'll see how things are on their end once Mr Perez is settled. I-" Santaigo looked at them all before sighing, remembering the woman's broken cries, they way she clung to her son desperately, as if holding on any tighter would change the tragic outcome. He didn't want to promise them what he didn't know; the woman _had_ brought in two weapons into the hospital, discharged the firearms, taken two hostages, and that was a direct threat to the safety of staff, patients, and visitors alike. "I'll let you know. In the meantime, its good news, but bear in mind these next couple of hours are very important; observation will be heavy during this period. I...I suggest you go home, or the nearest hotel; speak to Marie at the reception desk, she'll be able to help you make arrangements should it be necessary." Clearly they weren't from around here. "The town is no more than fifteen minutes by car; should you have any problems, let me, or the staff downstairs know. If I could have a contact number?"_ _ _

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___Tim opened his mouth to speak but Bruce beat him to it._ _ _

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___Santigao nodded, thanking the man. "Again, if there are any important updates or changes, we'll contact you as soon as possible. We'll let you know where to go and visiting hours once Mr Perez is settled. Are there any questions?"_ _ _

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___A pause, and then-_ _ _

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___"Do you...what is your medical opinion-, I-" An even younger voice spoke, uncertain, almost faltering, and Santiago saw that it was the youngest boy, green eyes, the one who'd hissed at the woman bent over Mr Perez. Clearly family dynamics were...something out of the ordinary here. He seemed a little embarrassed to by asking, cheeks slightly red, and he failed to make eye contact, opting to look at his feet instead. Nevertheless, Santigao understood what the young boy was asking, and he touched the boy's foot gently, prompting him to look up._ _ _

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___"Honestly?" He took a moment to himself, wiping his glasses, before speaking again._ _ _

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___"I've never seen anything like this, not..not ever. From-if...should the tests come back with good results, the success of the operation maintained, and CT head negative for signs of hypoxic brain injury and other disruptions.... then I don't see any reason why Mr Perez _shouldn't_ make a full recovery. As I said before, the first twenty four hours are critical, and the young man will be closely monitored throughout his stay here. I can't _predict_ anything, nor can I give you definites, but....from what I've seen so far-and nothing like it, might I add- honestly, _it wouldn't surprise me if Perez bounced back from this_ , but again, I can't promise anything. _So_. Go home and rest. Get some sleep, _all of you_ \- its a wonder you're all awake, looking at you. If there are any changes, I'll let you know."_ _ _

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___Santiago spoke this last part to all of them, particularly focusing on the young teen who looked close to collapse, before standing up. He shook the hand of the man who'd given him his number before taking his leave, nodding to them all._ _ _

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_A damn miracle._  

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___The group watched the Doctor leave before slumping back into their chairs, quiet sighs all round._ _ _

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Tim caught Bruce's eye for a moment, and they stared at each other, the air tense. _Talia's involvement, Tim holding him back, the betrayal, anger from both sides, it was all there, unspoken and heavy_ before Tim stood abruptly, phone out. It was obvious who he was going to call, and Damian's head was fixed on Tim's movement, before turning away, his jaw tight, but silent nonetheless.

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" _Tim-_ " Bruce started, but the boy continued walking, straight out of the door, and Bruce let him go, too tired to argue. As much as it pained him to admit it-

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_Talia_ had saved Jason's life. 

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_Again_.

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He owed her, _big_ time, and they all knew it.

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___"Alright." He breathed into his hands, back tense. "We...we'll need hotel rooms. At least...at least till we find out Jason's condition tomorrow."_ _ _

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___"And food. Food's good too." Dick looked at him, and Bruce tried to smile, he did, recognising the boy's attempt at helping, but he was far too drained. Dick smiled back, understanding, and rose, clearly to retrieve Tim. Bruce watched his eldest go for a moment before turning to Clark, who was rather still beside him, head bowed._ _ _

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___"Clark?"_ _ _

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___"Hmm?" The big man lifted his head, and Bruce noted the strain around the man's eyes, the stubbled growth._ _ _

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He had a _lot_ to thank his friend for.

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Bruce opened his mouth, intent on thanking the man, but his speech faltered, his throat was dry, painful, and he swallowed, in an effort to just _speak_ , but the tears welled up at the back of his eyes, and he looked away, staring to his side.

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Clark had saved Jason's life, when he couldn't, and no matter how he felt about the two, about Clark doing what he _couldn't_ , Bruce knew he'd always be grateful to the man. 

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___Clark, bless him, seem to understand it all, and wordlessly reached out to squeeze his knee, a lopsided smile on his face._ _ _

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___"Food, Bruce."_ _ _

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___Bruce turned to look at him, reading his eyes, and nudged the man slightly before standing, offering a hand to Diana, who took it, squeezing his._ _ _

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___"Let's go."_ _ _

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Tim paced a little, phone on his ear. Talia was probably in a holding cell by now, or custody of some sorts; he'd searched on his phone the nearest police stations and made his way from there. A _Ma'am, phone call for you_ distant in the background and then-

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___"Timothy." The voice was tired, strained, but Tim didn't care about that._ _ _

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Not when _Talia_ had saved Jason's life.

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___"He-he's out of surgery, T. The doctors said it went well, Jason's out-he-'he's in ICU now. We can't see him yet, not until the first twenty four eyes are up and he's been properly assessed, but he'-he's out now. They've....they've put him a medical coma, trying to settle him." Tim's voice hitched slightly, eyes heavy, and he took a moment to himself before continuing, thankful for Talia's patience._ _ _

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"They said if all goes well, if the scans are all good and everything...he's got a shot, Talia. He-Jason, he's-he _can_ ". Tim wiped away a tear.

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___On the other end of the line, Talia closed her eyes, stilling herself._ _ _

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"Thank you, Talia. _Thank you, thank you, and thank you, for doing it. For saving Jason, even tho-even though I know you said you wouldn't, that you promised, but you did, I know you did, and so thank you, for everything, for every-I swear it I-I-" _The tears were falling, and Tim shifted his face to the wall, closing his eyes.__

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____"klu shay' ealaa ma yaramu, habi. All is well, my love, صبي، كل شيء على ما يرام. Hold your tears, la tubki ya sibi, do not cry, dearest one. All is well." She kept her voice soft, knowing how upset Timothy was, the guilt that she knew the boy would feel later._ _ _ _

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____"Will-will you be alright? I mean, I can make some calls, get you-"_ _ _ _

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____"I will be fine Timothy, I've already sorted things out. Have you and the others arranged for a place to stay? I'm sure I can acquire a few properties-"_ _ _ _

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Tim snorted through his tears, the sound bringing a smile to Talia's face. " _Of course you would._ Nah, I'm sure Bruce is sorting things out. Talia, are you _sure-_ "

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"I am sure, Timothy. I have made preparations for my departure, rest assured. For now, go back with the family. Do...do _not_ mind Bruce, Timothy. He is likely to be hurt, angry even, but understand that you did what you thought was right, and I asked you to do what was best for _Jason_. Bruce...he may not understand it now, but one day...one day he will, eventually. لا تغلب على نفسك يا ابني.. Do not beat yourself up, my son. Go and rest, talafi, rest. You need it."

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"Alright..Alright Talia. _Thank you_. I'll hack into the police records, wipe away all traces of you being there. If there's anything, I'll call you, I swear." Tim's voice was determined, and Talia let a soft smile linger on her face for a few moments. _Such a lovely boy._

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____"How kind of you Timothy, and thank you, for your efforts. I know you will. Speak soon, ولدي, and rest, waladi." She ended the call here._ _ _ _

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____For a few moments, Talia closed her eyes, easing the anxiety of her chest._ _ _ _

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_Jason, her boy, was alive_ , and if she had anything to do with it, he would _live_ once more.

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____Straightening up from the wall, Talia ignored her other cell mates, including eyes that leered at her skintight form, and beckoned with a lazy wave to a young officer, who seemed all to happy to do her bidding. She rolled her eyes internally and spoke coolly, voice sharp._ _ _ _

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"I would like to make a phone call." She sounded almost bored, and the young man jumped up, stumbling over his _yes Ma'am, of-of course Ma'am, whatever you want, need_ , and several minutes later, Talia had a black receiver in her hand. Cellmates were only permitted one call out; Timothy's sharp request to speak to the young woman in the black one piece had officers scrambling to reach her, watching her closely, eyes raking over her form.

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____One ring-_ _ _ _

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____"Master." Ubu's voice was firm, ready for action._ _ _ _

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"Ubu." Talia began, switching quietly to Arabic. "Have the bail amount transferred to my location, the paperwork has now been processed. Once that is through, I want to contact details of the hospital board members, the CEO; a donation of some sort will need to be made, very generously. I will _not_ have anyone bar me from seeing my son."

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____"As you wish, Master."_ _ _ _

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____The call ended with a click, and with a dismissive glance to the officers, Talia was escorted back to her cell, ignoring the filthy mutterings of the disheveled creature a few metres from her._ _ _ _

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_I am coming, my son. Wait for me, and all shall be well._

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	48. Father, I confess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason remains ventilated on ICU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note: I've changed the fight between Dick and Jason, for those who've read the story already, you'll see what I mean!

_Wednesday, early evening_.

Damian stared at the monitors.

 _Beep_. 

_Beep_.

Colorful displays of text, numbers, machines that were keeping the _Hood_ -no, _Todd_ alive, a once former enemy of the family, now his sort-of estranged brother of some sort, _alive_ , and back in their lives.

A few buttons flashed, some orange, most green, and Damian continued to watch them, the sight blurring his eyes.

It was eerily silent, in Todd's room, and Damian felt a shiver run through his bones at just how _quiet_ it all was. Yes, the nurses were outside, focused on their daily tasks, but in here, this white-walled private room overlooking the hospital garden, it was unsettling, and Damian shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Todd had been at the League compound, with him as a young child, and had the events of the last few days never occurred, he would have been none the wiser.

It was a bombshell of a reveal, and the realisation, now uncovered, was at the back of his mind on nearly every waking moment.

Today was the first time Damian had visited Todd. There was talk of him returning to Gotham, to _school_ \- la samah allah-, something Father and Mother had for once agreed on, and he'd only just managed to convince them to stay a little longer, Pennyworth surprisingly agreeing, though he knew his time out here was nearly up. Thus Damian had spent the first half of the week sat in the hotel room, watching various members of the family prepare to visit his bro- _Todd_. Father would have been at the man's bedside for all eternity if he could, that was obvious, but the ICU were strict in their visitor policy - _two at a time_ , and so Bruce had obliged, but his displeasure was clear. Apparently Mother didn't feel the rules also applied to her, and Father had been driven irate on seeing Mother at Todd's bedside several times in a row, well past visiting hours. Drake had barely stayed with them - the older boy had in fact, booked a room in the hotel down the road, and the move was a sting to Father in particular. Drake had yet to utter a single word to him, barely a glance in his direction, and deep down, though Damian loathed to admit it, he felt... a little hurt by the lack of acknowledgement. He knew Drake could be ... _challenging_ , but this level of coldness, the cool, distant front, eyes piercingly sharp - Drake normally kept his distance, but here, being fully exposed to such _disdain_ , clear as day- it made Damian highly unsettled, and a coil of bile threatened to rise in his throat whenever _Drake_ was reportedly around nearby. Drake had spent time with the family exactly once; the first and only time had been during dinner one evening, and the silence had been too uncomfortable to relax, not with he and Father trading _looks_ every now and again. Grayson, the silly fool, had tried to lighten the conversation, Kent too, but their attempts had drowned miserably, with Tim leaving half his plate untouched and departing the table without a single backwards glace. Father had watched him go, and Damian had read a multitude of emotions across his face, hurt mostly, before Father schooled his expression into a neutral one, eventually leaving the table with a nod.

Mother had kept her distance, strangely enough. He had heard them, of course, Mother and Father arguing in hushed, biting tones, glaring at each other, but it was always far from his vicinity, where they thought he couldn't hear, but he did, _always_. He didn't need to be there to see the bitterness in their eyes, the animosity that hung in the air long after the two would stomp away from each other. Mother would sometimes catch his eye, softening slightly, but Damian would turn away, hurt and angry. She never approached him, almost understanding of his confusion, his dismissal, but Damian knew she hovered; he could _feel_ her eyes watching his movements even now, deliberating how to sit, what to say, if words even needed to be said, and the tension could be cut with a knife. That Grayson would sometimes try to distract him from it all without success. Damian had caught the man in question on one occasion at Todd's bedside, his one and only visit, hovering, as if unable to decide whether his presence was appropriate, or _right_ even. Grayson's head had been bowed, lips parted, muttering quietly, and his hand had stayed by the railing of the bed, but every so often his fingers would move, as if he desired to somehow _reach_ Todd, but at the last minute, they would withdraw back to the rail, and Grayson would sigh deeply. Damian had shrunk away quietly, processing the scene.

It was no secret that his eldest brother and the Hood had had several violent run-ins, that later, Grayson had failed to hide his intense dislike, hatred even, of the big man, and their animosity had worsened on Todd's attempt at killing him, with Grayson subsequently advocating Hood being sent to Arkham, even an orchestrating an attempt to bring him in, endeding most violently. Apparently, the two men had never been close; Grayson shied away from the topic, opting to _hmm_ and look away instead, shoulders stiff, voice hard, Father was stoically silent on the matter, but it was clear that whatever had occurred between he and Father, Todd had unfortunately been caught in the middle of the spat, and it was all to easy to see now, Todd's bitingly cruel commentary as he trampled on any notions of _big-brother_. Grayson's attempts at bonding with Todd- no, the _mad man_ \- were ugly, intense, lashing and fierce, and their last fight - Damian had unfortunately not been around to see the occasion but he'd played the footage in the Cave, long after Grayson had been put to bed by Father and Pennyworth- unfurled a rage within him like never before. Todd had _spat_ at his brother, before descending on him, a flurry of blows, then pinning him to the floor, eyes cruel, humiliating his brother by laughing, ignoring Grayson's writhing, before fisting into his hair, hard enough that the man cried out in pain, the other clutching at his throat, and finally whispering menacingly, clearly audible through Grayson's communicator- " _I hate you, with every fibre of my being. I-I hate you, and more than anything, I kid you not-I want you dead. Dead, like never before, but we all know that'll never happen, not to Daddy's piss-shittingly favourite, so I'm telling you now, Golden boy: Stay. the fuck. away from me, you hear? You're the only one in that batshit mess you call a "family" who sees me for what I truly am - a crazy murdering loon who will stop at nothing to put those scumbags down, and I'm glad as fuck that you see it. I never, ever, want to see your face again, never. Understand this - I see you, I shoot you dead, no questions asked. I'll strip your balls and hang them over the rooftops if that's what it takes to **leave me alone**. Now run along to daddy like the good little **bitch** you are, hmm? Don't make me have my way with you_."

Todd had left then, voice chilling, spitting in Grayson's face before disappearing, and Damian had stared at the screen, chest heaving, boiling with rage, ready to slaughter that barbarian to pieces, watching Grayson struggling to breathe, face swollen and bruised, nose bloodied, before _Red Robin_ had shown up, pressing a slim, trembling hand to his ear, requesting for backup. Grayson had returned to the Cave, eyes screwed shut in pain, but apart from that, chillingly silent about it all, unable to catch anyone's eye, _thoroughly humiliated_. Father and Pennyworth had worked in complete silence, their movements methodical, but Father's eyes gave away his rage. Damian had vowed that day to have a bounty placed on Hood's head, that the man's head be brought to him on a silver plate extra if it came with the hood, and he'd done just that, reaching out to Mother, who said nothing for a long moment, before disconnecting the call. Damian had stared at the phone, confused, before flinging it at the wall - if Mother wouldn't, then _he_ would, and he'd started on the secret operation until-til-

And now, even with all the hurt, the pain, the chaos that Todd-no, _**Hood**_ for fuck's sake, had put them through, Grayson almost killed by that madman- Drake, that _traitor_ , attention-seeking waste of space had reached _out_ to that same man and for what- _friendship?_ It was almost comical really, and as Damian stood by Todd's beside, watching his chest rise and fall, breath misting the endotracheal tube keeping him ventilated, he thought of just how _easy_ it would be. A little pressure applied _here_ , a little of that concentration lowered _there_ , upping the sedative propofol well above its limit, who knows, a button or two switched off, a pillow across the face - it-it was so _simple_ , too many ways to end this man, and Damian fought now, his eyes alight, to keep his hands to himself, struggling with the temptation, and now the revelation that Todd had _been there_ , this same man who had apparently _protected_ him, _cared_ and _loved_ him enough to call him fucking _ak-akhi_ , enough that Mother herself came for him, _wept_ over him, Mother who _never_ showed emotion- an-and Damian, he closed his eyes and just _breathed_ -

 _One_.

 _Two_.

 _ **Hold**_.

 _ **Hold**_ -

"He's does that, doesn't he?" 

A cool voice cut into his concentration and Damian snapped his head around, only to find _Drake_ watching him at the far end, leaning against the wall, unruffled. 

Their eyes met, blue meeting green, and for a moment, Damian's mouth was dry. He opened it, and closed it again, swallowing, but still, the words wouldn't come out. 

Drake nodded, but remained where he was, arms folded across his chest. "He...He made me feel the same way too, for a _long_ time. I didn't understand how one person could be so... complex, all at the same time, and it drove me crazy."

Damian said nothing.

"I'...listen, Damian. I don't claim to understand what-"

"You have no _idea_ what I am feeling, or what I-" Damian found the courage to speak now, and he did, spitting the words, the venom heavy on his tongue. Drake, however, seemed nonplussed, and moved till he stood opposite Damian, elbows resting on the railing of the bed, staring at Jason. For a long moment, there was silence, and Damian continued to stare at Drake, at the pale skin, purple bags under his eyes, sharp jaw and jutting cheekbones - _too thin_ his mind supplied, but Drake let him continue with his assessment. After a beat, Damian turned to face Todd, and together, the two of them watched the big man sleep, peaceful as if all was well in the world. He moved now, ignoring Drake who was watching him, closer to Todd, and took it all in.

The man was _huge_. _Ridiculously_ big, even with the after effects of _torture_ the doctor had mentioned, taller than father, most definitely, almost Kent's height. Damian knew that despite Father's perfect genetics, he wouldn't grow as tall nor as big as Todd.

And _yet_ , in the hospital bed, the man in question seemed rather small, as if both he and the bed had shrunk to accommodate his larger frame. 

Handsome, yes. Even with the man's eyes closed, Todd was clearly a good looking man. Chiseled jaw, freckled face, dark brown skin, a thick head of hair, strong hands, Damian understood where Todd was coming from now when he called Grayson " _pretty boy_ ", Grayson's whose features were a classical kind of handsome, a "Prince Charming" Drake had once called it, but looking at Todd- this was a _man_ , all broad chest and strength, and Damian, even as he stared, thanked all he knew to be possible that he hadn't the fortune of facing Todd in this new state of his. Back then, the man had been unstable, emotionally driven, and if you knew where to poke him, it was rather straight-forward to gain the upper hand. But now, even in his weakened state? _Impossible._ It would take a stroke of luck to get one on Todd like this, if the man was up and ready to fight.

But he _wasn't right now_ , not as he lay corpse-like in bed, unaware of his surroundings, too weak to even stop a pillow over his face. Or fight should his oxygen concentration be turned off. Or-

Damian moved closer, fingers leaving the railing, and now at the fray's of Todd's pillows, just _itching_.

There was a shift- Drake probably- and Damian waited now, for Drake to stop him, to grab his hand, pull him back, that he'd be able to push the older boy away, lash out and hurl curses at the traitor.

Drake remained silent. 

Damian clutched the corner of the pillow more firmly, chest thumping.

No response from Drake.

His hand held onto the pillow, eyes _burning_ , and Damian forced himself to _focus_ , gritting his teeth, _ground yourself_ \- the enemy was prime for elimination-, but he was shaking now, little tremors that ran made his legs feel like jelly, that here it was, the golden opportunity, to avenge Grayson, Father... _Drake_ even, though he'd never admit it. 

The Hood at the mercy of his very hands.

Still, Damian couldn't do it. He tried, _God_ he did, he fucking _willed himself to move, goddamnit_ , but his body wouldn't cooperate, and he closed his eyes, admonishing the welling that put pressure at the back of his eyes, so _weak_ and pitiful.

"You know I'll have to stop you." Drake's voice was somewhere in the background, calm, assessing, but Damian tried to block out the older boy.

"Leav-leave me, Drake, just lea-" He broke out, willing himself to just _do it_ like Todd did, the man who shot and killed in cold blood without breaking a sweat.

"I can't let you, Damian." Maybe it was his imagination, but Drake's voice seemed... _softer_ , and he choked out now, throat tight.

"He-he-..." Damian gulped, feeling something wet glide against his skin "-he tried to..he _almost_ -"

"I know."

"And still, even with that, you-you _defend_ him-" Damian clenched his teeth, angry, breath coming out in short quips, but Drake interrupted him.

"Are you sure about that? When have I ever defended his actions, Damian? I don't believe I have-."

" _Liar_! You _lie_ , Drake, and don't you- you stand there and tell me you haven't defended him, that you-" Damian's voice hitched.

"Not once, Damian. I have...tried to understand _why_... _why_ Jason did all he did, but not _once_ have I defended his actions. In the end, he did them, regardless of reasoning-"

"He...he _shot me_ , Drake, right through the chest, he-he hurt Grayson, and Father..he hurt _you_! How can you, at this- _how_?"  
Damian choked out, feeling his skin heat, and angry tears trailed down his cheeks.

Drake took his time in responding. "He did. Jason beat the shit outta me, and honestly...I thought I was close to dead. _You_ were dead, it took a over an hour of CPR and another four hours of emergency surgery to get you back. He's hurt all of us, and believe me when I say this, I don't believe it was actually out of malice-"

" _Bullshit_ -" Damian hissed, shaking his head.

"You think? Fine, then why am I still here?" Tim crossed his arms.

"Who knows? That's what _parasites_ do, even when you think you've gotten rid of them, _there they are_! He-He's _using_ you, Drake, to destroy this family, to-to- _ruin the only good thing I have and I won't allow it!_ How-how can you be so _blind_ , so _stupid_ , you bloody _fool_ -" Damian spat out, the rage in his chest, and Drake, jaw tight, locked eyes with him.

"If Jason wanted you dead - _you'd be dead_. Same applies to me." Tim ground out, clearly pissed, mouth angry. "When he first came on the scene, making himself known - he put down criminals and other shitheads without a second thought. Headshot, a couple to the chest, it didn't matter how - if Jay wanted them dead, _that was that_ , game over, they're out. But us?" Drake shook his head, looking back at his brother. "He was angry, Damian. He wanted to reach out, but didn't know how. He was mad at Bruce, and Dick, and the best way to hurt _them_ was by getting at _us_. We got caught in the crossfire. Still not making excuses for him - he did what he did, and let me tell you this: Jason lives with that _every single day_. I see it in his eyes sometimes; he avoids talking about you or any mention of you at all cost. I'm not telling you any of this to get you to feel sorry for him, or even forgive him - that's for you to decide. But Jason has to live with what he's done, and everything else that comes with it - the guilt, the shame, all of it. Honestly I-" Drake worked his jaw, and Damian watched him, waiting. "I know him better than pretty much anyone, save your Mother. But there's still...there's a lot I don't yet know about, particularly with his time at the League, what he did overseas - he doesn't like talking about it too much, the League. He-he kinda closes down, and I think part of that is to do with _you_ -

"So if he so "cared" about me, then why the _fuck_ did he try to kill me, Drake?" Damian's voice was acidic, and Drake looked at him, cocking his head slightly, probably at the language, before turning his head away. Damian continued, growing bolder by the action. "Akhi, _little brother_ , the one he supposedly cared for, and yet, he made our lives a misery for more than a year-"

"Dami-I..I don't think that he _knew_...about you-about who you _were_ to him, Talia-" Drake had suddenly looked back at him, eyes intense, and Damian was taken aback. "I-I can't know for sure, you're gonna have to ask your Mom or Jay here, but from what I know, Lazarus- it warps your memories, makes you forget things, twists your mind, Talia wouldn't go into detail, and Jason wasn't exactly forthcoming with shit, but I _know_ back then Jason was exposed to huge amounts of the Pit and that as whilst being heavily brain damaged. I-" Drake breathed out, shaking his head. "...just-"

Damian swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to day. "-It-even if I did, still- it doesn't excuse any of it."

"Of course not."

Drake turned to look at him, and for a moment, they held each others gaze. Damian was first to look away.

"Damian." Drake's voice was unusually soft. "We...we've had our differences, and we still do. But look, I mean this when I tell you that the answers you seek are pretty complex, and the best way of gaining any sort of understanding is by asking. I-I none of this was designed to get back at you or whatever, not me and Jay or your Mom-"

Damian tensed at this. The fact that Drake and his Mother were in contact _and_ on good terms was stinging, especially as he barely heard from her. Drake noticed his reaction but continued. "I got to know your Mom after I reached out to Jay a few years back. We...we were trying to help him. She...she never asked me about you, I believe she knows that we're... but I told her I'd watch out for you. I didn't tell Bruce...I knew they weren't exactly talking and all..." 

Silence.

Damian stared at Drake, slightly opened mouthed. Drake- _Drake_ had said that? Even after all the-

Drake didn't look at him. "Yeah. You...even though you've always believed me to be your enemy, I-I-" Drake ran a hand through his hair before straightening. He didn't look at Damian when he spoke. "Your Mom...wanted you safe, I think, and I think that being in close or even regular contact with you somehow put you at risk, but _from what_ , she won't say. She cares about you, I saw it even back then, and I told her I'd-you know- let her know that you were alright, keep her in the loop, a tiny bit. Simple things, like school and art, things you like, I dunno." Drake turned away now, tucking his hair behind his head, and moved to the opposite corner of the room, looking out of the window.

"I've...I didn't hate you, you know, at least not.... you're a brat, a selfish, spoilt, narcissistic, angry little shit whose made my life fucking hell, and I...I, with Dick." Drake swallowed, wringing his fingers a little, and Damian watched him now, slightly floored at the venom in Drake's tone. All this time, he thought- 

"If I made you think otherwise, well...I'm- it wasn't intentional, alright? Its complicated, and things aren't... with me and Dick, they're-" Drake chuckled bitterly, and Damian flinched at the sound, hairs on edge. Drake was _dangerous_. "We're...not good, and as much as I'd like to place all that blame on you, there's more to it. Its been a long time coming, I can tell you that. Jay, he's important to me. He's been there, and he knows me." The older boy sighed, blowing a stray hair out of his face, and Damian read the weariness in his frame, the posture slightly bowed, and for the first time, Damian saw it now, behind the fancy suits, polished demeanor, and all-round cultivated _perfection_ \- that for once, he was seeing _insecurity _in _the_ legendary Timothy Drake-Wayne, and he didn't know what to think.__

"You've got answers that I alone can't give you. Your Mom...I don't know how much she'll tell, but you ask her first. _Jason_ , Damian, he... one thing I can promise you about Jay- he'll tell you, even though it hurts him, and he won't sleep 'cause of the guilt, but I think, for you? Yeah, he'll tell you as much as he knows, and what he can remember. He-he gets right to it, you know? So if you want to know more, I suggest you at least wait till he awakens from this shit. Otherwise-" Drake turned now, and his eyes were once more a sharp piercing blue, uncertainty disappearing in the blink of an eye. Damian knew he was talking to Drake the Vice President. "Go ahead, do what you've always wanted to do. No need for that bounty now, is there?" His tone was sarcastic, _cutting_ , and Damian stifled his gasp unsuccessfully, taking a step back from the bed.

 _Drake knew about that_?

He hadn't told anyone. _Anyone_.

Drake said nothing, his gaze unflinching, and it was all the confirmation Damian needed.

There was something predatory about the way he stared, calculating, and Damian found himself moving away now, from the bed, from Drake, eyes never leaving the older boy. Drake, for his part, continued looking, hands in his pockets, deceptively calm as he slouched against the wall, watching Damian move, but that was just it- his _deception_ , and it was _flawless_. This-this was Batman's _true heir_ , the _Detective_ , and Damian knew now, the realisation sinking in, that the most formidable opponent against the family wasn't the _Hood_ , with all his brute strength, intimidating presence, and willingness to do what others couldn't, or more tellingly, wouldn't.

It was _Drake_.

A sheep in wolf's clothing.

Drake, who knew more about him than possible, despite his secrecy and exceptional training. Who observed from a distance, calculated, analysed, planned, and executed to near perfection. A cool, unwavering front, hiding many layers of intense complexity and hidden motives. Who had vast resources at his disposal, well placed among revered patrons of society, rubbing shoulders with the wealthy, the influential. Who, in the dark corner of his bedroom, could cause the financial stock market to crash with a few simple buttons, and one or two phone calls.

Damian fled the room.

 

 

Talia watched her son hurry away. The boy seemed anxious, almost scared, and she angled her head slightly, thinking. Whatever Timothy had said to him had put him on edge, most certainly. She watched as the boy made his way over to Grayson, standing at the entrance of the hospital ward, and Damian moved in close to the older man, who put his hand on his head, speaking quietly to him. Richard met her eyes, cold, and she stared back at him, chin jutted, before the man, jaw clenched, steered Damian away, leaving with a slight glare, and Talia watched them go, eyes narrowed. She had, of course, tried to reach her son, but his cold refusal, along with Bruce's intervention, had halted her intentions for the time being, and Talia had left the matter at bay, knowing that Jason was the priority. The hospital had taken her several large donations most considerably, sufficiently charmed, and as a result, she had been granted an increased level of access to Jason's bedside, much to the displeasure of the staff. Talia ignored them - nothing was going to stop her from seeing her son, ethics be damned. She had discharged a firearm and taken hostages - so what? They were lucky she hadn't slaughtered them where they stood for their insolence, pitiful beings. Bruce had been furious the first time he'd met her here, by Jason's side, and it had taken a glare from Timothy to prevent further escalation than necessary.

Diana she had seen once or twice in passing; they'd locked eyes coolly, glaring but otherwise silent, and Talia gritted her teeth, incensed by the other woman's cutting eyes, knowing that Jason was connected to this woman, that Diana had been there _first_ , that this same one was rather accepted in the family, judging by the way the boys responded to her presence. They had yet to say one word to each other, not with Wonder Woman and all her heroic "duties" that beckoned her like a loyal _bitch_ , but it was clear that attempts had been made at keeping the two women apart for the time being, with visits scheduled hours in between. Talia knew, of course, that Diana and Bruce were "together" - not that they tried to hide it, mind you. It was in their gaze, sickeningly _besotted_ , soft eyes full of understanding, the closeness with which they stood, the way Diana would stand with one foot in front of Bruce, as if to protect the man from her seductive ways, and Talia had smirked at the stance - _such insecurity_ \- before continuing on her way. Diana could have Bruce all she wanted - no matter what, Bruce would always be connected to her, thanks to Damian. Bruce's treatment of Jason, on the other hand, upon the boy's return, his obvious instability, and his Father's eventual disownment - it made Talia sick to her stomach, and that was why regardless of Bruce's glare, his unhappiness at her presence - Talia vowed to remain. She had done it all before, she could do it again. None of them were happy that she was around, but the truth couldn't be denied - without Lazarus, without _her_ resources, _her_ intervention, Jason would have been lying on a cold slab down in the hospital morgue and _they knew it_. Jason was _her_ son, _she_ had brought him back, and that was all there was to it.

Unfortunately for her, neither Bruce nor that useless Richard approved of her methods, and for the first time, Talia could see why the two men had infuriated Jason so.

Bruce was one thing- stubborn, set in his ways, pursed lips silently disapproving of the Pit, the one that had brought his so called "son" back to life, but Richard?

Absolutely _insufferable_ , and that bumbling fool showed utter disdain whenever they happened to be in the same vicinity. Talia had had to keep her hands to himself lest she slap that man-child hard across the face, so ignorant about matters that did not concern him, preening and strutting, interfering in issues that were far beyond such immaturity. Of all people to have an opinion on _Jason_ and his current predicament, Richard Grayson was not one of them. If not for his love towards her son, and his efforts at making him feel part of the family, Talia would have gladly given that boy a piece of her mind, but it was for Damian's sake, and Timothy's too, that she held her tongue. Timothy seemed attached to him, though the tension between the two boys was detectable. It was an outright shame that Grayson had failed to also bestowed his carefree, selfless ways onto Jason as a child as he did with Damian and Timothy. From Talia's understanding, Grayson had not taken too kindly to her once-Beloved adopting another child, and Jason had been on the receiving end of jealously and animosity from the older boy, the same one who was rather self-righteous towards Hood, and advocated for his imprisonment, to be hidden and shuffled away as if he didn't exist, and it made Talia _furious_.

 _Clark_ , however, was a surprise.

That man had been surprising her more and more lately.

As Superman, he was not often around, but Talia had watched him once, visiting Jason, and the sight had warmed her deeply.

The man had entered her son's room quietly, comically for his size, putting down his bag, and after a few moments of gazing at the monitors, watching Jason's chest rise with every breath, took Jason's hand in his own, squeezing it softly. Clark had proceeded to take the chair next to Jason's bedside, and bringing out a worn novel, began to read the book aloud, glancing to her boy every now and again, as if he'd find Jason staring back at him. The man _must_ have known she was watching, but he continued unruffled for the next hour or so, reading, even pausing at one point to brush Jason's curls slightly. Talia had left them then, sure that Clark was not a threat, and spent her time answering phonecalls and reading a few notes of her own. It was only when the man's visiting time was up that she met him beginning to stand from the chair, collecting his belongings, that she saw it for herself - the _fondness_ in Clark's eyes as he looked at her boy, stopping to press his lips lightly against Jason's forehead before taking his leave. Clark had met her at the door then, eyes soft, and the _Thank you, Talia_ , though quiet, was firm - the first note of appreciation she'd received apart from Timothy. She had simply nodded, catching his eye, thankful that the big man was not taking advantage of his former adversary's position, before making her way in, and settled as per her usual routine.

Mind back to the present, Talia entered the room now, watching Timothy, whose head lifted at her approach, but otherwise remained staring out the window.

Putting her things down, she made her way over to Jason, smoothing his hair, touching his cheeks, kissing him gently, and then fluffed his pillows, eyes skimming over the monitors.

"Damian was close to doing something very stupid." Drake spoke, not accusing, but not happy either.

Talia stilled for a moment, then continued caring for Jason. "You would have stopped him." That wasn't a question.

Drake _hmmed_ , a fond huff, and Talia smiled at the sound. She carried out her duties, washing Jason's face, cleaning him. The nurses here did just that, as part of their responsibilities, but Talia didn't trust them in the slightest, not when he life of her son was at stake. Nor did she care that they muttered angrily about her behind her back, _let them_. Plus, she had done this before, caring for Jason when he could hardly speak, and she took her time, wiping and rinsing, massaging, making sure her boy was as clean and fresh as could be. At some point, Timothy had come to join her, helping her wring the towels, pour oils in water, lift limbs, and before long the task was completed. Satisfied at the result, Talia put her things away, and turned now, to face Timothy, whose eyes were shiny, and the boy caught her gaze before looking away, trying to wipe his eyes surreptitiously. Without a word, she held out her arms slightly, and Timothy moved in as if by instinct, burying his head under her chin. Talia shushed him, eyes closing at the dampness forming a dewy skin on her neck. She kissed his hair, muttering soothingly in Arabic, keeping her tone warm and soft. _Darling Timothy._ The boy hardly made any sound, sniffles more like _mews_ , but he straightened after a while, wiping his red eyes, and began to apologise, but Talia dismissed his efforts, lifting his chin, and used one thumb to wipe the boy's tears, smiling at him.

"There's no need for that, ولدي" Her voice was teasing, soft. Timothy nodded, blushing, and Talia took the opportunity to peck him on the nose, earning her a embarrassed chuckle as he pulled away slightly, ducking.

She chose to change the conversation, aware of his embarrassment. "How are you managing at work?" 

Timothy rolled his eyes at her, knowing what she was doing, before flopping into the chair, and Talia settled in next to him, stretching out her feet on a footstool pulled from under the bed. The boy swung his feet to rest over her own, grinning cheekily at her, and Talia was reminded of Jason then, that boldness, and she drew the boy closer to herself.

"Its _urgh_." Timothy moaned, curling a little into the crook of her arm. "You know how they are. Lucky I don't need to be in that much, the videocalls just about cover everything, but I don't know how much longer I can get away with it. At some point...I'-I'll need to go back." His voice was quiet, and Talia said nothing for a moment, rubbing his back comfortingly. "I...I don't want to leave him, T. I-what if he wakes up when I'm gone? I want to be _here_ , ready, I want Jay to feel safe, that..you know?"

Talia smiled to herself. "I understand Timothy. And..despite everything, Jason will too. He will no doubt feel....some way, at having the Pit back in his system once more, even though small, but rest assured; he has overcome the effects once, and any, if at all, will again be overcome. Jason will get through this, and we will make sure of that. I do not expect there to be much difficulty, not like last time. He...his physical recovery, we will work on that, and after he is once more in shape - his psychological state." Talia spoke firmly.

Tim stilled beside her. "The camp...what did-is it-"

"It's take care of, yes. I've...the authorities will have all they need to clear the case. Neither Jason nor his associates can ever be linked to the area."

Tim was quiet for a moment. "What..what happened out there? I mean, I saw.. _kids_ Talia, was it a trafficking-"

Talia interrupted him. "Your brother has been insistent on keeping his work to himself, that I will not betray, Timothy. Jason loves what he does, it gives him structure and a purpose, and to take all that from him would be nothing short of cruel, whether he wishes to return after his recovery or otherwise. His line of work, from what I can gather...your safety, as well as his, and all those he works with is _paramount_ , do you understand?"

Tim considered this. "Plausible deniability?"

She hmmed, not bothering to mask the affection in her voice. "Along those lines, yes."

Tim nodded, breath warm against her chest. "Did you...find anyone? Like, the people responsible?" He lifted his head to look at her, blue eyes assessing.

Talia looked back at him. "All has been taken care of."

They both knew what _that_ meant.

She waited for Timothy to respond, a vocal protest about _not killing_ or justice, whatever that meant these days, but Timothy held her gaze, tracing her every movement, before settling once more against her. 

"Good." His voice was quiet, but the determination could be felt.

Talia said nothing to that, but if she held the boy closer to herself, neither mentioned it. A tiny growl had her smiling, and Timothy blushed deeply, moving away, and Talia let him, but still kept him at arms length.

"Come. _Eat._ " She brought out the bag of food prepared specially for herself and Timothy, and setting out container after container, the two began to eat, listening to Jason's heartbeat on the monitors. It was a long while later, dinner finished, in the midst of her reading aloud, that Tim spoke once more, his voice a little slurred from drowsiness.

"T...talk to Damian."

Talia paused from her reading to look at Timothy, who was curled into the chair, blanket around his shoulders. His blue eyes centered on hers, and she was taken aback by their intensity. She had deliberately avoided asking Timothy what he and Damian had spoken about, what had caused her son to flee as so, but it seems as though the boy knew her too well.

"He has questions. Lots of them, and he's conflicted by all of this, you, being _here_ , Jason, why he can't remember. The same guy who called him _little brother_ and yet ...well, you know. He doesn't understand, and looking at him, my guess is that he feels...a little betrayed really, with _you_ and _Jay_ , like two brothers vying for their Mother's affection. I-I don't know your reasons, or why, any of it, why exactly you brought Damian to Bruce, but...please, just talk to him."

Talia looked away, her jaw tight, and for a few moments, all that could be heard was the _beeping_ of Jason's monitors. "He won't talk to me." She eventually ground out, voice a little pained. She felt a lithe weight take her hand and squeeze it gently.

"He's angry, T. But if you let him walk away without explaining at least some of it, then he'll...he'll never forgive you. He'll hold it against you, and he'll shut down from any future attempts at reaching him. Don't let that happen, he's stubborn, just like his parents- don't give me that look. Make him sit, if that's what it takes. I'll talk to Bruce. He won't like it, but you're his Mom, and Damian at least has the right to hear you _both_ out, not just one."

Talia still looked away, throat tight. She spoke after a while. "I will take your words on board. Thank you, Timothy."

Another squeeze, and then the warmth was gone.

She took a moment to compose herself, then continued to read. She carried on, even as Timothy's soft snores gradually filled the room.

_The boy was right._

 

 

 _Friday, Gotham_.

"Master Kent. Please, come in. Coffee?" Alfred smiled pleasantly at him, but Clark saw that despite the aging butler's efforts, the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Thanks Alfred." Clark dusted his feet on the floor mat, following Alfred into the kitchen.

Normally, they would have made small talk whilst the kettle boiled, the weather and what not, but Clark didn't have the strength, and Alfred was too good to fall for that.

Tea brewed, the two men sat at the kitchen table, listening to the clock tick away.

"Bruce sends his thanks, for the food. They all do." Clark began, and Alfred smiled to himself, before silence reigned once more.

After a while, Clark spoke. "No change, Alfred." His voice was low. He took a breath to continue, but ended but exhaling gently, feeling the strain on his muscles.

Alfred held his cup for a moment, seemingly staring into nothing, before taking a sip. "Last week, my grandson had been declared dead for almost an hour. With this in mind, I'd much rather have "no change" than "I'm sorry", wouldn't you agree?" He turned to Clark, a sad smile on his face, eyes slightly watery, and all Clark could do was nod, swallowing.

A moment later, Alfred spoke again, voice calm, but Clark could detect the worry. "How is Bruce?"

Clark debated on how to answer this. A man he considered his brother, who loved a boy more than life itself, only to lose him, get him back, lose him again, have the same boy now _man_ return, _only_ to find the his bloodied, lifeless form, unresponsive, and, as if life wasn't complicated enough, have him brought back to life using the same methods that had driven the boy insane once before. There were no words, not really, and Clark closed his eyes on feeling Alfred squeeze his arm gently.

"Not great, but all things considered, its...its something. Barely sleeps, or eats, for that matter. When he's not on the phone with WE, he and Talia practically duke it out as to who can spend the most time with Jason. They've been arguing, a little, but we've managed to keep them apart without letting it blow up too much. Getting harder, though."

Alfred nodded. It was as he expected. Miss al Ghul was...a difficult subject, for the family, and he too had his own reservations about her, and her motives, especially regarding Jason. He waited, and Clark continued speaking, eyes lost in the distance.

"Diana's been coping, or at least trying, inbetween League and whatnot. She hasn't been able to spend as much time with Jason as she'd like, not with her being ambassador and caught up in in politics, and I can tell she-she hates it, A. If Di had a choice....she'd pretty much cart Jason away and have him with her _forever_ , and it doesn't help that _Talia_ has been with Jay far more than her, even with all the shit she pulled at the hospital. She...I know Di would like nothing more than to wring Talia's neck; I found her pummeling the heck out of a couple of sandbags sometime on Tuesday after a League meeting, I'm surprised the Watch-tower is still standing if I'm honest. But...Talia _did_ bring Jason back, even with Lazarus. I suppose its a matter between having Jason dead, or alive but potentially...his mind, unstable, _again_ , and for the life of me...I don't know-I-" Clark clenched his jaw and looked to the side.

Alfred said nothing for a long moment. Miss Prince held a special place in his heart; no doubt the two women harbored animosity towards each other, not that anyone could blame Diana mind you, _but_... they had Miss al Ghul to thank for bringing Jason back, and he suspected for quite a few of them, Bruce especially, that fact would be rather difficult to accept. It meant they would have to place nice, at least for now, and Alfred, aware of his family, knew things were bound to come to a head sooner than later.

"The boys?"

Clark blew out a breath, brushing his lone curl to the side. "Oh God. Damian is having a hard time understanding all this, definitely. There's Jason, or the _Hood_ , and his Mother showing up, and seeing her reaction to him- that more than anything really shocked him. But the finishing blow wasn't that- I think it was finding out that Jason had been round somewhat when he was back at the League, maybe, we didn't exactly have time to hash out the truth. I'm not sure, it wasn't clear, but Jay-when we were bringing him back from... trying to hold him down, he mentioned all these names....Akram, Ish-Ishballah?, I think, and Damian showed recognition of some sort at the names, though I don't have a clue as to who they were to him. Whatever it was, Damian lost it- he started screaming at Talia, angrier than I've seen him in a long time, and for a moment, I swear Talia looked... _scared_ , just a little, though I can't be sure. There's...there's a lot, to process, for him, Bruce, its...yeah." Clark worked his jaw, trying to put his thoughts in order.

Alfred, on his end, was a little surprised at the turn of events. Jason had never mentioned anything about Damian or a child during his stay at the League, if he ever talked about that period at all. On the rare times that he did, it was usually a mixture of bitterness and anger, resentment on a level, but..fondness, if one could call it, at Talia's name. The boy had always referred to young Master Damian with disdain, much like Timothy, and never failed to aggravate the child whenever suited him. It was only after...severely injuring Damian, when Alfred had declined Jason entering the Manor to talk a few days after the event, too hurt for words, Jason tearful, that Jason had demonstrated an ounce of concern after the young boy's well-being.

"Dick...I'm not sure about him. He's-he's not really letting anyone in, A. I can't get through to him, its either he's just left, or just refusing to let his thoughts be known on the whole thing...Dick's main focus has been Damian, kinda shielding him from his Mom, though I suspect that won't last far long. No matter what, Talia is still Damian's Mother, and as much as Dick hates her- and I've seen the looks they trade, the feelin' is mutual, for sure- Talia has a right to speak to Damian, as much as Bruce, sorry to say." Clark didn't want to acknowledge it, but it was the truth. Whether Bruce would see it that way was another matter entirely. "As for Tim?" He blew out a long breath, holding his now lukewarm tea to his forehead, eyes closed. "Well, he's the closest save Talia to Jason, and man, when when we first heard the news that Jay had...Tim,..A, it was like the kid just shut down, like he'd given up on life...I-none of us...-" He swallowed. "-It was _awful_." Clark shook his head sadly.

Alfred knew Master Richard, out of all of them save Bruce, would feel especially conflicted over the situation. Master Todd had dealt harshly with his elder brother, humiliating him in many instances, and despite the younger boy's current situation, the past was not easy to forget, even for Richard. As for Damian's Mother versus Richard? Well, as brave as Master Richard was, Miss al Ghul was a force to be reckoned with. Part of him suspected reason Richard had as much access and influence on the younger Master was because Talia _allowed_ it to be so. After all, hadn't she kept Damian away from his Father for nine, ten years? It was no surprise to be hearing about Master Timothy's reaction to Jason; Alfred was sure that had Timothy been left alone, the boy would have seriously hurt himself also, or _worse_. From enemies to best friends, the two boys were like glue, becoming inseparable over the few short years, and Alfred knew Jason's passing would feel like Master Timothy losing a limb in the same process, the blow too heavy for words.

Clark was speaking now, voice strained, and Alfred shifted to listen more closely. The big mans voice was scarcely above a whisper, half afraid, the other deliberating. "A....I knew what Talia was about to do, and I-I _let_ her. I just couldn't bear the thought of Jason taken away, just when he seemed so settled and happy. Part of me...part of me thinks it was wrong, that it _is_ wrong, but A- _Jason_. He helped me, over in Xan, more than I ever thought from someone like him, and we stayed in contact. I came to know him a little better to find out that he's...he's really something, you know? Real kind beneath all the gruff, someone who just _cares_ , on a deep level, and to build a friendship, if you could call it that, with someone I'd not long ago want jailed or worse...to realise how different he was, and part of his transformation was down to you, Tim, Talia, having an actual _life_...only to have it all fall to pieces and ripped away like _that_? I...couldn't, I let her, A, I let Talia inject Jason with Lazarus, even with the knowledge of what it can do to someone. I...I...we're putting Jason through all that _again_ and I just.."-" Clark raised his hands in the air in frustration, and Alfred felt for the man, conflicted by his morals.

But, Alfred thought: _ethics be damned_.

Jason was his _grandson_ , for God's sake, and if there was even a possibility of saving his life - then the choice was _simple._

Alfred spoke quietly. "Had you stopped Miss Ghul, I would have been most disappointed."

Clark looked at him, surprise clear to see, but Alfred focused on his tea. The meaning was clear: _I would have understood, but deep down, I would never forgive you_.

He let the meaning sink in before speaking again. "We have helped Jason conqueror his demons before, Master Kent. Whatever arises, we shall do so again."

Clark held his eye, and whatever he saw -the certainty, the assurance- it was enough that he nodded, turning away, and the two of them finished their beverages in silence, the air considerably more comfortable. Not long after, Clark stood to leave, and they walked to the door, food in Clark's hand.

"Would you mind passing on my love to them? And of course, my regards to Miss Lane, we haven't seen her in some time. "

Clark smiled. "Of course." He turned to leave, but Alfred stopped him, one hand on his arm.

"Thank you, Clark. For looking after my boys, and for saving Master Jason. _Thank you_."

Clark looked at him, face soft, and in a quick movement, hugged him lightly, before nodding and taking to the sky. Alfred watched him go, a trace of amusement in his eyes.

 _They would be fine, all of them_.

 

 

 _Friday evening_.

Clark arrived home that night, dusting his feet. With a sigh, he shut the balcony doors close, stripping away at his suit as he trailed through the living room, pausing only to stop in the kitchen, gently placing Alfred's pot roast on the table, before continuing. Lois was sleeping, or at least appeared to be at first peek, but she'd turned to him as he made his way through their bedroom, eyes on him. He caught her eye, trying to smile, but it came out more like a grimace, and he continued to the bathroom, turning on the shower to full power, bracing his hands on the sink, even as a pair of dainty hands lightly made their way across his chest, squeezing.

Clark said nothing, head bowed, even as Lois rested her head against his back. Without him saying a single word, she _understood_ , and they remained like that for a few minutes, not long, before he felt a small kiss at his back, and her footsteps retreating back to the bedroom. He turned his head towards the sound, _wanting_ , of course - it had been so _long_ , and he thanked his lucky stars for such a patient, understanding wife- before turning to the shower. Sighing, Clark flexed his back, running a tired hand over his face before stepping into the spacious cubicle, closing his eyes as the water pounded against his skin. 

Later, fully dressed and ready for bed, Clark crept into his bed, Lois watching him, and she took his face in the palm of one hand, cupping it slightly.

"Anything?" She gazed at him.

Clark shook his head slightly. "Nothing. They're...they're coping, but its hard. Its-" He worked his jaw, grasping at how to explain

Lois said nothing for a moment, clucking, before she next spoke. "I'm sorry, honey. I know how much he means to you. I wish I could have..." she stopped there, smiling sadly.

Clark had been excitedly looking forward to seeing the festival of light with Jason, and Lois had laughed at him, teasing, happy that _he_ was a carefree sort of happy for once. As the event drew nearer, with Clark's excitement growing, Lois had too caught on, as infectious as Clark was, and she'd asked to meet _him_ , _Jason_ , after the festival, if they could have dinner possibly outside, curious to meet a person who was clearly her competition for her husband's affections, she'd teased. Clark's eyes had lit up at the idea, texting Jason a few moments later, happy but slightly anxious should the younger man say _no_ , and Lois had reassured him otherwise - Jason didn't seem like he'd do that, not from all Clark had gushed about him.

Jason had never responded, and now they knew why.

And now Jason, the man whom she knew had been at odds with her husband not too long ago, the same one who'd shown nothing but heartfelt concern towards Clark, enough that every now and again, Clark would receive parcels - books, photographs-, the sender unknown, but always bringing a smile to her husband's face, was at present lying on the brink in a hospital several thousand miles away.

Clark swallowed, looking away at the ceiling first, eyes stinging, before turning to look at his wife.

 _Lois_.

Black hair pooling onto the sheets. Beautiful, violet eyes, full of love, understanding, for _him_ of all people. 

That lovely little nose that gave way to her delicious pout, plump and inviting, and Clark felt a stir of desire within him.

The woman of his dreams, who had stood by him through this nightmare of his, holding him at night whilst he wept after a day of playing Superman, all fucking bravado and devoid of true substance, curled into her chest, kissing his head as he clung to her, her own tears trailing into his hair, that Clark had endured and still fought the pain, the shame, and _yet_ -

Lois had _never_ given up on him, _never_ , just as Jason had said.

Nights spent watching her undress, the desire uncoiled in his gut, but the fear holding him back, thoughts taunting. Lois waiting, step by step, encouraging him as he would make slow progress each time their skin made contact, even when he would walk out sometimes, ashamed of his weakness, a man that left his wife fucking _unsatisfied_. When they would progress well at first, hands exploring, mouths swollen, but inevitably, Clark would be first to break contact, gasping, eyes closed, fists balled, enraged with himself, and Lois, desperate to comfort him, rubbing his arm, but it was never enough, and Clark would feel an overwhelming sense of shame, the _madness_ of it all. Their fights, over him remaining strong, all round frustration - that Lois had even opted to spend a few nights at his parents to clear the air following one particularly horrible argument, and _yet_ , despite it all, the woman had returned to him, promising that he was _hers_ , _hers alone_ , and they would get through this, no matter how long it took.

Clark loved her, with all his heart, and Lois was seeing it now, the _want_ , that this-what they both wanted more than anything but couldn't, for Clark's sake-

Hesitantly, then a with more courage, he reached out one hand to trace the curve of her shape, feeling her ribs, lithe limbs, the _dip_ of her waist, skin ever so soft, resting his hand gently at her hips, before grazing her thigh. Lois watched him, not moving, not taking his hand and leading, as she would have done _before_ , and Clark staring back at her, suddenly _moved_ in, his lips on hers, soft, nuzzling, then more firmly, and he felt the want grow deeper as a small sigh escaped from Lois's lips. Clark, emboldened, drew his wife towards himself, feeling her chest moulded against his, taking her by the thighs, hands running over her back, the rounded molds of flesh that formed her backside, lightly, then holding, her fingers in his hair, her lips over his, kissing, then on the side of his nose, by the corner of his chin, over his ear, and she whispered, voice hot and breathy, tickling his skin. The sensation aroused him further, and one hand slipped under her briefs, almost tearing at the fabric as his hands explored her, beginning to wet. She centered herself on his person, a hand pulling down his pyjama bottoms,-already hard- and spread legs wider, inviting him in.

"Clark...are you sure-" Lois was cut off by Clark kissing her neck deeply, sucking at the sweet skin, arching her back, and she let out a low moan, neck craning towards the ceiling.

It was all the _yes_ she needed, and by _God_ , they were more than ready.

 

 

 _Sunday, late evening_.

Bruce paused from his reading to look at Jason.

Swallowing, he held the book he'd been reading aloud- _To Kill a Mockingbird_ \- to his chest, studying the man he'd fought and bled over. Lost, regained, only to lose again, and now, lying in hospital, after extensive surgery, Jason was here, peaceful, asleep, and Bruce felt his chest grow tight as he looked at him.

 _His boy_.

Jason had never stopped being his. 

The disownment, saying _"no more_ "- that was a response out of heartbreak, the pain too much, the stress taking him over the edge. A split, to drive them apart, to save one another, but Ja-Jason could never _not_ be his, not truly. 

If Jason had asked him to give up Batman for him, that it would be just _Bruce_ having lunch with his boys, with _Jay_ -

Bruce closed his eyes now. Back then, he was still so caught up in it all, righting the wrong, that he'd lost his boy. Back then - he would have said _no_.

How he _wished_ he could turn back time.

Bruce opened his eyes now, heart heavy.

His boy had grown into a _man_ , and he was more handsome, in every sense of the word, than Bruce could have ever imagined him to be. 

Strong, determined, fierce with a sense of justice, a heartfelt desire to help, even at the cost of his own life, the ability to focus and struggle and _push through_ despite overwhelming odds, and Bruce had never been more proud of this young man.

Resting the book on his chest, Bruce reached out to Jason, hand shaking, and placing his hand on the man's hair.

When had he done _this_ last? He couldn't remember.

He moved his thumb a little, then the rest of his fingers, getting caught in the mass of curls. For several moments, Bruce was content to do just that, stroking Jason's hair, lost in his boy. Tim was on his way back to Gotham now, as was Dick, who visited Jason exactly once, and for less than five minutes, walking out tense, and Damian, who was clearly even more affected than he let on. He had done his best to limit Talia's interaction with him, but she'd caught Damian one day, and whatever she said rendered Damian silent for several hours, to the point of refusing dinner, not that Damian would tell him anything. Nor had he forgotten the mess they'd been confronted with that night, finding Jason in the middle of some God-forsaken jungle - apparently the news were reporting the discovery of a makeshift drug laboratory that had apparently blown up, and Bruce had confronted dearest _Talia_ over the matter, demanding what exactly had she done, but the woman had proven difficult, silent, and Bruce had left exasperated, close to puling his hair out. _Tim_ refused to say anything either, and Bruce could feel the wedge between himself and his boy deepening. They'd steered clear of each other; Tim opting to stay apart from the family, and it was a real blow to Bruce, with one estranged son fighting for his life, and the other deliberately avoiding him, choosing to associate with a woman who was most certainly no friend of the family, motives dubious at best. But for now, it was just him, here, next to Jason, and for the first time, away from it all, Bruce let his guard down, resting an elbow on Jason's rail as he looked down at him.

He used a finger to trace Jason's features, the feathered eyelashes, freckled skin, the slight indent of a dimple on his left cheek, before taking hold of his hand, bringing it to his lips, and holding it there.

"I miss you, Jay." His voice was rough like gravel. It had been difficult to get any sleep.

He held a hand to his eyes, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyeballs. They felt heavy, and worst of all, _sore_.

"I..." He wrung Jason's hand in his own. "-I miss you, Jay-lad. I was _wrong_ , so very wrong, and I can't tell you how sorry I am. I...I should have made you get help; I was so caught up on stopping you and putting down the _Hood_....we argued and fought all the time, and _God_ , if I'da known, I-" He sighed heavily, muscles straining at his back. 

"And now you're here, but even with that....you're-you're so far away." He whispered, now looking at Jason, whose monitors beeped back at him. "You're right in front of me, and still, I can't-I'-you're unreachable. I don't know how to get you back. I feel like...I'm fighting, with everyone all the damn time and I-I don't know how much longer I can keep on like this. Talia- she says I have no right to you, not after giving you up, and I- I'm close to lashing out at her, that she has not a damn a clue about how losing you cost me my sanity, what your death, your absence _did_ to me, to all of us....she-she thinks that it was just that simple, that I just _happened_ to decide that you and me _weren't_ \- she..Tim, he..we're so angry at each other, and its like-like no _matter what I do, I just make things worse_. Damian has barely said two words, I -I honestly don't know how to get to him, you....I'm so lost, and it feels I've been stretched so thin that any more..I-I don't know, Jay."

No response.

"Just open your eyes for me, son, _please_. _God, I_ -" Bruce's voice hitched a little, and he paused to wipe his eyes. "I want to make this right. I-I never, I never _wanted_ this Jay, you apart, you leaving, no-not like this, and if you can hear me Jay, please - give me another chance. Another-to get to know you again. I-I think Tim's been keeping me away from you, a little, almost as if he feels that I don't deserve you in a way, and he's right, I don't. _Jay_ -"

Bruce brought a hand to his face now, holding it there, missing the slight movement under a pair of eyelids. "I...we messed up, big time. And I know, _I know_ , you have your life, and you're happy and settled but _God_ I miss you so much, so, _so_ much. I-I miss seeing you smile, I miss hearing your laugh in the halls. I miss hearing you read, I-I never got to hear you sing, or-or... I-I missed out on birthdays and-and teaching you how to drive and girls and-college, _Jesus_ Jay, you-I- visiting colleges and reading brochures, just going out and having lunch together, you know? I always...I planned one day, that-" Bruce swallowed, face wet. "-one day, ita be just _me_ and _you_ , no-one else, and we'd take a roadtrip, anywhere you wanted to go, and-and we'd just _drive_ , Jay, drive for miles and miles, and I'd get to hear you talk and ramble on about all kinds, anything you felt like nattering about, and I would just laugh, and just fucking _laugh_ 'cause you'd be there, all grown up, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, back from college for the holidays, or a weekend or two, twenty, twenty five, whatever, we'd go on these trips, and I'd get to hear about how you're doing, school, work, a girl you liked, whatever. I could-we could have dinner, I would buy you a suit, teach you how to shave, whatever, and now, I-I _missed all that_ , Jay, and I..."

Bruce put his face into his arm, the tears falling silently.

After a while, he spoke, a little dejected.

"I...I suppose I should be thankful, that you're here, _alive_ , and I-I swear I _am_ , son, I am. But its not enough. _It isn't enough_. I don't _just_ want you alive, I want you here, with _me_ , I want you, in my life, me, in _yours_ , like Tim, like Clark, I want to be able to visit you at your place and we sit down to have dinner, I want..." Bruce held up Jason's hand to his face, feeling the warmth.

"Come back to me, son. I'll do-just come back, please, and we'll work on it. We'll take it slow, however long and whenever you're ready, but just-just _give me another chance_ , I'm begging you, _please_."

Bruce stayed like that for a long time, feeling Jason's pulse, wishing and hoping and praying, fervently enough that the sheen of sweat on his forehead turned cool on his skin, till a nurse, sympathy strewn across her face, opened the door quietly, informing him that it was time to go. Nodding, he gently rested Jason's hand back onto the bed, taking a look at him, smoothing the sheets, brushing his hair, and placed a hard kiss on the boy's head, holding him once longer before the night came to an end.

"See you tomorrow, Jay." Bruce spoke quietly, and with a final glance at the bed, left the room, eyes glued to the floor.

 

 

A pair of eyes watched him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the part about Damian watching footage of Dick and Jason's fight in the Cave. I don't want Jay to have sexually assaulted Dick, absolutely not, its not in his character at all, so now its been changed to Jason being very cruel and threatening, clearly insane, enough that Dick is terrified of him.
> 
> ولدي = my boy
> 
> la samah allah = God forbid


	49. Be thou not troubled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions worsen Jason begins to awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made some really important changes! See below for notes!

"What do you mean _we can't see him_?" Bruce tried to keep his voice calm but he was struggling, visibly having to keep his balled fists close to his side.

At the corner of his eye, he saw Clark glance at him, face unreadable, before looking away. It was clear his friend wanted to intervene, but held back, probably deducing that it wasn't his place to interfere, and Bruce let himself grow a little smug that he could have this, _not Clark_ , before returning his ire on the doctor, who was clearly exasperated.

_Jason had been kept from him long enough._

The ICU Consultant, Carra, looked at him sympathetically before sighing, pinching his lose a little. He'd been at it with this family, and particular, the man, for close to an hour, and the headache between his eyes was growing more intense by the second. He tried again, voice strained.

"Mr Pe-"

"I could have my lawyers down here right this-"

"If you could just-"

"Barring me from seeing my own-"

"Sir, I don't think that would be necessary-"

Tim made a noise of frustration and attempted to step in with a "B, just lis-" but Bruce continued, more irate than ever. "And yet we can't see him be-"

" _That's enough_." 

A stern, sharp voice suddenly broke through the noise, and heads whipped round to one _Diana Prince_ , tailored suit, taller than ever. For the doctor, he could only stare at the beautiful, intimidating woman in front of him, wondering where on earth did she come from, and his mouth turned dry for a second. Another model, girlfriend perhaps? It wouldn't surprise him that his patient was connected to these beautiful women, but the way these people reacted to her presence showed her to be something more than that. The silence that came afterwards was almost instant, and the woman looked to the other members for a moment before making her way to the man, _call me "Bruce"_ , whom she placed on his shoulder an affectionate hand before switching her attention to him. The man himself clamped his mouth shut, but his anger was clear to see.

Ah, it was _her_. Carra had caught onto a little of the nurses gossip a short while ago, regarding those who had been visiting the young Perez in their care. There was one woman, dark haired, apparently a bitch of the highest order, and Carra had walked past her in the hallway, transfixed by what must have been hands down the most _beautiful woman he'd ever met._ Top to toe, _absolutely stunning_ , but she'd paid him no attention as she walked sharply, heels clicking against the floor. The woman, or _Icey-McBitch_ , as a few others fondly referred to her, had somehow managed to secure practically unlimited access to Mr Perez, despite strict ICU policy, despite _fucking discharging a weapon and taking bloody hospital staff as hostages_ -the word had spread rapidly- and their concerns were apparently based on the woman's connections to the hospital _board_ , whom one or two had mentioned witnessing their pathetic grovelling as they gave her a private tour. The same woman was here now, silent, green eyes watching, and Carra felt something akin to lust within him as he tried to direct his thoughts elsewhere. A businesswoman, most likely; he'd heard of the woman's arrival to see Mr Perez in a privately chauffeured car, flanked by a massive bodyguard on a few occasions, and she was almost always on the phone, accent foreign, clearly someone who had far more leeway than they knew to be possible. But there was also another woman his staff had mentioned, who'd only been seen once or twice, tall as fuck, one that the men ogled shamelessly, who always relayed her thanks to the ICU staff after every visit, with a warm smile and eyes red from weeping, one who'd been seen intimately with the man or "Bruce" at times. Carra had never met her til now, only knowing of the respect she seemed to garner from everyone, and now here she was, long dark hair, sapphire eyes, _powerful_ , though her expression held a kindness of some sorts. The others had forgotten to tell him that this woman could, in fact, stop fucking traffic - he swore to himself that had perfection a name, this woman was _it_. The women in question took a step forwards, offering a hand, and Carra took it, failing to hide his surprise at the _strength_ of her handshake. She smiled knowingly before speaking.

"I believe we haven't yet met; I am Diana." Her voice was like honey, and Carra fought to keep himself still, eyes on her face, and certainly not on that figure.

Or those legs.

Those long, shapely-

"Doctor?-" Diana looked at him, eyes slightly sharper, voice a warning, and Carra cleared his throat, embarrassed, ignoring the flush of his cheeks as he replied.

"Carra. Dr Carra, I am the ICU consultant and the lead for Mr Perez's care. I was just explaining to the family that the young man, Jay, has woken up. He showed signs of irritation at being ventilated, a very good sign, and so we are in the process of weaning him off completely over the next few hours. His tube is out, and already, he appears to be coping quite well. If he continues like this, then he should be transferred to the ward downstairs by the end of today, absolutely."

Diana closed her eyes for a moment, a smile on her face, and nodded. Once, then again, as if she were having difficulty speaking. Bruce, the one who'd been giving him downright hell earlier, took her hand, squeezing it gently, and Carra looked away from the intimacy, clearly private.

"That..that is good. Very good news, I- _thank you_ , Dr Carra. All of you, _thank you._ " She managed out, voice hitching, and Carra nodded, touched by the heartfelt gratitude. He lifted his eyes towards them all now, to the young suited individual who assessed him with piercing eyes, an intellect far beyond his young age, the big man in the crumpled suit, adjusting his glasses every so often, looking fairly out of place with it all, and the foreign woman also in a suit, black and sharp, whose green eyes had yet to leave his person. 

"I...I understand your frustration, I do. But this is routine policy, and it is in the best interests of Mr Perez that we manage him a step-wise approach. Remember, the young man is directly recovering extensive surgery, which will undoubtedly require a long recovery process, and we must not rush him any more than necessary. As soon as he is on the ward, stable, and our staff are happy with his standing, then you can visit him, though I estimate that will not be until much later today, probably evening time. For the time being, we cannot permit any visitors-" Carra meant this to the black suited woman, who tutted at him under her breath, arms folded across her chest, jaw tight, almost menacing, and he shifted on the spot before continuing. 

"Please, your cooperation will help matters greatly, both to allay your concerns, and Mr Perez's well-being. Again, we will ensure you remain updated on his progress. I do have to say, however, that Mr Perez, in my humble opinion, has..has made outstanding progress. For someone in his position, whom we would expect to be dependent for a far longer period...it is highly unusual, truly."

The room seemed nonplussed by that, the young boy especially, and he smiled lop-sidedly. "That's Jay for you. _Always proving people wrong._ "

That last line was said thoughtfully, and yet, held an undercurrent of bitterness. Carra raised his eyebrow at the sudden tension in the room, at Bruce, who appeared to stiffen for a moment, and his attention was quickly drawn back to the young man who by now had fixed a pleasant smile on his face, professional, no doubt manufactured.

"Thank you Dr Carra. We appreciate all the efforts you and your team have made." A few nods and smiles, but the tension didn't go away, and now Carra was uncomfortable, desperate to extract himself from the situation. He nodded, and turned, his escape cut short by an uncertain, shy voice. He lifted his head to see the man in the crinkled suit looking at him, a little embarrassed, and he spoke nervously, fiddling with his glasses.

"Could we..could we see him, just from the outside, I mean? I know you are all busy, but if-if we could just see him, from the window, not to go in or anything?" 

Silence.

The question hung in the air, no-one moving, breaths seemingly held in unison, and they all looked to him now.

The man's face was a little red, and Carra paused, working his jaw, before sighing, and pressed the heel of his palm to his eyes, trying to drown out the throbbing. Less than twenty fours hours in on his on-call, and already, he was in need of a well-deserved break. If all they wanted was a _look_ , then fine, at least if it would make life easier, for them and for him. They were worried, anxious, possibly scared, and Carra knew that if he could manage to someone reassure them, then it was a big bonus in the scheme of things. He nodded without looking at them, and with a short wave, beckoned them to follow. The group followed immediately, quiet, and they eventually made their way over to Jason's private room, now looking at the young figure asleep in bed.

They stared at him, not saying anything. 

The tube was out, and the young man appeared quite restful, and though his eyes moved a little under his eyelids, they remained closed. Around the bed stood two nurses, detailing notes, recording observations, and the ICU Anaesthetist, who glanced at them briefly before continuing his assessment, watching the heart monitors.

And then the young man _moved_.

His fingers twitched, just a little, by the bed railing, and his head jerked a tiny bit, as if he were beginning to awake.

Subtle, but it was there, they all saw it, and Carra heard the slight intake of breath from the group, whose eyes were fixed on the man. His staff were too moving, stethoscopes out, speaking to Mr Perez, who elicited a small grunt. The Anaesthetist looked over his shoulder to him, beckoning, and Carra turned to his party now, voice firm.

"I'm sorry, but that will be all for now. We will let you know the arrangements later in the day. Please, if you-"

A nurse had appeared to the side, ready to escort the group away, and Carra left them then, mind focused on the tasks at hand.

 

 

Tim sat down, yawning. The air was getting a little stuffy with him in this damn suit, and he undid the top bottom of his shirt, trying to relax into his chair. It wasn't working, and jaw tight, he stood and walked to the far side of the room, staring deliberately out of the window, away from Bruce, who was taking him in, assessing, and tried to enjoy the shitty coffee that had now turned lukewarm his the styrofoam cup. The hospital had called in the early hours of the morning (he'd also added his contact information to the hospital database without Bruce's knowledge) - Jason had apparently opened his eyes, and with his vitals looking stable, the team had decided to start weaning him off slowly. Tim hadn't bothered to conceal his excitement, rolling out of bed, thanking the heavens that he didn't have any meetings scheduled today, only reports scrutinise over, and was planning on cajoling Alfred into letting him borrow the batplane when he received a message from Talia, telling him to make his way to the roof. He'd grinned at the text, packing a light bag, and made his way upstairs to meet one of Talia's private planes, a small, sleek midnight coloured beauty that fitted well against Gotham's gloom. Typing out a quick " _Thanks, T_ ", wolfish smile, Tim settled in. 

He'd arrived in Bolivia less than an hour ago, meeting Talia at the entrance of the ward, and the two of them had made their way to the private waiting area, fittingly suited, where Bruce and Clark were talking quietly. Clark was the first to notice them, eyebrow a little raised but saying nothing, nodding briefly at them, and Bruce had looked up, exposing a whole lot that even had Tim stopping a little mid swing- anger, betrayal, hurt, confusion- before his expression cooled. He too, said nothing, nor did Talia give anything away, and he turned to continue conversing with Clark, though he glanced at them every so often. Talia, to her credit, didn't react. Sitting down, Tim held back a slight chuckle as the woman made herself comfortable, slim gorgeous legs crossed close to his, one heel near his ankle, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and pulling out a laptop, began to work. Tim watched her for a moment, eyes working their way down of their own accord, amused at her antics, admiring - _God she was so. fucking. hot_ ; how Jason did it was a mystery- before remembering that she was practically his _step-mother_ for Christ's sake, and he blushed, eyes to the ceiling, tie constricting at the neck, and he tugged at it absent-mindedly, wondering why it had to be him. He knew both Bruce and Clark were watching him, their interaction, noting his... his embarrassment deepened - Jason would have a right laugh if he were seeing this shit. Talia merely glanced at him, green eyes dancing -she knew, of course- and returned to work, an amused smirk on her lips. Sighing, face pink, he too copied plight, bringing out his own notebook, and began to read through the day's reports.

Honestly, they must have looked a right scene, all business and sharp focus, but as time went on, Tim became engrossed in the work, jacket coming off later as he made various phone calls, running a hand through his hair at times. Talia herself took several phonecalls, switching between Swedish and Japanese with ridiculous ease, and a few times, looked over his shoulder, hair spilling by his neck, tapping on the screen to various things he ought to pay attention to, before continuing with her own work. Tim listened obediently, even though he blushed like a little girl whenever she was so close, catching a whiff of the jasmine scented perfume that was just _her_. Bruce, for his part, didn't interrupt them, but Tim could tell he wasn't happy, and his face was set like stone. He felt...well, he didn't know what to think, only that Bruce didn't like any of it. First Jason, now him, and Talia poking around in WE business - Tim understood why Bruce was somewhat irritated, hell angry, and it was a credit to him that he didn't lose it right where he sat. It was probably because of Clark, telling him to keep it together, and Tim threw a grateful smile at his uncle, who smiled back kindly, understanding.

Diana walking in later had immediately put Tim in the crossfire between her and Talia They were both like step-mothers to him, fond and protective, which was why Tim had orchestrated putting the two women apart for the sake of peace. Now that Jason was awake, the tension was sky high, and he knew that maternal instincts would be akin to drawing blood from now on. Diana's presence had become increasingly notable in the Manor over the last few months, right from the end of the Xan mission, and long before Bruce had formally introduced he and Diana's relationship to the family, it was obvious that the two had finally decided to take the plunge. The family's response to their annoucnement was rather lackluster- an " _About time you two! You guys rock, everybody knows that!_ " from Dick all bright-eyed a chirpy, causing a massive eye-roll and chuckle from everyone else, a more subdued but equally heartfelt "We knew, B, and Diana, welcome, you guys are great together." from himself, a " _Tt_ , Father it was most obvious. Ms Prince, I approve of your inclusion into the family." from Damian, who tried to aim for haughty disinterest, but failed, not with his blushing and approving nod as Diana brought him close to herself, kissing his head, and last but certainly not least, a "Very good Master Wayne, a wise decision indeed, and Ms Prince, we are most delighted to welcome you into the family." from Alfred, whose brown eyes twinkled enough that Bruce had turned red, much to Diana's laughter. Tim's mind was brought back to the present for a moment, glancing at the room, Talia on the phone, typing, Bruce, Diana and Clark some distance away from her, talking quietly.

Jason was recovering, and with that, would come consequences of his exposure to _Lazarus_ , and Tim knew then that it would be all out _war_ for whom Jason would stay with, not that he would want to stay with anyone, at least not willingly. Bruce he knew would not back down, not even for a second. There was a rift between them at present; his contact with Talia was one issue, him holding Bruce back from Jason a big one, and his choice to stay apart from the rest of the family - as well as the other background factors- was making things difficult between them. If he wasn't careful, things might turn to irreparable, and despite everything, the mistakes, misunderstandings, all of it - Tim loved Bruce. Bruce was, first and foremost, his Father, Batman an extension, and to lose him, after his failure of his long-deceased parents? He wouldn'-he _couldn't_. Bruce had given him his own name, freely, his house, a place in the family, though it hadn't felt like that in a while, and Tim didn't think he could bear to lose all that. He _knew_ Bruce loved him, he did, and the longer he avoided Bruce like this, deliberately, the worse things would continue between them. They were too similar, too analytical, distant- Alfred had once remarked-, but Bruce _had_ been trying, trying to reach out, to understand, and Tim loved him for it. Bruce would want Jason with him, at the Manor, no doubt. A golden opportunity to reconnect with the boy he once lost, the one he gave up, to care and learn to love, to rebuild, to appreciate the man Jason had become. Bruce had the resources to make that happen, and Tim knew if he tried to discourage this, after all he'd done already? It would be the nail in the coffin, the finishing blow, and most likely, if Bruce didn't hate him after, then he would _never_ forgive him, not truly. Diana would be on his side, too, and Tim bet she too had the means to look after Jason herself away from prying eyes - she was an Amazonian, after all, and if that wasn't possible for any reason, then she would be able to see Jason whenever at the Manor, thus supporting Bruce taking Jason home with him.

But the question was: did _Jason_ want to reconnect, with _Bruce?_

And even if he did, would he accept Bruce's help, his care? Acknowledge his attempts, in the most vulnerable state of his life, allowing Bruce in at his weakest?

Tim was inclined towards _no_ , but...Jason _had_ asked after Bruce once or twice, a little after the Xan mission.

Okay, a tiny bit more than that, actually. Not much, nothing too concerning or heartfelt, just things like "How's the old man doing?" or "Things going alright with B?"

Short, simple questions, and Jason would simply nod at the answer before moving on to something else.

The only way he'd know for sure was by _asking_ Jason what he _wanted_ , and that couldn't happen until he was properly awake.

Talia, oh _God_ \- Tim knew there was no way of persuading her to let Bruce take Jason, absolutely not. _De nada_. Out of the motherfucking question, Talia would never, _ever_ let Jason go to Bruce without a damn good fight on her hands, _nope_ , and Tim, for the most part...felt himself agreeing with her more and more each time. Jason trusted _Talia_ for good reason - she'd been there, through all of it, the _worst_ of it, and she, out of everyone, himself included, had _never given up on him_ , not once. Not when they'd all written him off, not against Ra's wishes - Jason had mentioned that little tidbit a while back but refused to elaborate further-, even when Jason was batshit crazy, waging war against the Bats, off creating international havoc, with Superman hunting him down- she'd never given up on him, nor had she cast him away. Talia held a special place in Jason's heart, even when he would moan and grumble at her sticking her nose in his business, or when Tim would overhear them bicker over the phone like a married couple. Talia had experience with Lazarus and all its side-effects, particularly the ones Jason exhibited. She would know what to do, for the most part. She had the resources and the means, much like Bruce, and access those that he probably _didn't_ have. Out of everyone except him, T was more likely than not of to know Jason's work, or at least the basics of it, and Tim guessed the woman had already informed Jason's associates one way or another, put out a coded message on the web's "mercenary blackboard" or whatever, he wasn't sure. Tim had asked of course, especially since the woman claimed _not_ to have put tabs on Jason, but she'd given him a _look_ , not budging, and that was the end of discussion. Rationally speaking, Talia was the best person to look after Jason, but would Jason go with her, after exposing him to lazarus again? Probably, but he'd resent her deeply for breaking his trust. Tim also had a sneaking suspicion that should Jason go with Talia the woman might do all she could to keep Jason _with_ her, long-term. She was like that, _Talia_ \- she loved intensely, almost to a degree of obsession, and getting her to let go of Jason, after losing him, would be extremely challenging. He knew largely if it weren't for him or Alfred, then Jason would most likely be at her side twenty four seven. 

But that wouldn't be fair, not just on him and A, but _Diana_ , whom Jason definitely loved - Talia knew, of course, the animosity between the two women was partly based on a small element of jealously from either side-, on _Clark_ , who'd really surprised him over the last few months, and, if it could be said - _Bruce_. Bruce...even with all the shit both he and Jason and said to one another, the fights, the arguments, this and that - at the heart of it all, Bruce was Jason's Father, documented, in fact, just not made legal nor official. Bruce had hidden it away but Tim had discovered plans the man had made years back, paperwork drawn up detailing Jason's adoption into the family, _Jason Todd Wayne_ , but fate was a cruel mistress, and Jason had died before anything could come to fruition. That being said, just because Bruce was somewhere once before _dad_ did not automatically mean good standing with Jay, at least enough for something like this.

Clark....Tim had observed, on the sidelines, the blossoming _friendship_ of some sorts between the two men, and though it was initially strange at first, he began to see why the two clicked. Whatever had gone down in Xan had earned a degree of trust between the pair, and deep down, respect. They laughed a lot; Tim knew, because Jason tended to be a little more carefree with the big man, and of the times he'd listened to their phonecalls, Clark's laughter could be heard over the line. They texted one another, Tim had managed to sneak read a few texts between them, jokes, book recommendations, an event or something like that that one of them had suggested. Whenever he was at the watch-tower, Clark would greet him warmly, as usual, and he always asked after Jason, whether he was alright, well, and Jay would mention Clark's name a few times, just that "yeah, _Clark said that.._." or "Oh God, deffo, C...", and Tim would listen amusedly, that the two who'd been enemies not long ago, now asked after each other quite fondly. He still had _no_ idea what had happened between them over Xan, how they'd struck up being frenemies; Jason refused to budge on that matter, nor was Tim about to ask _Clark_ either, but whatever it was?

Tim was _glad_.

For one, it was seeing Jason add _Clark_ as a friend, another person who appeared to care about him, but two?

That _Bruce_ might face a little competition, and if that made him sit up and confront his damn feelings once and for all, _so be it._

It was interesting to observe how the pair's friendship was having an effect on Bruce. Judging by B's slight coldness towards Clark in the Cave during their efforts at finding Jason, Tim deduced that Clark hadn't told Bruce about his keeping in contact with Jason, and since then, Tim had noticed a.... _something_ between his Father and Uncle. They talked, of course they did- even now, opposite, they were talking, but there was an awkwardness that wasn't quite there before, similar to when Jason had been dragging Superman's name in the mud across every newspaper in town two years back. Like that, except instead of Bruce feeling awkward, it was Clark who seemingly felt _stuck_ between a fondness for Jason, an obvious protective streak too - hadn't Jason been the one to call his name? And wasn't Clark the one who actually _found_ Jason, who held his bloodied, lifeless form in his hands, who rescued him and brought him here, _not_ Bruce?- and not wanting to overstep boundaries and hurt his friend, to take Bruce's place as _Father_ , that Bruce was struggling to reach Jason whereas Clark, of no-relation to Jason, not even fricking human, _could_. From where Tim stood, musing out of the window, it was beginning to look that way, and both men knew it too.

All in all, Jason was effectively a child about to go through a bitter custody war between varying sets of warring figures, which was why Tim had been preparing from the moment Jason was taken to theatre. 

An outcome that was in Jason's very best interests, but Tim knew despite this, people would be hurt, disappointed at _him_ , and he swallowed painfully, putting the matter to rest for now.

"So what do we do now?" A quiet voice brought Tim out of his thoughts, and he angled his head towards the conversation.

A deep _sigh_ and then-

"I suppose its just a waiting game, for now. In any case, I-I've got to get back, sorry." Clark's apologetic voice came through.

"Thanks, Clark." The man in question was already standing, and placed one hand on Bruce's shoulder, squeezing. Tim caught his eye, and they smiled wordlessly at each other.

"As do I, Bruce. If it...you know I would do anything..." Diana's voice trailed off, and Tim turned a little more, just in time to see Bruce take Diana's hand, one thumb stroking over her knuckles.

"It's fine, Diana. I'll be here, don't worry. If...anything changes, I'll let you both know." Bruce's voice was gruff, and Tim felt his chest hurt.

Diana nodded, and moved now, cupping Bruce's face in her own, and kissed him. They remained like that for a few moments, staring into each others eyes, Diana's murmuring too low to pick up. Beside Tim, he heard Talia scoff, just the tiniest bit before continuing typing away, and Diana, kissing Bruce once more, threw her an _ugly_ look, scathing enough to burn through metal, before straightening, touching Clark's hand.

"Timothy." Diana's voice was firm, and he placed his nearly full liquid crap to the side before making his way to Diana and Clark, who stood together, watching him. They walked out of the ward, a little distance away, Bruce's eyes on them, until they reached the large windows by the lift. Turning, and without a word, Diana bent and drew him to herself, embracing him, and he folded into her slowly, rigid at first before relaxing, closing his eyes briefly at the kiss she placed in his hair.

"休息一下，我最亲爱的。不要为了你的 兄弟而烦恼，保持坚强。我们很快就会 见到他的." 

( _Go and rest, my dearest. Do not worry about your brother, stay strong. We will see him soon._ ) 

Her voice was warm, comforting, and Tm found that he held onto her as tight as he could now, knowing that she could take it. She chuckled quietly, kissing him again, and with one hand, reached up to smooth his hair. After a moment, realising where exactly his head lay, he moved a little, blushing, looking away, but Diana's smile and her finger under his chin had him looking back up at her, at that lovely, kind face, and he swallowed, throat painful, his vision blurring a little. Diana always had that effect on him, all of them, in fact, motherly and comforting. She didn't let him go, however, and ran and thumb under his eyes, wiping the mist, and smoothed his hair, pecking his nose, ignoring his embarrassed whine, and Clark, who chuckled at the sight.

"我知道事情是困难的，但永远记得蒂莫 西：你的父亲深爱着你。如果可以的 话，请尽量不要和他打架。他不想失去 另一个儿子."

( _I know things are...difficult, but always remember Timothy: your Father loves you, dearly. Please, if you can, try not to fight with him. He does not want to lose another son_ )

Timothy looked away, unable to speak. He didn't want things like this, to be distant from Bruce, tense, difficult, and their relationship strain was having considerable impact on him, on Bruce himself, on _Dick_ even, whom he knew would take Bruce's side, and thus hadn't spoken a word to.

"I..." Tim shook his head, swallowing, and brought a hand to his face, wiping a tear, and muttered out a swear word. _Fucking hell_. He was a _mess._

"我不希望他恨我，迪。我只是想做正确 的事，为了保护杰森，但看起来像我做 的任何事情，它只是让事情变得更糟，他 - 他有时看着我，我可以告诉他...他 觉得就像我反对他，但我发誓给你迪，我不是，我发誓，我只是..." His voice hitched and his eyes were threatening to spill over. 

_I don't want him to hate me, Di. I'm just trying to do the right thing, to protect Jason but it seems like whatever I do, it-it just makes things worse, and he-he looks at me sometimes, and I can just tell that...he feels like I'm against him but I swear to you Di, I'm not, I swear, I just..._

Diana tutted, wiping away his cheeks, and held him to her once more, resting her head on top of his. "你的父亲爱你，提摩太，比什么都重 要。他正在努力去理解，但这很难。永 远不要-"  
( _Your Father loves you, Timothy, more than anything. He...is trying to understand, but it is difficult. Do not ever-_ )

"No, no you don't get it Di, you _don't_ -" Tim broke away from Diana now, trying to stem the welling in his eyes, flustered, cursing himself for being so emotional in front of _Superman_ and _Wonder Woman_ for Christ's sakes. "He-he _hates_ me, its being a while coming and now on top of all our shit, for keeping Jay away from him, that I know T, he thinks-I'm not trying to hurt him but the truth is - _B wasn't there_ when Jason was going through it, the hell, nightmares, the insanity-me, me and T- we _were_ for fuck's sake and we know what's gonna happen, which is why I'm trying to transition thi-get-" He gulped, wiping his face determinedly. Why the fuck did he keep losing his cool like this? _Shit's not on_ , that's what Jason would say.

"Tim, look at me. _看。在。我_." Clark's voice cut through his agitation and Tim actually stopped, staring at Clark with wide eyes. 

Clark knew _Chine_ \- oh right, Superman and all.

Clark placed both hands on his shoulders, grounding him to the spot, and looked him right in the eye, gaze fierce. "I don't ever want to hear that from you again, 你听?" 

Tim stubbornly jerked his shoulder away but Clark pressed down, cementing him to the floor, and now Tim found that he couldn't move at all. He looked up, slightly afraid, but Clark didn't let up the pressure, shaking his shoulders a little. "我永远不会想听到你口中的那些话，从来没有. 清楚吗?" He was still staring, voice like steel, and Tim couldn't look away even if he wanted to, the man' eyes boring into his.

( _I never, ever want to hear those words from your mouth, never. Are we clear?_ )

Tim tried to find the words but his throat was painful, and so after a beat's silence, he nodded, the movement stiff.

Clark eased a pressure a little. "Your dad loves you, and no, he could never hate you. Sure, things are confusing for him at the moment, particularly as to why you are distancing yourself as such, but a word of advice Tim - stop running. Stop hiding from your dad, talk to him. _Talk to Bruce_ , just you two, away from this setting. You need to sit down and explain your side of things, and he needs to do the same. The longer this goes on, you guys apart, the more each of you will hold it against the other, and the worse things will become. It's not just about Jason, we know that their relationship is complicated, but with you two, if its as you've said, under the surface, then the air needs to be cleared, out in the open.Trust me when say this: if Bruce loses you too, he'll be _devastated_." Clark shook him again, and Tim felt his stomach hollow, legs like jelly.

Diana was nodding too, eyes sad. 

"He will be _crushed_ if he has to lose you as well as Jay, and I know you love your dad. Tim, whatever it is: _tell Bruce_. Even when it comes to Talia, not that I know anything, but still: let him in, alright, and take it from there."

Tim looked at the ground. He linked his fingers, twisting them nervously. "I..." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know where to begin." 

Clark smiled at him and in one sweeping gesture hugged him close, speaking above his head in a gentle voice. "It doesn't matter, Tim. Just as long you speak, start wherever you like. One step at a time, Timbo."

Tim stilled at the nickname, looking up at Clark in surprise, and the man chuckled, sharing a look with Diana, who had a knowing smile on his face. "Jay's fault, he calls you that a lot."

Tim blushed deeply, folding his arms, but the action only caused the two heroes to laugh. "What's that massive lug been saying, anyway?"

Diana laughed aloud. "It is nothing you need to worry about, my child." She put an arm around him.

Clark put his hands in his pockets, grinning. "Jay may have mentioned a little about overhearing you one day practicing a speech or something similar, apparently you were trying to imitate-"

"Oh my _God_!" Tim breathed out, _horrified_ , and held his face in his hands, feeling hot, internally wincing as Clark and Diana cackled above him. "He promised to keep it to himself, the insufferable bastard."

Clark laughed harder. "Well, I'm flattered Tim, honestly, I'm glad you-"

"Nuh-huh, we are so _not_ , nah-uh." Tim shook his head, smiling, palms out - _no fucking way was he telling them about that_ and the laughter gradually subsided. After a while, he looked at them shyly, swallowing.

"Thank you. Both of you, thanks for you know...my mini breakdown and all. And for taking care of Bruce; he may not say it often but I know he appreciates you guys being here and all."

His blush gave away more than that, and the pair smiled, Clark squeezing his shoulder. "You'll be alright for now?"

He nodded at the big man, who smiled once more before stepping away. "If you need anything Timothy, do not hesitate to call us. We have to go, Shayera will also want to be updated on the situation." Diana bent, kissing his cheek with a loud _smack_ , grinning at his blush, before the pair bid him goodbye.

Tim stood there for a while, composing himself. Part of him wondered how Bruce and Talia were doing, whether they'd even acknowledge each other at all, but then his stomach rumbled, and he looked down at the traitorous sound. He hadn't even remembered breakfast this morning. Stretching, he made his way back to the private waiting room, where Bruce was now on the phone, Talia absent. The man caught sight of him, and for a moment, they stared at each other. He debated asking Bruce where Talia was, but decided not to.

Building up the courage, he walked a little towards Bruce, whose eyes were still on him.

"Wanna grab some lunch?" He tried to keep his voice casual, unruffled, but Bruce could see right through him, the slight redness at the corners of his eyes.

The man looked at him, then with a "I'm sorry, I have to go. Please reschedule with my secretary." put his phone in his pocket.

Almost hesitantly, Bruce walked towards Tim, coming to a stop an arm's length away. The air was....awkward, to say the least, but at least they were both here.

"I could do with some, yes." Tim took it in, his father's gruffness, five o'clock shadow, and offered a brief but shaky smile, which was hesitantly returned along with a small nod.

They could do lunch.

 

 

 _Bludhaven, afternoon_.

"Yeah...that's-that's good news, B. Its, um, good, yeah... Let me know if you need anything. Talk soon."

One goodbye later, Dick turned to his younger brother, who was currently trying very hard to pretend he hadn't been eavesdropping all along. Smothering a tiny smile, Dick schooled his expression into a neutral one, and made himself useful by rifling through his cupboards, digging out his favourite cereal, and set the box down with a smack on the counter.

"Yeah, Jason's coming round." He spoke, voice level, watching his brother struggle with himself. Surprise, a little anger, a touch of...hope, was that? And then, much like his own, a carefully blank face, but the pink tinge of his face gave him away. 

"What business is it of mine, Grayson? Let them carry on with their business." Damian's voice was high, haughty, but Dick noticed the way his brother's fingers trembled ever so slightly as he _pretended not to care_. He _hmmed_ to himself, ignoring the angry glare Damian shot him, and proceeded to fill his bowl with the glorious sugary delight that was _Lucky charms_ , Damian's sneer having no effect on him whatsoever. Milk pouring, Damian's next question had him stilling for a moment, mouth a little dry.

"You...why haven't you said anything about him?"

The question hung in the air.

Dick turned away, forcing himself to remain calm.

His brother was watching him carefully, and his breathing came out strained, shoulders too tense to ignore. "Just been busy, Dames. Focused on you, work, making sure I'm there for Bru-"

"You're a terrible liar, Grayson." His brother's voice was quiet.

Grayson held one hand to the edge of the counter, gripping it so tight his knuckles blanched at the pressure.

Clearly Damian had caught on more than he'd hoped, and the realisation gailed him. He'd half hoped acting busy would distract the boy from noticing, but he honestly should have known better by now. If Damian had noticed, then the rest of them certainly would have. Dick cursed in Romani, feeling his irritation flare, and managed to speak in a strained voice.

"Well, I don't have a lot to say on the matter, so that's it really." He hoped the tone would cause Damian to drop it, but the boy, whether through deliberate arrogance or sheer ignorance, didn't play along.

"You visited him exactly once, and for three minutes, forty eight seconds. Your demeanor sugges-"

 _"Damian, just drop it, alright?_ " 

Silence.

His voice was sharp, too damn sharp, cutting through the air like a knife and his hair flopped over his face a little. Breathing through his nose, he pushed one hand through his hair, aiming for some semblance of order, but all he could think about was that bastards's ugly laugh, the cigarette smoke caught in his hair as Jason reigned blows on him, the leering, mocking and hateful as he pinned him, _so damn humiliating_ , the feeling of absolute powerlessness, having this crazed murder straddle him, threatening to _fuck_ him, in all sense of the word, if he didn't back off, the _fear_ that ran through his body at Jason's predatory voice, wild, animalistic eyes, and him laughing at the humiliation strewn across his face, knowing the Cave could hear every word, see every _fuckin_ thing, an-an- him struggling, fighting, desperate, but overpowered by the madman, who whispered in his ear, a little _bitch_ , -an-and oh, the _shame_ , the same guy who had his tiny _Tim_ in his clutches, who beat him yet roundly back in the watch-tower after showing up out of the blue two years later, all healthy and without a damn care in the world, that-

After _all_ the interventions.

The pleading, begging, being patient and understanding, trying to reach out to him, only to have the efforts made spat back in his face, trodden on, and flung back in his face. Having to console an angry, near heartbroken Bruce, or standby and watch Alfred polish the same cup of china twelve times in a row, tears in his eyes. Or cradling his youngest brother's body in his arms, skin grey, eyes glassy as he struggled to breath, screaming and shouting for help, harms stick with blood. The fucking _stress_ Jaso- _Hood_ had put the entire family through, pushing Tim away, the boy's rapid weight loss, Bruce, who would tremble in the mornings, unable to eat, Damian sullen, moods dark and murderous, all because of that one man. Embarrassing the family, _Clark_ , making life an utter misery for them -soiling their relationship with the GCPD and other law enforcement agencies, to the point that they were beginning to turn on _them_ \- and yet refusing all manner of help, difficult, spiteful, so full of hate, and Dick had lost his wits end, hating someone he ought to have loved, but he knew now - he and Jason, they were never close. He hand't been around back then, not with his arguments with Bruce, having been replaced by a scrawny kid of the streets, the one whom Bruce gave Robin too without even consulting him, God that prick-

And then the utter _relief_ when Jason finally went away, and how the family began to repair itself, healing, coming back together, but Dick saw now that it didn't happen the way his mind imagined it, not truly. Jason's constant nickname for Tim - _replacement_ , destroying his self-esteem, as well as giving Damian Robin and spending more time with him, had began to reinforce to Tim that he was no longer welcome, not a part of the family, and the boy had been drifting apart, gradually, gradually, until-

Dick's hand curled into a fist, and eyes shut, he slammed his hand into the counter, the sound snapping Damian's head to attention.

"That fucking _prick-_ " He hissed, and the dull throb that flooded his hand was a welcome feeling. He aimed higher this time, fist meeting the cabinet door.

"That bloody, hateful _bastard_ , after ever-everything he's fucking done, all the shit and mess he put us through, and now he's- he just _waltzes_ back in like-as if- and now Bruce-" Dick gulped, voice hitching between punches, the noise drowning out Damian's shouts.

" _Grayso-_ " Damian was shouting, voice high and urgent, panicky, _scared_ , but Dick continued, maddened with a rage so frightening he began to scare himself, ignoring the splinters of wood flying past his face, his knuckles that were sore, bloody, skin broken, the shame and heat of embarrassment as his mind supplied the memories, leering voice, insults upon insults, the spittle at the corner of his mouth, and kept punching, hitting, ceramic bowl shattering somewhere in the distance, till a sob came out, a strangled cry, bu-but he continued, lashing out, until a small, warm figure overpowered him, taking him down hard, enough that the surprise followed through with the momentum, and all of a sudden, it was _Damian's_ voice ringing in his ears, wide green eyes above his, and Grayson pushed back, to get Damian of him, _trapped_ , just like-like when Jas- _Hood_ \- scrambling a little to the corner, knees to his chest, panting heavily.

Damian remained on the floor, crouched, a bit like a tiger circling its prey, and Grayson felt the hairs on his back stand, wanting to run, to hide away, that his baby brother of all people had to see him like this.

"Grayson, please.....I. I understand how-"

" _ **NO YOU DON'T!**_ " Dick screamed, then closing his eyes, guilt flooding his frame. "I-little D, I'm so-I'm so sorry, kiddo, I...you _don't_ understand, not what...-" Dick put a hand to his face, tears streaming, voice hitching. Damian moved closer, and he tensed a little, the action slowing Damian's movement.

"Grayson....I _know._ " The voice was soft, and over the next few seconds, Dick realised, with sinking horror what Damian was talking about.

_He'd seen the footage._

The shame he felt was similar to wearing a white hot cloak of disgrace, soaking into his very being, bubbling, and he hit the side of the cupboard his back rested against, once, twice, letting loose a snarl, then a yell, before Damian took the plunge and grabbed his fist, bringing it towards his chest, and holding him.

"I am sorry, Grayson. That...he said that to you, I-I cannot imagine." The voice broke out, and Dick held himself tighter, attempting to stem the flow of tears, but they wouldn't _stop_. He let Damian hold his hand, the tiny fingers sweaty with anxiety.

"Bruce...he-he never said anything about it but that day...from that day....it was never the same. He-I could-whenever I heard the _Hood_ was in the area, it was as if my whole body would just _freeze_ Dami, like, go into a meltdown. I-I-wouldn't be able to move, _couldn't_ even, I'd just shake and shake, his laugh alone would.....that's why Bruce re-routed our patrol routes to the opposite side of town from Hoods, so that we'd hopefully never run into each other. That if Hood ever ran into you, or-or...that I wouldn't just lose it, D, I'd-I'd kill him, I'd kill him and do it over and over if he ever lay so much as a _finger_ on you, oh _God_ -"

The little hand in his own tightened, and Dick brought it to himself, Damian to his chest, his beautiful, precious baby brother, whom that bastard had tried to take away from them. For a long, long moment, Dick held Damian close, eyes shut, counting his brother's breaths to every one of his, the sweet scent of Jasmine and sweat in his hair, and used one thumb to brush the boy's knuckles. 

"I...When I saw the video, when I heard what he said....Grayson, I wanted to kill him. I-I called _Mother_." The voice was quiet, but the rage was there all the same.

Dick's eyes widened, and he shifted, turning Damian to look at him. "Wha..." he breathed, slightly incredulous.

Damian looked at him before looking away, one hand tucked into a fist. "I...I wanted a bounty placed on his head, and I asked Mother to do it."

Dick didn't have the words. Honestly, he didn't, and all he could do was to stare at his little brother.

One whom they'd been teaching _not_ to kill, that their work was non-lethal and all that came with being _Robin_ , but Dick didn't have the heart for such a lecture, not after this discovery- that this little kid right here, his baby brother, little D, _Damian_ , loved him enough to have the one who'd hurt him _dead_. Not by his own hand, but someone else's, because he knew how disappointed himself and Bruce would be if he reverted to killing again.

"Oh Dami..." Dick breathed out, and he plucked his brother towards his chest in one perfect motion, heart warming at the little _cluck_ the boy emitted. He held Damian as tightly as he could, pressing a kiss to his brother's head, stroking the back of his hair, those perfect, round cheeks, before resting his chin there. The boy's arms were circled around his waist, and Dick smiled through the tears.

"You would do that, for me? Really?" He whispered, and a tiny hand was on his face now, wiping away the wetness. He choked back a sob, tucking the boy further to himself.

" _Tt_. Of _course_ I would, Grayson. I...you are my brother, and as a highly valued member of this family, I will not allow anyone, especially that low-class imbecile, to soil your honor." The voice was indignant, and Dick smiled at the small fingers that were coiled tightly into his shirt.

"I..I don't think I could love you anymore than I already do, Dames." His voice was muffled, and he held back another laugh at the embarrassed _Tt_ , though he knew his brother felt the same way. 

"Mother...she didn't say anything. I wanted that barbarian's head on a platter, and extra if his hood came with it."

Dick barked out a laugh, and then another, until he was wheezing, tears at the corners, and he could hear a tiny chuckling smothered into his shirt, small shoulders hitching. Their laughter died down, and Dick rested his head against the cupboard door, speaking aloud.

"Its...its so jarring, D. Bruce is all broken up over a guy he disowned, and publicly too. Then there's Uncle Clark, and how the _fuck_ he and Jason managed to connect, God knows, those two..I can't wrap my head around it. Diana too, I know she and Jason had a thing once back when he was younger, I get that, but with his feud with the League and all that.... And to make it worse - _Tim_ , God, _Tim_ -he's devoted to that fucker, and your Ma... its all the fawning that's doing my head in and I just-" Dick felt Damian stiffen, but the boy didn't move away.

"I'm sorry, D." The weariness was heard in his voice. "I'm just mad and pissed off; it feels like everyone but us is happy he's back, like its some great thing, as if him nearly dying conveniently dismisses all the shit we went through because of him. I mean, Clark, of all people? He out of everyone ought to...to _hate_ -I mean, the Hood gave no fucks, truly, and its just... I can't exactly go round saying all this cause then they'll think me selfish and whatnot, and emotions are already all over the place, tensions at an all time high...but I just-I hate that I feel like I've gotta be _glad_ and _happy_ and _relieved_ that Jason's back and alive and shit but honestly...when I'm not thinking about how I'd like to punch his fucking lights in, I just...I don't give a single _fuck_ about him, honestly. Just wish they could stop talking about him, but you know..." He muttered, sigh irritable, and breathed into Damian's hair, who nestled closer to him.

"I...I am of the same opinion, Grayson. Mother....I don't understand her connection to Hood, or what happened when..." The boy went rigid again, and only relaxed when Dick stroked his back gently. " _Mother_..." The boy gritted his teeth before trying again. "How _Drake_ comes into all this-" Dick frowned at the venom in Damian's voice at Tim, and he shook the younger boy gently, who grumbled, but continued. "I...I am curious, I will admit, but I am angry, and no matter how they all are feeling, I cannot simply forget what Todd did to you, Father, _me_ , trying to destroy our family, I will **not**." His voice was sharp, unflinching, and Dick said nothing for a while, content to hold the boy.

"Dami..." He began hesitantly, and Damian immediately tensed, understanding what he was going to ask _next_. Dick hated himself for doing this.

"What did your Mom say to you?" Dick silently held his breath.

On his chest, Damian had turned rigid, and the question hung ominously in the air. Eventually the boy spoke, voice carefully flat, inflectioness, but it was a front, and they both knew it. "She said there is much I do not know, things I do not yet understand. She...she said that she knew I had questions, that I was right to have them, and-and...that she wanted to answer them with _him_ , that if she told me now, either I wouldn't believe her, or would fail to grasp the full meaning of things..." Damian's voice turned dry, and Dick glanced down to see the boy twisting his fingers nervously. "I...I was angry, Grayson. I sh-I shouted at her; I didn't understand why she just couldn't tell me, I-I told her that if she couldn't provide an answer, then maybe it was for the best that her contact continues to remain limited, that-that maybe Father was right after all,." A tiny gulp. "I -I said those things and Mo-Mother didn't say anything, but her _eyes_ Grayson, they....she tried to hug me but-I, I walked away, I push-I _pushed her away_. Father saw, and he and Mother soon started arguing with each other; Father was furious Grayson, so very angry and I...I don't know how to feel about her, how my own _Mother_ could associate herself with such a monster...why-why they..and why she isn't with _me_..."

A wetness was slowly seeping into Dick's shirt, and for the moment, he hadn't the words, what or how or why, to comfort his little brother, to protect him from his absolute _bitch_ of a-

He hugged the boy closer to himself, knowing how difficult this was for Damian to open up like _this_ , and after a while, he spoke, tongue heavy.

"Listen, Dames." He spoke after a while, and the boy lifted his face a little. Dick took the opportunity to sneak in a quick kiss on the child's nose, and Damian cursed indignantly, earning himself a swat, though the sound was fond, and although he squirmed, he didn't move away, delivering a slight pinch to Dick's side to express disapproval at the gesture. Dick laughed, easily tickled, and settled again before speaking.

"No-one can tell you how to feel. I don't care who they are, or what they say. You feel free to feel how you want, and don't you dare make any apologies for it, alright?" He shook his brother a little to emphasie his point, and a small nod indicated that Damian had heard. "I...I can't tell you how to feel about any of this shit, especially with regards to your Mom,, but let me say this: your feelings are _valid_. No matter what, you have a _right_ to them. You are in complete control as to how much of _you_ want to see/hear/talk to your Mother, _not_ the other way round, you hear me? I'm not..- _No-one_ is going to judge you whatever you decide, and that goes for Talia, Hood, whatever. If you ever want to vent, or if you're feeling confused or just plain fed up of the confusion, the secrecy, all that bloody fawning over that bastard, then you come to me, alright? Come to mine, and we'll do whatever, eat, read, go out, heck patrol-"

Damian looked up fully at that, hope poorly concealed in his eyes, and Dick smiled, poking his brother a little. "Not for long, not to far, and only- _only_ if you promise to stay where I can see you, alright? At least, it'll give you a bit of a breather from B, he can be overbearing at times."

" _Tt_. I am more than capable at handling myself, Grayson. It's _you_ who requires supervision-" The voice was haughty.

"Hey! You do realise we're in _my_ apartment-"

"And yet here I am, maintaining my nutrition according to your meagre provisions, whilst you feast on pure sugar and other illict substances-"

" _Illicit substances_?" Dick cracked up now, slapping a hand to his head, and Damian snorted, trying to look stern, hands on his hips.

"I shall have to inform Pennyworth of your poor dietary intake-"

"No no no no no, Dami, alright _alright_ , you win, _sheesh_." Dick held his palms up in surrender, and Damian grinned, teeth sharp.

"I will require payment for my silence." He held his chin high into the air. green eyes glinting.

"Payment- you're _blackmailing_ me?" Dick's voice had risen several octaves, and Damian gave him a smug look.

"Call it whatever you want. The point is-" But Damian's high and mighty speech was interrupted by Dick's incredulous laughter, who simply shook his head, eyes dancing.

"Alright Dames." He smiled at the younger boy, whose face was pink, before casting a critical eye over the mess he'd made, and sighed to himself. "Welp, first things first, gotta clear up this mess-"

" _No_." Damian glared at him, and Dick was a little taken aback by the intensity. His brother took his wrist, and standing up, tugged him upwards as well. "First, we take care of this. Unless you'd like for me to send for Penny-"

" _No no no_ , whatever you say goes, Boss. Lead the way." Dick mock saluted at Damian, who sighed, shaking his head, and huffed fondly, before leading out of the kitchen area carefully.

Dick kept his eyes on his brother. He'd lost Jason long ago, but for this one, for his little Timbo?

 _Never_.

Jason could _fuck off_ for all he cared.

 

 

_Just after midnight, a private side room._

Clark hovered in the air, looking in.

For all intents and purposes, Jason appeared to be sleeping, and Clark had been out here a while, counting the movements of Jason's chest as he breathed, the small twitching every now and again. He sighed to himself, placing a weary hand over his face and held it there. Jason had eventually been moved to the ward downstairs late in the evening, unfortunately too late for visitors, and Clark, after finishing up a few things at the watch-tower, had decided to peek in, knowing that tomorrow he'd be too busy to fly over, especially with Perry breathing down his back. He was senior journalist now, with his own separate office opposite from Lois, but still, despite all the achievements and respect garnered over the years, Perry was still his boss, and the man had a habit of making things a little difficult once in a while, just _because_. Nothing impossible, things like tight deadlines, wanting just that tiny bit _more_ , and Clark suspected it was because they were outgrowing him, and so the poor man, in an attempt to feel in control, would often stir a little crazy into their midst every now and again just to remind them who the boss _really_ was.

Which was funny, because they all knew who was actually in charge, and it sure as hell wasn't _Perry_.

Not if he spent a couple of nights a week dressed as a fearsome Bat.

Clark smiled to himself as he thought about it now, the great Perry White, _Batman unmasked_ , before looking through the other windows into the ward itself. One nurse at the main station, typing away, the other next to her, sleeping, but apart from that, it was quiet. After a moment's hesitation, Clark approached the window, prising it open gently, and fluttered in, his feet landing soundlessly. He gazed at the room, spacious -Bruce and Talia had battled it out as to whom could splash out on giving Jason the best, and Tim had put a stop to their rivalry by taking on the hospital costs himself- and then at Jason, reclined upwards a little, who still showed no signs of having witnessed anything unusual. Clark dusted his slacks before selecting one of the novels he'd left by Jason's bedside cupboard, _The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas_ , and sitting quietly in the chair, legs outstretched on the footstool, continued where he'd stopped last, quickly sinking into the narrative. He was a little more than an hour into reading, having switched between various pitches of voice to reflect the different characters, when a noise startled him into shock, almost dropping the book. 

"You...you can't do voices for _shit_." A rough voice, and Clark let out a strangely feminine yelp, face pink, turning to the bed.

A pair of green eyes stared at him, surprisingly focused, and there was a smirk tugging at the corner of the man's lips.

For a moment, Clark was speechless, and then it sank in.

 _Jason_.

"Jesus, Jay...Oh my _God_ -" Clark breathed, wide eyed, almost frozen, and Jason's chuckle, more like a rumbled cough really, had him snapping out of his shock. He moved suddenly, engulfing the man in an giant hug, holding him close, and rested his head on Jason's, who clutched at him weakly.

"I-Oh my...I-I can't believe it, you're awake, you're really awake, I've gotta call some-I just _can't_ -..." The words tumbled out of his mouth, and Clark held onto the man tighter, pressing a kiss onto Jason's hair. He felt the man nodding, a muffled noise, then weak pounding of some sort against his chest, and slightly confused, Clark let him go, only to find Jason gasping for air a little.

"Ah shit, Jay I'm sorry, I-" Clark waved his hands about, embarrassed, but Jay moved clumsily, _don't worry about it_ , grinning, and recovering from his near death by suffocation, beckoned him over again. They hugged properly this time, Jason's hands reciprocating as best they could, and Clark could feel how the man trembled, arms shaking with the effort, still weak. They stayed like that for a while, Jason holding onto him with all his strength, Clark rubbing his back comfortingly, Jay's head tucked under his chin. "Relax Jay, I'm not going anywhere."He murmured softly, and after a while, Jason let go, hesitantly, moving back slowly onto his pillows. Clark let slip a smile at the movement, sitting on the bed by Jason's thigh, and now it was younger man's turn to talk, which he did, voice hoarse.

"So." The man cocked his head at him, one eyebrow a little raised, as if flirting, glint visible, and Clark felt himself begin to blush, to which Jason's grin only grew bigger.

"It's late at night, you're in my room, on my _bed_ , no-one around, me pretty much butt-naked and what, no flowers? No movie date? _Clark_ , I'm disappointed. I thought we'd discussed this." The voice was quietly sarcastic, and Clark barked out a laugh despite his now red face, covering his mouth a split second later, moving to see whether the noise had caught the attention of the nurses.

 _It hadn't_. Thank goodness for that.

He looked back now to find Jason's eyes creased, mid laughter, the sound coming out like tiny huffs, and he used a pillow at the foot of the bed to swat the man, embarrassed.

Jason tried to duck the move but his movements were weak, and looked at him again, smile still plastered on his face.

Clark moved back a little, sitting fully on the bed cross-legged, facing Jason, who watched him before looking away, fingers playing with the blankets at his front.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

"How are you feel-" Clark courageously started, a nice safe-

"What happened, C?" Jason's soft voice cut Clark short, and Clark fumbled with how to answer him, not with the horror he'd only minutely witnessed before flying Jason to the Hospital. It seemed as though Talia had ordered her clean-up crew to take care of the mess, if the local papers had anything to say about it. He looked away for a minute, knowing that Jason was watching him.

"How....how much do you remember?" He tried to gauge just how much Jason could recall, not that he wanted his first discussion back to life again about _death and failure_ , _again_.

Jason's eyes looked far away. "Bits. Sounds. Smells. Sc-screams and cries every now and again. It...hurts, to try and think now." He swallowed, before something sudden passed through his face and he looked up at Clark rather incredulously, eyes wide.

"You came for me. I...I remember-someone-shouted you name..I-" Jason's voice was full of disbelief, a little raspy, and his mouth hung slightly ajar in the air.

"You called for me, Jay. Of _course_ I came." Clark kept his voice equally soft, smiling at the way Jason ducked from his gaze, ears red. The man swallowed and looked down, uncertain, and Clark, spying a water bottle by the bed, moved to take it. Placing a straw inside, he held the bottle to Jason, who shot him a look, attempting to fold his arms but failing. 

"Drink, Jay."

"Not a baby, C." Annoyed, embarrassed probably, but in this state, pout and all, the man looked like a child, and Clark smiled gently.

"I know. But it'll take a while for you to do things by yourself, so humour me. I know you must be thirsty."

Jason grumbled, but he did obey, eventually, and Clark couldn't resist making _plane_ noises, enough to cause Jason to splutter in laughter, face flushed.

Satisfied, Jay shook his head clumsily, a _no more_ , and Clark placed the bottle by the side, wiping a little water that had spilled onto Jason's chin. "Sorry." The man muttered, looking away, and Clark shushed him. "You hungry? Could feed you if you're up to it." 

Jason seemed to consider this before shaking his head. "Can't...even if I wanted to, can't hold down much right now." 

Clark glanced at the numerous bags of fluids running into Jason's arms. "Give it time, Jay." He reached over to take Jason's hand, and was surprised at the way Jay held on, despite the trembling. He held the man's hand more firmly, one thumb over the knuckles, waiting for Jason, whose head was bowed.

"Clark...wha-" Jason paused, shaking his head, and tried again. " _Can't you just...please, C, my head, its all..._ " His memories was scrambled, and any attempt to piece his thoughts together made his head throb painfully.

One think he knew for sure: _Lazarus_ was in his system, beginning to take hold of his mind, and the rush of emotions he felt, at having to deal with something that had once driven him insane _yet again_ , were too complex for words.

Clark said nothing for a few seconds. He wasn't sure if he was the right person to be saying all this, whether it would be helpful at this time, and sighing softly, he held onto Jason, wringing his hand slightly.

"Jay...I don't think this is the right time-"

" _C_ -" Jason tried to make his voice more firm, insistent, but Clark put his foot down now. "No, Jay. We're not doing this now, it won't help. The whole family has been in...Talia, Tim...I can understand Jay, I do, but not now. Let's get you better first."

It was clear Jason wasn't happy with his refusal to clarify things, and the man nodded stiffly. Clark made to move his hand away, understanding if Jason didn't want the contact, but Jason tugged on, latching more fully, and Clark placed his other hand on top, squeezing their clasped hands.

"Sorry." Jay angled his head to where their hands met but didn't look at him. "I..I can't let go, I dunno. It-it feels....I...just-"

Clark squeezed their hands again. "I get it, son."

Jason nodded, closing his eyes, and Clark could just about make out a glistening under his eyelid. Jay opened his mouth to speak but instead came a slight head shake, and then a tear escaped.

The boy swallowed, head turned away, and another tear fell.

And another.

"Oh, Jay." Clark moved by instinct. now, holding Jason to him, and the wetness grew in size, dampening his shirt. The effort was too much for Jason, who could just about latched onto the bottom of Clark's shirt weakly, and Clark kissed the back of his head, voice gentle, that _he was safe_ , that _he would get through this, stronger than ever_ and most importantly, that _he was proud of him, of the person he had become_ , _all of them were_ , speaking through Jason's strained cries. Clark used a thumb to wipe away the tears belonging to one he'd become so fond of, and clasped the man's cheek in his palm, even as green eyes gazed back sadly at him, before looking away.

"I swear Jay, you'll get through this. Whatever you need, we're here. I'm here, and just as you told me Jay, I'm telling you - you're stronger than all of this, I promise you."

"They...Di.. Shayer...Tal- _Bruce_?" Jason's voice held a tiny hint of hope towards the end, and Clark nodded, gaze never leaving Jason's.

Jason blinked, another wave of tears coming down, and nodded, the movement uncertain, but it was enough for Clark, who brought the man's forehead to meet his own, wanting him to settle. Jason's breathing slowed, though the sheets facing them still continued to grow damp with tears, and Clark, hand on Jason's neck fondly, remained patient. There was no way he'd allow Jason to go through this on his own, absolutely not, not after all the man had done for him.

A small voice broke through quiet. "Can you finish reading? Was looking forward to the ass-busting." 

Clark chuckled quietly. "Promise you won't laugh at the voices?"

That earned him an amused snort. "Imma laugh when I wanna." The voice was childishly defiant.

Clark laughed again, squeezing Jason's hand before letting go. Helping the man settle back onto the bed, Clark returned to the chair, and resumed his reading. 

True to his word, Jason's amused huffs were audible every now and again, that even Clark laughed with him, but as time went on, the silences stretched out, until almost two hours later, soft snores filled the room. Clark closed the book quietly, returning the book back to its original position, and after pressing a kiss to Jason's forehead, tucking the man in warmly, he made his way to the window.

"Sorry I missed the festival. Was....was looking forward to meeting Lo." A sleepy voice had him halting to the spot, and Clark smiled before responding, touched that Jason had remembered. "As soon you're better, we'll go to the next one. Be careful of Lois though, she'll eat your fries when you're not looking."

A huff, a grumble and then a drowsy. "She'll have to fight me, then." before soft snores filled the air once more.

Chuckling, Clark whispered his goodnight before taking to the sky.

With the slight awkwardness between them, Clark could only hope that Bruce wouldn't take it too badly upon discovering that it had been _him_ that Jason awoke to see first.

 

 

Jason waited until the window shut, and for a good few minutes after that, before opening his eyes again.

He'd heard conversations, snippets, mutterings, always in the background, over his head, near his ear.. The sensation of something warm and comforting going through his hair, or a weight on his hand. Someone adjusting the sheets around his person. Tears, lots of wet tears that made the material of his hospital gown feel like a sheet of glass against his skin. And through it all, he'd laid there, silent, just listening.

It wasn't as if he could respond anyway, but he'd heard it, the begging to be forgiven, pleas to come back, a second chance, a tense, uncertain, almost hateful voice, one young and spiteful, though uncertain, a few warmer tones, pleasant and soothing - in the quiet, the darkness, trapped in a bed, Jason had listened to a never ending reel of _confessions_ , and the end result, right at this moment, in the early hours of the morning, was too much, jus-just _damn too much_.

Making sure Clark had indeed disappeared, Jason let his guard down.

The fear _crept_ in, taunting at his bones, the edges of his mind, whispering. Voices from the far corner of his room had him gripping the rail tightly, and his breathed quickened in fast pace. He knew it wasn't real, of course, but that was the joy of Lazarus, hallucinations and mind-bending torment like never before. He gritted his teeth, counting backward in Spanish but the sounds grew more harsh, tones mocking, brassy and cruel, and Jason let out a tiny whine, screwing his eyes. A child-like cry from the opposite side of the room had him melting into the sheets, panicky, and the sounds gunfire, cigar smoke wafting past his nose, heavy, skin red hot and raw and fire and-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want Jay sexually assaulting Dick, its not in his character, and the revelation will ruin his relationship with Clark. I've changed it now so that it was basically Jason threatening to kill Dick, and Dick absolutely terrified by the maddness in Jason's eyes.


	50. Wrestling with the enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason struggles with the Pit begin.

_THWACK_

The sound of a crowbar had Jason jolting out of his drowsy haze. 

Fumbling with the sheets a little, he tried to keep himself calm, but his chest thumped rapidly nonetheless. His fingers shook, breaths coming out in short, frightened huffs, and the muscles in his back were as taut as a bowstring.

He'd been a damn fool to think he could relax, not with fucking lazarus running amok in his system once again.

A rumbling noise, and then tiny screams filled the room, pleading and begging, then splat, _splat_ , the sensation of something wet and thick hitting his face, a texture like scrambled egg brushing his lips, a phantom ache across his shoulders, someone slapping his cheek, hitting him with the butt of a rifle, laughing and laughing and _laughing_ as the chains on his wrist cut deeper into his flesh, the guards that ogled him shamelessly as he was allowed to relieve himself like an animal, sharp, shallow, then deep cuts, across his thighs, abdo- sc-screaming, lots of screaming and clenching, withstanding the pain, _just a little longer, hold on, wait, the men-Ghosts-they'll be here soon, soon, oh-oh no, no, not-not the kids oh sweet Jesus no, God no not them, Cl-Clark oh God no no no Clark, CLARK, CLARK-_

Jason gritted his teeth, shaking his head, and tried to jolt himself from the taunting, but his tiredness was catching up with him, and his control slipped further. "Goddamnit Jay, you can do this. _Fight_ , _fight_ this fucking thing and live, fucking damnit, _live_." He told himself.

In response, the darkness of the room began to morph into shapes. Thick, gloomy creatures, swirling and mocking, florescent green eyes that grew increasingly luminous with his fear, that horrible, cruel laugh, ghastly white skin, red bloody lips that held far too many teeth, teeth that gnashed and spat and delighted in his pain, his misery, the _clanging_ as the crowbar met his ribs, shattering his kneecaps to bits, denting his skull, cerebrospinal fluid pouring out of ears, dripping from his nose-

Jason gasped and held onto his railing. "Its-its-not, _none_ of this is real, its not, I-you're- _its not real_."

But the sounds only grew louder.

_Harsher._

A low, sensuous voice broke into the room. "They never loved you, Jay."

The hair on Jason's back stood on end, and a shiver of absolute _fear_ ran through his bones. " _No no no no_." he desperately chanted, struggling not to burst, but the voice _chuckled_ at him, almost cooing, and spoke over him as if uninterrupted.

"You think Bruce loved you, hmm? A _Wayne_ , _the_ Batman - and what, you? Poor, dirty little orphan boy? Good for nothing street trash, a washed up druggie mom, an absent, abusive father at best, a kid too short, too thin, too _useless_ \- you really think that _Bruce Wayne_ , the darling of Gotham society, all heart and royal heir, would love _you_? Pitiful." The voice purred, and Jason winced, sweat beading at his temples.

"He-Bruce-he _did_ , he-he _chose_ mme-"

"He was _stuck_ with your wasted space, he took you in out of mere _pity_ , no more than that. And after everything you had, the opportunities - you threw it all away to find dear little mommy. Mommy who hated the very sight of you and chain smoked as our favourite mutual friend _beat_ you to death-"

" _STOP_ -" Jason gasped weakly, tears at the corners of his eyes.

"So weak, so _pathetic_. You know, _Dick_ would have held on for far longer. He wouldn't have given in, like you did. Always the good child, that one, sweet and kind, loving and generous - you failed in every way, Jason, because you never could accept the simple fact that _Dick Grayson_ , _not_ you, was and _always_ will be, better than you. _Always_. Bruce knew it, of course. Dick too - that's why he hated you, because how on earth could Bruce think to replace him with gutter sewage like _you_? The first and _only_ Robin, the golden first born, and then what - you? Dirty, filth, unrefined- you are a stain to the name _Wayne_." The voice cackled, and to Jason's ears, the sound filled the room, bouncing off the walls, and whispered into his skull.

He choked back a sob. "He-he _did_ -he- _di_ -, but now the voice had successfully preyed on his doubts, magnifying his fears, and out loud, even his own voice was unconvincing.

"Did he, Jay?" Dick's voice entered the frame, and Jason felt a curl of anger stir from within. "All that time, you're sure about that? I mean, Bruce and I, we may have had our disagreements, Jay, but never forget that _I_ was first. Me, Dick Grayson - Bruce picked _me_ first. That I was supposed to just "accept" you- _you_ , as a brother? _Priceless_. Tim and Damian, of course, but you Jay? The kids we see huddled in rags, dirty faces, unwashed and up to no good -your _kind?_ I-no matter what Bruce said or did, I, listen to me Jay - Bruce will always love _me_ the most, and you wanna know why I know for sure?" 

Jason's hands were balled into fists, and the rage within him made his skin fiery hot, but the voice laughed anyway, free and tinkling, and the sound made Jayson boil over. " _Fuck. you-_ "

"Because Bruce would have killed the Joker, if it were me he'd killed."

All air seemed to rush out of him at that statement, and Jason struggled to breathe, to think even.

His greatest fear, now confirmed, and the shock made his stomach hollow painfully.

The voice continued. "That's right, Jay. You know it, I certainly do, Bruce- deep down, despite what he tells you, what he tells himself even - we _all_ know that if it had been _me_ Joker had beaten to death, left a pulpy mess, blown to bits - Bruce would have killed the Joker, end of story. Strangled him till the lights went out, beat him till his skull caved in and brains into mush, whatever - if it had been _me_ Jay, Bruce would have done it, no hesitation whatsoever, and that's why, no matter how good you get, or whatever Bruce wants from you, to reconnect, say "I'm so fucking sorry", I don't give a flying fuck - understand this: you'll always be second rate, Jay, _always_. So my advice, though its probably wasted on you, would be this: quit while you're ahead. Cut your losses, pick up your big boy pants, and move on. Forget whatever B's said, all of it, Tim. Don't be silly, the kid's only reaching out to you because he think's I'm unavailable, but as soon as Tim realises that I've always been there, and will always love him, as soon as he _comes to his senses_ , he'll drop you quicker that you can blink. Damian hates you anyway, so need to worry about that. Just go, Jay. Go, and leave us in peace."

Jason felt numb all over, and he closed his eyes, the words drowning into him. _Perhaps it would be better that he left, once and for all_.

For a blessed moment, there was silence, and then the voice started again, but stronger, the taunting more cruel, and the next round left him dazed.

"Diana, the woman you call Mother?"

Jason froze.

The voice laughed bitterly. 

"What, you thought I wouldn't mention her? _Mother?_ " Another laugh. "Nonsense, she merely tolerated the term. The thought of your prostituted self touching her snowy white skin made her _sick_ to her very stomach. You, a dark skinned, used, second-hand turned out piece of meat, dare to align yourself with the woman that is Ms _Diana Prince_ , _the_ Wonder Woman, fair and lovely, fresh, untainted, pure, the very embodiment of strength - you, her _son_? Don't be so foolish, boy! At best, you were dust in her presence; the only reason why she permitted you in such near proximity was due to her love for Bruce - it was a favour for him, to him, to appease him, _not_ because she loved you, oh heavens _no_ -"

"She did- _Diana_ -she _does_ love me, she _does_ -" Jason's voice was strained, and his eyes welled, throat tight.

The voice clucked uncaringly. "Dearest child, you are highly mistaken. Even now, how you can pretend and lie to yourself everyday that the two of you have some sort of connection - _pathetic_. When you were at odds with the bats, with the League, where was she? Diana is _Wonder Woman_ for goodness sake - she could have located you anytime she wanted, and _yet_ \- she never came, did she? Never approached you, never held you, didn't wipe your tears as your stinking self lay wretchedly in the darkness - is that the behaviour of a _Mother_ , Jason? Is it?"

Jason sobbed.

"And if Diana certainly isn't your Mother, what makes you think _Talia al Ghul_ is? Heir to the Demon head, strong, powerful - and what, cares for you? _Loves you_? Spare me your dramatics, you have been living in deceit for far too long and its time you face reality. You disgraced her, time and time again. Your failures, failure to improve, to mature, too emotionally driven, unstable - you are _unfit_ to be anything less than an abed, a _slave_ -" The voice was now hardened, laced with venomous fury, and Jason recognisied the change instantly, belonging to one who'd reinforced his status as _less than nothing_ , a _tool_ at best, a shameful thing, for Talia, pure-blooded royalty, to associate herself to-

 _Ra's al Ghul_.

"You _fool_." The older male hissed. "Stupid, useless, incompetent fool- I should have _killed_ you when I had the chance. If not for my daughter and her misplaced sympathy, I should have had your disobedient head on my mantle years ago. You were always too stubborn, unstable, disrespectful of your place - and let me reiterate - your place is not alongside my daughter, my grandson, whom, despite Talia's efforts to distance him, is _still_ my rightful heir. We are untainted, purest of class, one of the oldest legacies in the world, for centuries now, and the gall, the cheek, the filth, that you, piss-trodden dirt of the lowest kind, مزراب الفئران, عبد أسود, can dare to think yourself anything more than a heel for our purposes? _Maddness_." The tone was spiteful, hate-filled, and Jason curled into himself, bracing for blows, as he would have done before another one of Ra's disgusting speeches. "Understand this, boy - at best, you are something we can use, nothing more. You-there is no appropriate place for you other than the _lowest_ in my empire, and even then, you are more than disposable. I kept you alive partly due to my own lapse in judgement, which Talia managed to exploit to assuage her guilt - Were she not as resourceful and cunning as she is, I would have sentenced accordingly, yes Jason, my own daughter! After all that whipping and re-trainng, still, she failed to let you go. The moment her stance towards you changed, from project, to pet, to showing something akin to empathy, _love_ ,-" the voice spat. "-Talia soiled herself. She became less than, infected with meaningless things, misplaced priorities, such a shame, a shameful thing, disgracing our name, the Empire-"

Jason trembled, eyes round and wet, as the black shapes wrapped their tendrils around the railings of his bed. He opened his mouth to yell, to scream even, but with sinking horror, found that he could not move. His muscles were stiff, frozen, as if locked down and chained to the bed, and something heavy coiled around his throat, making it hard to breathe.

"I _hate_ you." A quiet, cool voice spoke now, and Jason, for a moment, was shocked into silence.

His chest thudded to a stop, and it was as if everything had, for a split second, ceased to exist.

"I _HATE_ YOU, and more-more than anything, I wish you'd never come back, Jason." Tim's voice was sharp, and Jason felt a fresh wave of tears cascade down his cheeks.

"Tim...of _God_ , no, Tim, please you can't-" Jason pleaded, but the voice huffed, the sound jarring, and he flinched.

"You think I could ever forgive you, after what you did to me? To the family? The hell you put us through, beating me almost to death, all those horrible names you called me - _replacement_ \- even though I was _better_ , sharper, and _at least didn't manage to get myself killed_? All the lies, the hurt, all the shit you spewed over and over again, a crybaby, attention seeking little boy crying out for _Daddy_ , "look at me, Daddy", causing all sorts, and for what? Didn't Bruce give up on you, in the end? That you were too far gone, too much to handle, unsalvageable - he saw the light Jason, and he wisened up before it was too late! It was the _best_ decision that man has ever made, and now you're _back_ , back again." The voice hissed. "I-I was only in contact with you to monitor what you were doing, not because I actually _cared_ , God no." A sly laugh. "We had to know what to prepare for, so I kept track of you. Keep your friends close and enemies closer, Jay. Don't you get it? You're the black sheep, the caution, the warning we get before going out each night - "stay close, pay attention, or else." You're the _mistake_ Jay, the one that shouldn't have happened, the never event, but that was because of _you_ , not Bruce or anyone else. _You_ chose to play dirty, _You_ chose to do things your own way, ruthless and mean, disobeying Bruce, fighting with him, not obeying orders. _You_ pushed Garzonas over the roof - don't lie, we all know you did, it was in your nature even back then, to be unstable, angry, violent, and nothing's changed now. This sense of control you _think_ you've established over the years is nothing but a damn ass lie, a web of deceit you've spun yourself because you're so full of _shit_ , spineless, afraid to confront the fact that you're a fucking _mess_ , a _burden_ , and that life would be better if you just went, once and for all." The voice was final, determined.

Jason cried.

"What a nightmare, Todd." A younger, spiteful voice began. 

"Oh God, Damian, I _swear_ to you, on my life that had I known who you were, I would _never_ -" Jason whispered, begging, but the voice cut him off.

"Never what, Todd?" The voice moved, as if Damian himself was circling round the bed, and it made Jason feel dizzy. "Shot me in the chest? Killed me? Had father almost driven to maddness yet again because you were behaving like a child, seeking his attention, a grown man like you. Grandfather is right, you truly are a disgrace. Weak, a misguided _fool_. Father...pities you, not love, not want - he _pities_ you, Todd, because your very existence is proof of his failure as the Batman, a stain on his otherwise blemish-free record. Grayson despises you. Drake merely tolerates you, and that is only because he is jealous of Grayson preferring me over him, as he rightly should. The sooner he accept the change, the better. As for me, Todd?" The voice was young, but so filled with venom, and Jason bowed his head, heavy and full of grief.

"The one you call _akhi_ , little brother - and yet you hurt me, Todd. You came after me, intending to hurt Grayson, Father - countless times, and you shot me, right in the chest, designed to kill me, and don't tell me otherwise. You - listen Todd - you are nothing less than a barbarian. A foulsome, vile creature, who ought to be put down. You should have remained in that grave of yours, stuck there, buried, and kept away from us, from Mother. Mother does not love you - she does not cherish you, nor does your presence make her happy. Understand Todd, that you are simply an investment. A weapon, that Grandfather wanted to utlise for the use of the League, for his own purposes at best, but Mother derailed those plans by sending you away. Nevertheless, you are an expensive project and that is all you will ever be - a tool to be manipulated, to weld, to strike, and once finished, to be stored away, out of sight. Mother's lack of reigning you in, as well as your tendency to become emotionally driven, is what has led to all this mess over the years, the fighting, all of it. Had I behaved even a tenth of the way you did, when I was back with the League - I would have been severely punished. Your behaviour refects your stunted, immature growth - this cover, the illusion of having things "together", being stable and in control - it is a _lie_ Todd, a front, to convince yourself that you are better, but we can see through it. Kent does too, only out of pity. He is well within his rights to smite you right where you lay. I don't care what Father or Diana says, not Mother and her affection for you, or whatever she designs to call it - you are, and will forever be, nothing but at nuisance, Todd. A shadow. A stain. You are _not_ part of this family, and you will never, _ever_ be my brother. _Never_."

Jason rolled onto his side, strength leaving him.

"I'm afraid he's right, Jason." 

The voice-no, _voices_ \- were low, soothing, almost caring, and Jason felt his eyelids grow heavy, spent with exhaustion.

"You're not my friend, Jason. An inconvenience at best-" Clark tutted, wrinkling his nose at him, and next to him Bruce looked away in shame.

"A son I never wanted-"

"A murderous criminal who dragged my name through the mud, who killed without trial and justice, who put strain on my relationship with my best friend-"

"My failure, a personal affront-"

"That we could ever-you're mistaken, Jason, if you think I've ever cared about you. I called you _street rat_ for a reason, because that's what you are, and why Bruce would associate himself with such low calibre baffled me-

"I regret taking you in. You were disobedient, angry, uncontrollable, and failed to measure up, in ever sense of the word. If not for Alfred, I would have sent you back to social services a long time ago-"

"Unstable-"

"Unfitting-"

"Troubled-"

"Unreliable solider-"

"Not even our last resort-"

"Only when convenient, and for the shortest time possible-"

Jason lay stock still, too tired to fight any more.

" _You are not my grandson._ "

That one left him shattered, then numb again. 

The elderly voice lacked its usual warmth. "I took you into my home, my family, and this is how you repay me? Terrorising the man who looked after you with pity, almost killing my other boys, and you think monthly visits, long phonecalls and gifts can buy my forgiveness? Help me forget? Sweep it all under the rug? You're mistaken, my boy. Truly mistaken. I am ashamed of you, of everything you've become, of the things you choose to do, and that is why I have yet to visit you, for the sight of you makes me quite ill. I am not yours, and you will never be mine."

On and on it continued, and Jason lay there, listening. He didn't have the energy to fight back, even though he knew they were his darkest fears coming to light, doubts feeding on his imagination, but that was the thing about doubts, fears, lies even - they all held an element of em>truth in them, no matter how tiny, and Jason felt another surge of welling at his eyes, that why, _why_ did he have to come back, to face _this_ again, eyes opening, then shutting, drifting, hazy until-

 

 

" _Sir? Mr Perez?_ "

A slight shaking on his knee had Jason snapping his eyes open, panicked, looking around at his surroundings. It was light, though the sky outside showed a slight pinkness - ah, somewhere around dawn then. His eyes flickered to and fro before focusing on three set of eyes. Some sort of look passed between them, and then they reached out to him again. Jason, in the midst of his confusion and half dreaming, tried to bat at the looming arms, the crowding, feeling trapped, and his distress was caught on the monitors, heart rate spiking.

"Sir, Mr Perez, please-"

"We're only trying to do our best-"

"Just relax, Jay, everything's alright-"

But Jason only grew more scared, and he fought harder now, shaking, struggling, voices in the background, and then a voice stepped into his midst, halting the commotion altogether.

" _Jason._ Its me."

Jason remained frozen, arms in the air. 

He knew that voice. That low, sultry voice, smooth and warm, comforting and lulling. The same voice that had rocked him to sleep on countless nights, washing away at yet another round of whipped flesh and medieval torture. Hair that smelled like jasmine, whose chest held him centered, hands that were entwined in his as they would thumb over his knuckles gently, that praised him in one ear, kissing sweaty locks and-and-

 _Talia_.

He must have looked like a cartoon really, frozen in the air, but his mind was on pause.

 _Talia_.

Mo- _no_ , not _that_ , the voices whispered. " _She did this, she made you a promise and she broke it, and now you have to deal with us, all over again-"_.

" _Get out._ " Jason's mouth was open and speaking before he even realised it, and he clamped his mouth shut, shocked at himself. 

The room was silent.

Talia was staring at him. 

Jason opened his mouth again, and then closed it. 

The air was thick, deadly, tense enough that the nurses were slowly moving backwards, seeing how the young mans eyes and the Ice bitch were _locked_ on one another. They retreated out of the room, watching as the young man slowly sat back on his pillow, but his eyes were _fierce_ , and the intensity they radiated was frightening.

Talia had yet to move from her position, directly facing him. Jason continued looking at her, loving and _in_ love, just a little, angry, so very _hurt_ by her betrayal, furious in fact, yet _Talia_ , Mo-mo-his mind couldn't supplied the term, not right now with his rage bubbling under the surface, and he closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. He could hear Talia moving quietly towards the door, shutting it, the blinds turning, presumably to give them some privacy, and so he waited, waited until she was done before opening his eyes. She was perched at the foot of his bed now, one hand close to his ankle, and they stared at one another, Jason wanting to say everything and nothing at the same time, Talia, whose eyes were soft, reading and understanding how he felt, at her actions, which was why she hadn't moved closer.

"You said you'd never." His voice was hoarse, croaky, but Jason ignored it, eyes never leaving his front.

Talia looked away, then down, then placed a hand on his ankle.

He jerked it away, and the movement caused her eyes to shut. _Good_ , he thought, but he couldn't stop the little voice at the back of his mind rebuking him.

"I did." Talia eventually spoke, voice careful but strained.

"You....you promised me." Jason continued, voice bitingly quiet. "You said, that night, when I was close to collapsing after puking my guts out, that you would never put me through this again. I hadn't slept in days, could barely speak, my head hurt like _mad_ , and T-"

In one swift motion, Jason grabbed her wrist, _hard_ , watching as Talia tried to hide her flinch, but he applied more pressure, slowly enraged. "Talia, you promised me that you wouldn't. I trusted you, and I believed you, because you were _there_ , seeing what it took to struggle through the pain, the torment. And now, here we are, having to go through this shit _yet again_." He still hadn't raised his voice, and that made him even more threatening.

"I couldn't lose you, Jason." Talia's voice was a little above a whisper. Part of him hated himself, for hearing her like this, clearly hurt, but the other half didn't care.

He _hmmed_ , the sound bitter, wringing her hand slightly. "You couldn't lose me. So, despite my own feelings, my thoughts on the matter, knowing what I myself would have to go through- regardless, you ignored my request in favour of yours, is that it?" Jason pulled the woman closer, and now she was by his thigh, staring at him, naked fear on her face.

"Jason please, I-"

He shook his head, letting out a smile, but it was a predatory one, he knew, sharp, _dangerous_ , and Talia saw it too. He shifted her closer, iron grip, that their faces were only inches apart, and placed his right hand low her waist, despite the sharpness in her eyes. He drew her in, enough that he spoke into her ear, thumb slightly moving down the curve of her ribs, and this time, he let his anger bleed into his voice, her hair spilling onto his chest.

"After all we've been through, what I went through, and still, you didn't give me the decency of respecting my wishes." Jason's chest was pounding, and Talia turned to him so that their noses were touching at the tips. "What was it that made you do it, hmm? Wanted me all to yourself? To rub Bruce's face in it, again? Or were you that insecure, afraid to lose the only person who loves you without fanfare or condition or what you have or can do? Tell me, Talia? Was this what you've always wanted? _More_? What _he_ couldn't give you- am I his replacement, then? Seems to be a thing with you lot." 

His voice was deliberately soft, eyes locked on hers, reading the rage, before deliberately looking down at her chest which was heaving in anger, then sensuously at her neck, finally resting on the pout of her lips, smirking, then moved the hand by her waist slowly down, to the edge of her pelvis, thumb firm. Jason dared to move closer, catching the jasmine, knowing Talia was furious with what he was doing, _insinuating_ , and his voice was a growl now, mouth brushing her skin at the corner of her lips, _almost_ , closer than many had been."Couldn't or wouldn't? Didn't care? Just wanted your little pet project back in stock, to use as you please? Like Ra's? Trying to make up for him making me a slave, T, his faithful lapdog? What is it you want, Talia? How _exactly_ can I be of _service_ to you, not that I'd have any objectio-"

He knew it was coming, but it hurt all the same. 

The slap had his head slamming back into the pillow with a stuttering thud, and he held his throbbing cheek lightly, staring at Talia, whose eyes were blazing with _fire_ , before she dug her nails by the side of his jaw _hard_ , forcing him to look at her.

"Don't. you. _ever_ , in your life, do that again, **never.** " Her voice was venomous, and she tightened her grip even more, blood dribbling down his neck. "Never again, in your life Jason, are we clear?"

Jason refused to answer.

Talia slapped him again, enough that her nails skimmed his cheek, and the sensation left the skin stinging. " _Answer me, child._ " She hissed.

" _Yes_." His teeth were gritted, and one could hear the seething in his voice.

Talia looked at him once more, searching his eyes, before softening her grip on his jaw. Jason tried to jerk his head out of her grasp but she held on, daring him to disobey. He held her glare, then looked away, swallowing. Her gaze was still on him, and Jason knew she was trying to compose herself. He swallowed again- if not for his current state, she would have dealt with him severely for pulling that stunt on her. Talia allowed him to joke about his attraction to her, teasing, knowing it wasn't serious, the flirting part of his charm, that he wouldn't do anything, but he'd taken it too far this time, putting actual moves on her like that. It was clear Talia was not only angry, but upset.

"I'm sorry." Jason spoke quietly.

Talia still said nothing, but she let go of his jaw.

"T-Talia, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I-I know, you'd never..I'm sorry." His throat was tight, and he moved his hand slightly, to brush her fingers, willing her to understand, but she didn't reciprocate. "I'm angry and hurt, at having to deal with the Pit again after...after things really seemed to be looking up, but I get it, I-"

"Do you, now?" Her voice was acidic, and Jason closed his eyes at the tone. He opened his mouth to speak again but she continued, eyes flashing.

"Have you any idea, Jason, what is was like for me being unable to reach you? Timothy, who was beside himself with worry when you failed to return his calls? We couldn't track you, nor locate you, and part of the delay in rescuing you was down to _me_ respecting _your_ wishes not to be tabbed. That you wanted this work for yourself, something that was _yours_ and yours alone, and I understood that, even though it pained me that I'd have no way of knowing for sure, where you were, your well-being, whether you were eating well, or getting enough sleep. That myself and Timothy, along with many others, have almost torn ourselves apart looking for you, reaching you, only to find you _gone_ Jason. That I-I met you lifeless, gone, your brother devastated beyond words, and it was-it was as if time had stood still."

There were tears in Talia's eyes, and Jason felt his stomach hollow, that _he_ had done this. He took her hand fully, apologising, but she shook her head, still angry, and jerked her hand away.

"Even when I wept over you, my son, my child, قوة وقوة شرسة من الألغام, when I held your skin next to mine, wanting to hear that heartbeat but knowing it was gone - still, I stayed. I-"

Talia paused, turning away, wiping her hands, and Jason tried again, reaching her face, and she allowed him this time, to wipe away her tears. They were mad at each other, but no matter what, the love was there. She held his palm to her face, voice low.

"I...I wanted to respect your wishes, Jason, truly. I understand your anger, your resentment. But....seeing the faces of everyone- Timothy, Clark....Bruce, Ms Prince-"

Jason closed his eyes at hearing Diana's name.

"I couldn't Jason. I...We only...after so long, all the efforts, and you were finally happy, stable...enjoying life, with a purpose, only to lose it all over again... it..it wasn't fair, Jason. Not at all." Talia shook her head, tears leaking into his palm, and Jason brought her towards himself, head on his chest, taking her hand. She stretched out fully on the bed by his side, the bed big enough for two people, murmuring quietly. "Your brother....he was distraught....he asked me, if there was any chance, any way of bringing you back, and I told him _no_ , that I couldn't break my promise to you, that you wouldn't want that."

Jason stilled, resting his head on Talia's.

She'd told him _no_ , even after knowing how close they were? 

_Damn_. 

That had to have hurt his brother.

 _God, Tim_.

He _had_ to see him.

"But when I saw him, Jason....he looked _dead_. Absolutely lost, unfocused, as if his mind was far away, and part of me suspected that the boy would try to harm himself sooner rather than later. I know it sounds selfish Jason and it is, but....I couldn't let you go, I didn't want Timothy to...." Talia paused here, shifting, making herself comfortable on him, and she reached up to wipe away the blood trailing at his neck. "Clark saw me."

Jason felt his eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. " _Clark_? You-You're serious?" His voice was full of disbelief, and Talia nodded against his chest.

"Yes. He watched me inject the vials."

"And what, he didn't stop you?"

"No, he didn't. My guess is that he was rather conflicted, but he made no efforts to prevent me from doing so. At one point, he even nodded."

Jason didn't know what to say to that. Shit, even _Clark_ had wanted him back, _that badly?_

He blew out a breath. "He...he visited me, last night."

That had Talia surprised, and she looked up at him, curious. He nodded down at her, kissing her forehead slightly, his way of apologising, but though Talia tutted, still hurt, she didn't move away. "He was reading the three musketeers, and I finally got tired of his voice impressions and told him how shit he was."

Talia's chuckle was low. Not quite forgiving. "I imagine that must have been quite a shock."

Jason smiled. "Yeah, it was."

For a moment, neither of them said anything, and then Talia spoke, voice muffled.

"He cares for you."

Jason swallowed. "Yeah. I...we kinda went through some shit back on Xan, and we remained in touch afterwards. Honestly he's....he's pretty cool, actually. You're not mad?"

He didn't have to look at her to know one eyebrow was currently raised. "Why would I be angry? I was interested to know why, of course, but seeing him with you...I do not believe he means any harm, much the opposite in fact."

Jason grinned. _Mother's approval at best_. "We were gonna go to the festival of light when shit popped off."

Talia swatted his arm lightly at the language, and he stifled a chuckle. "I'd....I'd like to go, after. When....when I get better." He paused figuring out how to say it, before going for it. "T, its-its begun. Mostly in the dark when I'm trying to sleep, but it won't be long until it tries takes over during the day".

"Voices?"

"Voices, hallucinations here and there, but the voices are the worst."

Talia said nothing for a while. "You haven't slept, have you?"

"Barely. I'm agitated, drowsy, tired, and..." He sighed. "I can't be in here much longer. People are gonna get hurt. How..how are you guys concealing-"

"Timothy. He gained access into the hospital mainframe and has removed the abnormalities that lazarus causes in your bloodwork. For all intents and purposes, you are a medical miracle, but without demonstrable proof."

Jason chuckled. "Is he around? I need to see him. And...Diana? Would you mind if, if I saw her? I mean, she's-you're-you two are really important to me, I know you don't like her T but I'd really like to-"

"Hush child. Timothy is around, but has several video conferences lined up until later today. You will see them later." Jason noted she hadn't disagreed about not liking Diana, and glancing down, he saw that her jaw was clenched.

He decided not to push any further.

For a few minutes, there was quiet.

"I'm...I'm still mad, T. Not that I'm alive, I'm thankful for that. It's just having to deal with the Pit again that's really grinding up my gears, you know? I'm sorry, for earlier. I...the voices tell me a whole lot otherwise, about you lot, your intentions, what you really think about me, and I'm trying to fight it, but in this state, I..I'm not sure-"

Talia turned his face to look at her, and her voice was gentle. "You are not alone, Jason. Whatever you are facing, we will do it together, you have my word. You have overcome the effects before, you can do so again, and that's why I did what I did. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't have, but I knew you could do it. Remember, you were young the first time round, with significant brain damage, a...painful last memories, and I didn't have time to calculate how much of the Pit would be adequate. But, you've grown since then. Despite this, and all that went on in the Amazonian camp, you're in a better position than before, and we can use that as a foundation to build you up once again. Do not give up on yourself, for we will not give up on you."

Jason's throat hurt, and tears sprang to his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling, cursing onions, and Talia laughed. "Won't...Ra's, he'll know-"

"Let me take care of that. For now, your priority is to rest and get better." Her voice was firm.

Jason closed his eyes, waiting for the welling to subside. "I.." He worked his jaw, uncertain. "Bruce...I overheard him, once."

Talia stilled beside him. 

"He....he was saying some shit about a second chance, wanting to get to know me, apologising or what not." He kept his voice neutral.

"Oh." Talia's voice was carefully measured. "And what are your thoughts, Jason?"

Jason said nothing for a while. He knew how Talia felt in regards to Bruce, but as for him? 

It was too much, _way_ too fast, and he didn't think he wanted anything more than what was already in place, with Diana. The man wanted a second chance, but why now? Because he nearly-no, _did_ die? Is that what it took to get the man to his senses after all these years - him nearly dying to realise he'd fucked up somewhere along the line? Had his own feelings towards the man changed? Jason thought about it.

 _No_. They hadn't really.

He'd asked after Bruce once or twice, just out of mere politeness. He knew Tim must have picked up on it, but the boy had yet to make any comment. Tim and Talia, Alfred, they'd been there, during his meltdowns - without those three, he'd have been dead a long time ago, and looking at it now, Jason didn't think Bruce understood what he was actually asking. Being involved once again meant _all_ of it, not just the bits he liked, or that which worked well for him. Through hell, fire, water, the lot of it - the good, the bag, the ugly, shameful, the things that made him curl up in embarrassment - was Bruce willing to go through all that, willing to push and challenge him like Talia, call him out on his bullshit like Tim, remain patient and understanding, yet correcting where necessary, like Alfred? 

Was he?

 _No_. Jason didn't think so.

"I...For now, I don't think its a good idea." Jason started, not missing the relief in Talia's shoulders. "I...I dunno how to feel about what he said, and in my eyes, for the most part...things are still exactly the same as before. Him, over there, and me, here, living our lives, happy. I think....if there was ever a chance, then...not now, but he'd have to prove himself, and I really do mean prove it, that he's not gonna just, I dunno, call time when its too much. Don't get me wrong, its, um, good I suppose, that he wants to start afresh, but for now, that's all its gonna be, an acknowledgement. I...what do you think, T?"

Talia hmmed. "I have my ....reservations, putting it lightly. If it were truly up to me, Jason....there would be very little, if any at all, contact between you two. You would be by my side at all times, where I can see you, or at least monitor you. However, you are a grown man, and are more than capable of making your own choices. Understand this: you are my _son_ , _mine_ , and no-one can take that away from me, not even him. I... with time, should you chose to reach out, then I would understand, but I will never like it. Clark however, I do approve of." Her voice was a little smug at the end, and Jason laughed aloud. 

"You really do like him, don't you?" He teased, drawing the woman close, but Talia _hmpfed_ , not answering, and he laughed again.

"He's married, y'know."

"To the Lane woman? Pity. He could do better." Her tone was snooty.

Jason gave her a _look_ , not surprised that she knew. "Don't be like that, T. They're like toffee and pie, good together."

"She is a good journalist, I'll give her that." Her nose was in the air.

Jason gave her another look, shaking his head. "Al Ghul code for _excellent_ you mean."

Talia _hmpfed_ again, and Jason simply smiled. "I'm gonna get the same treatment if I ever get serious with a girl, aren't I."

"Of course. She will need my permission before anything can continue. Our standards are high, after all. You are a reflection of me, and she will be of you, therefore, she must not disappoint, in anyway shape or form." Talia spoke as if it were obvious.

Jason laughed again, slapping a palm to his face. "What have I let myself in for?" He groaned, the sound fond and Talia looked up at him, a smirk on her face.

"Now you know how _I_ feel." She gave him a look, and Jason understood now, that no matter what the Pit said, what Ra's said-

Talia wasn't going anywhere.

Jason blushed fiercely, looking away.

"We-I need to get out of here. If we're gonna do this, then...my friends, the-what happened-" His voice was low, and he twisted his fingers a little. Talia took hold of them for a moment.

"I am already making the arrangements. Do not fret, we will fight this, and you shall overcome. Worry not about your friends, they have received my message, and as for your work, I have taken care of the necessary matters."

Jason looked at her sharply. "I thought you didn't keep tabs-"

"A message on web, coded." Talia took out her phone, showing him the evidence, and Jason could see the replies from his friends, asking if he was okay, safe. Talia had kept the message brief, short, that as soon as he was able, he would contact them personally, but for now, he, their friend, was under private care, with his family.

"Can I-"

"No. Not until you rest properly." She put the device in her pocket, ignoring Jason's frown.

"But-"

"If you ever want to go back to work Jason, then you will do as I say, and _listen to me_. All I am doing is in your best interests, and because I love you. Now-" She swung her legs off the bed, and smoothing the sheets, his hair, kissed his forehead, looking right into his eyes.

"It is still early. Rest, you shall have a number of visitors soon. Then I will bathe you-"

Jason's eyes snapped open. " _WHAT_? Oh _hell no_ , absolutely _not_ T, nuh-huh, you _can't_ -"

She ignored him, fluffing his pillows. "I have been doing so already without complaint for the last few days, and I will continue to do so until otherwise. I am your Mother, am I not?

"Yeah, but T! I'm a grown man, you-you _can't_! Oh sweet baby Jesus, I can't _believe_ -"

"I can and I will. Until you can independently feed, clothe and wash yourself, then I will-"

"T! Please don't, I'm begging you-oh God, _God_ no, the nurses will do it, just don't alright-" 

"It is nothing I haven't seen before Jason, perfectly natural-

"Jesus, don't make it worse for me, just thinking about it-" He squirmed, crossing his legs, not wanting to go there.

Talia had one eyebrow quirked at Jason's flushed face, and she crossed her arms, wanting an explanation.

Jason groaned loudly, face heating up. "I...I dunno whether you've noticed-" He sighed into his palms, not wanting to make eye contact. "You're a very, _very_ beautiful woman; heck, why am I asking - you know it for sure, I sure as heck know it, which really doesn't help in the grand scheme of things, a young, hot-blooded man that I definitely am, _and_ you're my Ma because life has to be unfair like that, don't worry, I know. But still, it...it won't help...it won't stop me... _reacting_ to you, if you get me drift."

Honestly he couldn't look her in the eye, face hot, not with the stunt he'd pulled on her earlier.

For a moment, there was silence, and Jason dared to peek at Talia, who was staring back at him, an amused expression on his face. He groaned again, eliciting a fond huff from the woman.

"Fine. As you wish."

Jason flopped back onto his pillows dramatically. "Thank Christ for that." He muttered.

Talia swatted his foot in response. "Try and sleep, Jason. I have some calls to make."

He _hmfed_ as Talia's light chuckle drifted out of the room.

He knew, as well as she did, that sleep wasn't going to come easy.

 _As for your work, I have taken care of the necessary matters_ \- Talia code for 'I've taken care of the clean-up, but those fuckers are yours to go after.' Forgiving her would take time, they both knew it -going against his expressed consent would certainly come up again between them, especially when the Pit would take full effect-, but she'd partly made up for her betrayal by giving him this opportunity to get his revenge, his lead in, an incentive to get better, a task at hand, to focus through the pain, the torment, to get stronger and work towards, and Jason stared at the ceiling, willing his eyes shut. It wouldn't be for a while though, a couple of months maybe, the traffickers- they'd want to re-group, build another base of operations after the scare, heck the Ghosts would probably want some time apart before getting back to things, but eventually all sides would resume their activity, and when those scumbags were up and properly running, he and his team would unleash _vengeance_ on them all.

He was going to kill every last one of those bastards, come hell or high water.

 

 

 _A couple of hours later_.

"And? What happened next? You can't just leave me hanging like that!" Jason slurped on his milkshake, turning to his visitor with wide, hopeful eyes, pouting. They'd been talking for _hours_ now, flooding the sheets with tears and hugs, huggy tears, _I love you_ and _my boy_ exchanged frequently, and now they were eating all sorts of sugary junk, about to catch up on one of their favourite shows.

Beside him, Diana laughed, her long legs outstretched over his, and cosied herself further into his chest. Jason held back a wince and let her coddle him; he'd missed his Mom far too much to let a little pain stop him. He buried his face in her hair, catching a hint of vanilla and something orangey.

" _Jason_." Her big blues stared up at him, teasing, and Jason found himself lost in her gaze, just for a moment. He snapped out of it and planted a kiss on her nose, a distraction to stop him going down _that_ route, and Diana only eyed him before laughing, knowing exactly what he was doing.

"Gotta help me out here." He muttered fondly, ears red, and she gave him another look before settling, cheeks pink. 

"As you wish." Diana shifted, tossing her hair over his shoulder, and Jason rolled his eyes act the action. _Drama queen_ , but he'd never say it aloud.

"So. Bree marries Orson-" 

Jason gasped. " _No_ -" he breathed.

Diana nodded, eyes gleaming. "She does. He's involved with a murder of some sort throughout the season."

Jason's eyes bugged out. "I knew that curtain-haired creep was up to no good, looking like a goddamn waxed bug and all, Madame Tussauds bullshit."

Diana burst out laughing. "He's not _that_ bad, Jason!"

Jason stared at her.

"I mean, he's got the-"

Jason continued to stare at her.

"Fine, that haircut does not do him any favours." She conceded, blushing.

"A whole lot more than that but alright. Continue babe, then what." Jason smirked.

"Okay. Tom has a daughter from another woman and he wants to open a pizzeria." 

Jason rolled his eyes. "Two timing schmuck. Lynette is such a nag, to be fair, but who wouldn't be, with that lazy ass husband of hers. Next."

"Gabrielle and Carlos decide to get divorced-"

"They're not working things out?" 

Diana took another spoonful of ice-cream before responding. "No. It's a shame, I think they are rather suited to each other."

Jason had to agree there. "How bad does it get?"

"Ugly. Very spiteful, but its clear the hate is in response to love. They sleep together a few times." Her voice was thoughtful before scooping another and placing it in Jason's mouth.

"How about Edie? I really like her." Jason's mouth was an o-shape, the ice-cream far too cold for his tongue and Diana laughed, blowing, fanning his mouth. Her leg moved, dislodging the various treats around them; strawberries, chocolates, a type of fudgecake, and the laptop on the folding table across the bed, season 4 of _desperate housewives_ ready for watching.

"Edie makes a move on Mike."

Jason's raised an eyebrow, deciding. "My girl can do so much better, its not even a joke."

"She really is your favourite, isn't she?" Diana held up a strawberry. Jason gave her a look, and she huffed, bending down to dip the treat in chocolate and a dollop of whipped cream, before feeding him.

"Heck yeah. I mean, apart from Gabrielle, God, what a spice, gorgeous. But Edie's been through so much and the other housewives are constantly on her tits-" He tried to duck from Diana's swat but failed. "-all the damn time, I swear they're just jealous. Even in real life, I shouldn't have even looked but apparently there was a lot of backstage drama going on at the time, and the rest of the cast decided to gang up against her like a flock of birds or some shit. Really felt for her, you know?"

Diana angled her head at him, understanding. Jason leaned in to flick her chin, earning himself a smile. "Don't look at me like that. You know its true."

Diana smiled but said nothing for a moment, then brought him closer, wrapping her hand around is. "You are not an outsider in this family, Jason. You are _loved_ , truly."

Jason said nothing to that. He didn't quite believe her, not after a lot of things in the past, but he looked at her, memorising, and then very deliberately, scooped a little ice-cream with his finger, and shakily dotted it on her nose. "Cant even eat ice-cream without messing the whole place up Di, honestly, you've gotta work on your social etiquette skills." It was deliberate evasion of the topic, they both knew it, and Diana allowed the change, though her look was pointed, and her voice high when she realised what exactly he did, the wet sensation cold on her nose, having been successfully distracted.

"Jason!" Diana attempted to wipe the ice-cream but Jason moved in quickly, clumsily, and with his nose, smeared it across the bridge of hers, laughing. "Oh man, what did I do _now_? Ignoring her laughter, he sighed loudly. "Now I've got to clean it all up, and I wonder _how._ " His voice was sneaky, a glint in his eye, and Diana knew exactly what he was planning to do, swatting him, red faced, pushing him away weakly and now they were laughing loudly, writhing on the bed, till a voice cut the fun short.

"Oh! Excus-my apologies."

They froze momentarily before turning to the sound.

It was one of the nurses, Florence or so, Jason couldn't remember, and she stood red faced, not quite able to look at them.

Jason stared back, confused, and then realised why.

Diana's legs were tangled across his, his face close to her chest and _oh_ , lets not even mention _that_ , nope, nor _that_ either.

Diana fake coughed, and attempted to straighten herself out to regain a semblance of order, smoothing her hair, but Jason looked directly at the nurse, a big smile on his face.

"This is _exactly_ what it looks like-"

"Jason!" Diana half shouted, face deeply red, a slight warning in her voice, but his grin only widened as he looked back at her, ever so innocent.

"It's nothing too urgent, just to check-shall I come back later-" The nurse was already turning away, a half smile on her face.

"No, of course not, I'll-" Diana started moving, trying to gather things, but Jason decided to make it worse.

" _Yes_ , if you can. We were in the middle of some very important busine-"

"Great Hera, Jason!" Now Diana's tone really was sharp, but Jason could detect her lips struggling to maintain a horizontal line, and because he was _Jason Todd_ , the pusher of buttons, he went for it.

" _We_ were just catching up-" And he plants a kiss on Diana's already red cheek. "-in the best way possible."

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

The nurse dashed out of the room, a hand to her mouth, and Jason didn't hold back his laughter, even as Diana swatted him over and over again with a pillow. 

"Harder!" He cried, and it caught Diana off guard, enough that she snorted, then laughed loudly, hiding her face in her hands, thoroughly embarrassed.

"I can't _believe_ you, Jason." Diana's shook her head, and Jason put an arm around her, kissing her head tenderly.

"Better believe it, cause I'm back baby." His voice was soft, and Diana removed one hand to look at him, her gaze full of love.

They stare at each other like that for a few seconds, but to Jason, its far longer than that.

"Never again, Jason. We...I almost....I lost you-" She swallowed, then looked away, voice hitching slightly. Diana attempted to speak again, but wiped her eyes instead, and Jason moved now, tucking her head under his chin, holding her quietly, understanding.

"For what its worth, I missed you too, Mom. One of....my last thoughts, was about you. Us. That....That I'd never get to see you again. Make you laugh, smile, to dance with you, and it.....the thought alone, it...it finished me." Jason closed his eyes, resting on the bed.

On his chest, Diana nodded, their hands enclasped. She moved their hands, placing a kiss on his, and held them to her chest.

"Mine." Her voice was quiet but fierce at the same time, ever so sure. "You are _mine_ , Jason, _my son._ "

His chest felt like bursting, so instead of speaking, he nodded, eyes blurry, voice thick, and squeezed her hands.

They continued with Desperate Housewives curled into each other.

 

 

 _Late afternoon_.

Bruce took the sight in.

They were fast asleep, chocolates strewn across the bed, laptop close to falling off on one side, one he would move in a minute to a safe place, but for now, he just _looked_ at them.

Hand in hand.

Diana's grip was tight, he could tell, and if he angled his head a little to the left, he could just about make out one hand fisted in Jason's gown, anchoring him to her.

Jason's arm was encirled around Diana, her head on his chest, black hair pooling across the sheets. Apart from the monitors, and the slow moving breaths each of them took, the room was silent and warm. The younger man had deep bags under his eyes, he twitched every now and again, but a tug from Diana somehow reminded him that he wasn't alone, and Jason settled again.

Bruce smiled at the scene.

It was remarkable, really, how much their expressions mirrored each other despite obvious differences, the dip in their noses, slightly indented chin- it truly was, and Bruce stood there a little longer, gazing, wondering if he'd ever get to be this close to Jason one day, to fall asleep together on the sofa whilst watching a movie, have the boy relaxed and feeling safe enough to doze off in his presence.

Bruce swallowed thickly, looking out into the hall, and missed Diana watching him.

He'd been avoiding coming here all day. He wasn't sure why exactly, an element of fear maybe, now that Jason was awake, conscious, talking face to face was extremely daunting, not with those cool green eyes watching his every movement. Talia he knew had been to see him; she'd looked at him, gaze blank, before continuing with her phone call. Tim was due here shortly, the boy had rented one of the conference rooms in his hotel, and by his time now - four thirty eight pm - should be finishing with his last call. Nor had he seen Clark either, and the text he'd sent earlier to the man had been left unread. _Busy then_. He looked back into the room, at the two figures sleeping. Parting of him was desperate, ever so desperate to reach out and touch the boy, not even twenty one yet. To hold his hand and laugh, cry, but now, it-it was so...Bruce didn't know the word, and he remained there, struggling, wondering whether to stay or leave, as he had been the whole day, walking around the hospital, his hotel, down the street, would Jason want to see him, would he, _would he?_. If he did, then by chance - would he allow Bruce to take him home? To care for him there, a second chance? Bruce knew _Tim_ thought he didn't understand but he _did_. He hadn't been there, not like Tim, Talia, there through Jason's worst, but now he had a _chance_ -

A chance to do all that, like _they_ did.

To get Jason back on his feet, to build him up again, help him conqueror his demons, and Bruce had been imaging it for days now, the encouragement he would give as Jason gritted his teeth, working beside him, core muscles, exercising, simulations, pushing and praising, teaching, that Jason would, by spending time together, gradually open up to him a little, and they'd go from there, developing their relationship. Bruce had finally explained the idea to Tim over lunch yesterday, the idea of having Jason around in the Manor - they had all the equipment, resources, they could easily have a private physio and medical team at their beck and call, and the more Bruce spoke, the more excited he felt inside, that they could do this. Jason wouldn't want his old room - the boy had always shunned it on the rare occasions he'd visited the Manor due to Alfred's insistence, but there were plenty of rooms he could take, many that had an adjoining ensuite bathroom. Jason loved reading, and there were at least three libraries full of books and other works for the man to satisfy himself with. If he wanted out, there were the grounds, the garden, cars to tinker with - they could work together maybe, on a project, rebuilding, repolishing, just as he'd always planned to do one day. Tim had sat through lunch not saying much, smiling, but not quite reaching his eyes, and his "that's a good idea, B" were a little weak, faint even, but Bruce hadn't stopped to think _why_ , just why that was, not when he was so already taken with the idea of Jason recovering at the Manor.

It would take some persuading of course, Jason would put up a fight, but if the by gave it thought....it would _work_. They'd focus on his phsycial recovery first and foremost, get him feeling strong and capable again - Jason didn't like coming from a place of vulnerability. The emotional stuff - they'd handle that when the time came to it. He'd need to research thoroughly into Lazarus, how to manage Jason's side effect's - a little voice told him this should have been done years back, but he brushed it aside. Dick wouldn't like it, but Bruce trusted that he wouldn't go out of his way to deliberately make Jason feel unwelcome - the man already spent most of his time in Bludhaven anyway. Damian, he would probably try and provoke Jason, but seeing as Jason held a close connection to his Mother, the boy would be curious no doubt, and try to find out a bit more about their shared past, tempering his anger for the prospect of valuable information. Tim- well, _Tim/_ would love having Jason around, so close - it would draw him back to the Manor again instead of that cold, impersonal Upper East penthouse he spent alone, eating hot noodles. Talia would no doubt try to take Jason away, Bruce explained to Tim, but with Tim's support, Diana, Clark - this could work. Jason could be in the Manor again, a chance to start over, afresh, to mend old woulds and hurts, didn't Tim _see_ that?

But either he didn't notice, or he did, but refused to accept it - Tim had sat through lunch quite still, a little pale, not outright supportive, but not encouraging either. Bruce had left mind in motion, finalisng calls, the arrangements - Alfred had seemed pleased enough, though a little weary, advising him to talk it through with Jason first, Clark he'd kept out of the loop until he was ready, and that's what he was going to do - to reach out to the boy, even though he felt a little sick, and his legs were wobbly with anticipation, later, after Tim's visit-

"Bruce?"

Diana was sat up, looking at him, and she reached out her hand towards him. He moved soundlessly, taking hers in his, drawing her close to his side as she made her way off the bed, and for a while, they stood together, looking at Jason.

 _Their son_.

"He's so beautiful." Diana's murmured, gazing, and Bruce wrapped his arm around her a little tighter, nodding, a small smile on his face.

"He always was."

They said nothing again, and after a few beats, Bruce squeezed her hand. "I...Tim will be up soon, hopefully I'll get a chance to speak with Jason before closing time."

Diana smiled gently. She let go of his hand, and leaned against the wall, watching him as he made his way round the bed, gathering the chocolates to one side, putting away various treats, closing the laptop. Bruce paused by Jason's railing, one hand touching Jason's.

"I...I want him home, Diana. With us."

Diana looked at him carefully. "I want the same, Bruce, but only if Jason agrees. You've also got Talia to think consider-"

"I don't give a damn what she thinks." His voice was close to a snarl. "She kept my two boys away from me, I'll be damned if she gets to do the same again."

Diana walked towards him, resting on his arm. "We will look after him."

"Help me persuade him? He...he won't be receptive to the idea at first, but if it comes from you, the prospect of you being around, him having his own free time, personal space...I think he might reconsider." Bruce didn't bother concealing the hope in his voice.

Diana looked at him, studying his eyes, and then returned her gaze to Jason, brushing his hands. "I'll see what I can do, Bruce. It..." She signed, stroking the boy's arm. "Really, it all depends of Jason, but I'll try nonetheless. I want him home too, with us."

They held hands, and then Diana squeezed his, leaving him to Jason in private.

Bruce sat by the edge of the chair, struggling with the words. 

"Hi, Jay." His voice was soft. "I don't know whether you can hear me, but I..I just wanted to see you. I've missed you, Jay-lad." 

Bruce paused, half-waiting for a response, but none came. He sighed, rubbing a hand wearily over his eyes.

"I..I keep catching you at the wrong time, don't I?" He huffed out a small laugh before smiling, the expression sad. "Tim should be here soon. I...I'll speak to you later, hopefully if you're not too tired." Bruce brought Jason's hand to his face, warm. _Alive_.

"Speak soon." His voice was thick, and he laid the hand back on the bed gently before cupping Jason's cheek in his palm. Nodding, he let go, reluctantly, and made his way over to Diana, who embraced him, her kisses soft and tender.

"Let's have something to eat? You could use a nap too." Diana's voice was teasing in between her kisses, and Bruce held her close, smiling despite himself.

"Fine. Lead the way."

 

 

 _Twenty minutes later_.

Jason had stared awake at the ceiling for a while. He'd caught snippets of yet another of Bruce's confessions, and his throat had damned near closed up on hearing the tenderness in the man's voice, the gentleness of his motions, and it had taken all his might to not give himself away, focusing on his breathing, slow and even. He had spied the pair leaving, hand in hand, before turning away.

He couldn't go back with them.

Not back to Gotham, not the Manor, not for anything.

He was done with Gotham, with failure and disappointments, just _done_.

For Diana... no-maybe... _God_ knows how much he loved that woman, and if she were the one handling things, then _maybe_ , but that was a big stretch.

The reasons were too many - for one thing, he didn't _want_ to, not after so long, so that was that. It would be weird, highly uncomfortable, and Jason knew he'd never be relaxed enough back there. It would also mean being around Bruce again, under his roof, depending on him, and Jason had long since become used to fending for himself, away from the comforts of Daddy dearest, unlike the rest. Taking orders from him, having to-nah, he couldn't go through all that again. It was a recipe for disaster. Things would be hella awkward, then eventually the disagreements would start, fights, him storming out, Bruce shouting, the rest staying clear - not again, no way. Dick wouldn't agree, nor would Damian, they hated him, and Tim could barely stand the Manor as it was. Then there was the troubling fact that Bruce was doing all this to _get him back_ , trying to win back his affections as if he were a prized puppy or something. To get on his good side again, in _exchange_ for something, a condition, and it felt deeply wrong. Still, Bruce didn't understand where it had all gone wrong, why others, like Clark for instance, had been able to reach and connect where he couldn't, and until Bruce understood why that was, what they had done to break through, then there was no 'us', 'we'. He'd owe Bruce if he chose to recover at the Manor, _big_ time, and they were done, after Xan, all of that, _done_. Talia would never agree to it, that was another reason. Bruce didn't really understand how to manage Lazarus side effects, since all he'd done the first time round was to either fight him to submission, or shout him down, voice hoarse. He had never taken the time to truly learn, to ask, and his inexperience immediately disqualified him. Having the resources wasn't enough - Jason knew it took a _lot_ to keep him safe during his Lazarus meltdowns, vicious sons of bitches, which would be coming very soon, and Talia was by far the _only_ person he trusted to be around when they occurred. And then there was-

"Jay?"

A young voice broke him out his musing. He turned quickly to the side, wincing at the slight creak in his neck, and looked to see Mister _Timothy Drake Wayne_ at the door, suit rumpled, staring at him.

Jason stared at him.

Tim stared at him.

"Hi." The voice was soft, strained, but Jason said nothing.

Tim had asked Talia for...knowing what he'd been through, what it meant, and for a moment, a surge of anger swelled up on the inside.

But Tim would have never asked if he didn't care. He cared enough that being brought back from the dead, despite the horrors it meant facing, was _worth it_.

Tim took a tiny step into the room, fingers twisting nervously. "Jay, I know you're mad at me, T said you're not entirely happy with her either. I..I couldn't stand...I didn't want to lose you Jay, I know its awful and horrible and hard and I'm so sorry, I swear, I just...its selfish I know, but Jay, we were, when we got the news, it was as if my whole world just, it just-" Tim's voice was a rush, agitated, and Jason let out a long breath, forcing himself to keep calm, that Tim wasn't to blame, he just wanted his big brother back.

And if he were honest, Jay would have done the _exact_ same had their positions been reversed. One of his last thoughts had been about Tim, his precious baby brother for pete's sake, and now Jason moved, opening his arms.

"C'mon you little shit-"

That was all the warning he got before a warm, lean body barreled into him, _hard_ , and Jason _oofed_ , his breath winded, as Tm collided with his lacerated abdomen. 

" _SHIT_! Shit Jay, I'm sorry, really sor-"

Jason hugged him as tightly as he could, bringing the slim boy to his chest, and held him, kissing the top of his head.

"I missed you too, kid."

That was all it took for Tim, who'd been anxious the whole time, wondering what Jason would say, how his older brother would react, and the boy held onto Jason now for dear life, strained, tight, just holding and holding, that Jason was here, alive, _real_ , not in the morgue, six feet under. The utter relief at having his favourite person in the world brought tears to his eyes, and Tim let them fall now, silently, Jason's big palm holding the back of his head, shushing him as he cried.

Jason held onto Tim, eyes closed at the boy's strained cries, hating that the boy had been so stressed, so tense, and he murmured soothingly into his hair. "It's alright Tim. I'm not angry at you. I get it, I do, and I'm grateful you did, honest to God. I..The thought of never seeing you again kid, it-it hurt worse than the pain, than anything, that I would never get to spend time with you again, or see your face....I swear, it-that was the worst of it all, and I'm so, _so_ glad I'm back." Jason brought his brother's flushed face upwards, looking at him in the eyes.

"I love you, more than anything or anyone in the world, and don't you forget it. I could never be mad at you, you hear? _Never_." He shook the boy a little, and Tim nodded, smiling weakly through his tears. 

"Good." Jason paused to wipe Tim's tears, kissing him on the forehead. "How about we have a little something to eat? Pass us that tub of ice-cream."

Tim's baby blues blinked back at him, and he sat forwards, swiveling his torso to reach round with a little _ooooh_ , eyeing the tub - _cookie dough_ \- before making himself comfortable, lifting Jason's sheets to stretch out his legs underneath. 

"Diana?"

"Diana."

"She won't mind."

"Won't mind _me_ , sure but you- she'll have you for breakfast, oi! Mind my catheter, you gangly twerp." 

Tim was wriggling around, stuffing his sides conveniently with treats, and Jason shuffled to kick the little bastard, who only stuck his tongue out at him in retaliation.

"Tube stuck in your penis, _noice_. Always knew you were a lazy slob but this takes the cake."

Jason cracked up, Tim managing to duck his swat. The two continued to pile up the snacks at their front, pulling forwards the laptop, and began to talk whilst Tim searched for something suitable to watch.

"And yeah, Mr Takei had to kinda back down from the shares so- Desperate Housewives, really Jay?" Tim's eyebrow was quirked, and Jason moved to see that he and Diana had mistakenly been watching the opera on Tim's account rather than his. 

He swatted Tim's head lightly. "Don't you dare. That show's got everything - scandals, juicy ass gossip, repressed MILFS, everything."

Tim laughed, shifting on the pillow. "I swear you get weirder and weirder every time."

"Says the boy whose days are spent daydreaming about a nerd in glasses who carries a fucking wand with him like a little bi-"

"Hey! Harry's amazing, you don't get to diss my man Harry - _not on my watch_." Tim growled, a grovel, and Jason cracked up. 

"Harry and his side ho-"

" _Motherfucker_ -"

They wrestled a little, Jason managing to gain the upper hand before his muscles screamed in protest, and they relaxed, but not before Tim had received a series of tickles, his yelps filling the room. Eventually they settled on a series, _Gossip Girl_ , where they could appreciate beautiful women and make fun of the shitty acting whilst stuffing themselves full. It was in the middle of one of Blair's biting rebukes when a knock had them turning to the door, the visitor a surprise indeed.

Hoodied, cap firmly on, face hidden, stationary, they couldn't tell who at first. Jason, moving by instinct, moved Tim towards him, already scanning the room.

"I'm sorry, but I think you've got the wrong room-"

"Have I, now?" The stranger's voice was low, dark, and both boys stiffened in the bed. The stranger hadn't moved, and the dark clothing made it difficult to assess for weapons.

Jason's heartbeat quickened, another hallucination? But Tim reacted as well-

"Look, we don't know you and-" Tim began, hand inching towards the alarm, but then the voice suddenly cackled, the sound bright, and the head was lifted.

"Oh my _God_." Tim muttered into his palm, face bright red, mumbling as Jason began to laugh hard, holding his side.

" _Shayera?!_ Is that really-Oh my _God_ -"

The woman in question removed her disguise, revealing a pair of fitted jeans, shapely legs and a light jumper, beaming, and quickly, the boys found themselves smothered in her embrace, her perfume warm and lulling.

" _Jason Todd._ " Shayera ground out his name, green eyes piercing, and swatted Jason on the shoulder before kissing him, who was still staring at her, amazed, and if he were honest, on her lovely form, which was making him feel all kinds of things.

"Where are your wi- wait, masking device." He groaned, slapping his head in annoyance and Shayera turned to pose several times, rather seductively. "Had to wait for my spare to get fixed at the Watch-tower, forgot the other one at home."

Tim blushed into his sheet, averting his eyes away, but Shayera only laughed, coming over to hug him tightly, kissing him on the nose, a full view of her front. "My precious little bird." She murmured, smiling at the red face, and Jason stared, jealous, crossing his arms.

"How come he gets a kiss like that-"

"Cause he doesn't hit on me every time I walk into a room."

Jason huffed, rolling his eyes, but the sound was fond. "Can you blame me, though? I mean, look at you! Looking like a _snack_." He emphasied the 'ack', ducking to miss Shayera's swat. 

"Please don't tell me you two have-" Tim was beetroot red, not wanting to picture-

"Absolutely not." Shayera spoke without blinking.

"Reached first base already." Jason grinned, winking, even as Shayera lobbed at chocolate bar at his head. Tim groaned into his sheet, pulling it over his head, embarrassed by their antics.

"Come out from under there, mate, not in my bed you don't." Jason and Shayera burst out laughing on seeing Tim's head snap up sharply, sheet falling quickly to his waist.

"Hands where I can see them-"

"Atta boy."

They ribbed Tim a little more before settling, mercifully changing the subject when the poor boy couldn't take it anymore.

"Glad to see you're awake and what-ooh, which episode are you on?" The woman craned across their laps as she flicked through the episode list. "Season three episode three, alright then, lets go." She made herself comfortable across the bed, snatching Tim's treat from his hand, ignoring his feeble protest, and pressed the space bar to continue.

"So you're just gonna-"

"Uh-huh."

"Your ass is right my face, you realise that." Jason's tone was cheeky, and a little more than that.

"Make a move and I'll shatter your hand." The woman spoke inbetween mouthfuls, not missing a beat, and Jason snorted, shaking his head. Shay turned at the sound, smiling, and with a small wave beckoning them closer, they each bent to kiss her cheek. She held onto Jason's hand, stroking it gently. "You boys alright?" Her voice was warm, soft, full of concern, and they settled back now, sharing out the piles of food.

"We're okay. Blair's about to rip some girl a new one."

"Ugh, _her_. Hate her dress." Shayera pulled a face.

"Same. That dipshit looking bag has gotta go." Jason chimed in, and he high-fived shayera's outstretched hand.

They remained like that for the next three episodes, their commentary becoming more and more biting as time flew by, and their laughter was loud enough that one of the nurses had peeked round, shyly asking them to lower their voices despite the door being closed.

A couple of minutes into the eighth episode, Shayera excused herself, Jason only barely managing to nod, too caught up in glittery dresses and bitchy comebacks. She caught Tim's eye, angling it slightly, before leaving, trusting he'd gotten the message, and the slight tilt of his head indicated that he understood.

 

 

Shayera turned the corner, smiling kindly at the nurses in their station, before stepping into the seating area, opting to look out of the window. 

Bruce glanced at her but remained silent, perched a little on the window sill.

"You know." Shayera began, leaning against the wall. "All this sneaking around, someone will think you're up to something."

Bruce stared at her, eyebrow threatening to rise.

"All black, sticking to the shadows. Ever heard of the _Batman_ Bruce? An urban legend, I'm sure, but keep doing what you're doing, and people will start to ask questions."

"We're in Bolivia." He stared at her, and crossed his arms, but she didn't back down. 

"So? Batman's never crossed continents before?"

His eyebrow twitched.

Shayera smiled. She was getting to him, and every part of her _loved_ that she could rattle him like this. But instead of indulging in her victory, she turned towards the window again, voice thoughtful.

"He's up, talking. Clearly has a lot to work on, if that camp was anything to go by. What are you planning, dark and lovely?"

Bruce let out a smile at the nickname before stilling again. "I..I want to take him home. Back to the Manor. I've been making preparations the past week."

Shayera said nothing for a moment. "Have you asked him?"

"No. I haven't exactly had the chance to discuss things."

Shayera bit on her lip. "And...Talia, what's her take on all this?"

Bruce gritted his teeth, fists clenched, and Shayera was glad that she wasn't the wall. "She going to try and take him away from me, Shayera. I can't let that happen, not again."

 _Again_? She raised an eyebrow at this but decided to put that aside for now. Clearly their history was far more tumultuous than previously thought.

"Bruce." This time she moved, touching his arm, and let her hand rest there. "Why do you want Jason back with you?"

He stiffened, but didn't move. "The Manor is his home, and all that he needs to recover will be available. In addition-"

"No." Shayera shook her head, and now sat to face him, looking at him head on. "From what I understand, Talia al Ghul is a very resourceful woman. Adding to the fact that she knows Jason, and he at least cares for her, then I'm sorry to ask this Bruce but I'm going to anyway - what puts _you_ over _Talia_? Because Jason will ask you why, why he should go with you, _not_ her, and you're going to have to answer him."

Silence.

Bruce was staring at her, face pained, before he looked away, stiff and mask like again. "I..." 

He tried again, but the words, the _why_ wasn't there.

Shayera nodded, knowing that the problem was - Bruce didn't have anything Talia didn't. There was nothing of his that Jason couldn't get with Talia, so asking Jason to come home with him, the _why_ , made no sense. It wouldn't make any sense to Jason. Therefore, whatever it was, it had to be something that couldn't be bought, priceless, rare, something that wasn't a result of coercion, force-

"I want to reach out to him again." Bruce's voice was quiet, and Shayera closed her eyes.

"I made a mistake, several misguided mistakes out of hurt, and anger, I regret them, sincerely. But-I can't lose him again, not like this, not without trying. I don't know how this sounds but this is-this is what I've been waiting for, an opportunity, to connect with Jay again, to start afresh, to try and heal and work things out, slowly. I can't just let it go by Shayera, _I won't_."

Shayera remained calm. Part of her felt for Bruce, but it was clear that a few others would not see it the same way.

"Bruce." She squeezed his arm. " I can't tell you what to do, not with this. Logically speaking, this...probably isn't a good idea. Jason might feel you're taking advantage of him, making this about yourself, but as you've said, if there was any time to make headway with you two, now would be a good start, being there for him. The question now remains is this: What does Jason want, Bruce? You mentioned, back on Xan, during our sessions since, than the man has so far kept his end of the bargain, accepting Diana and acknowledging you as well as part of her life. What you're proposing to do is a huge shift in the arrangement. A shift in the balance of power, so to speak, and anyone in their right minds would be weary of the change."

The question hung in the air.

"I have to ask him." Bruce's voice was quiet.

"That you do. And I'd like for you to bear in mind that the answer you get, if any at all mind you, may not be what you hoped. You may be left disappointed, I don't know, Bruce. Lets look at the two major outcomes: its either _Yes_ or _No_. If he says Yes, yes I'll come with you, what are your plans? What do you have in mind that will allow him to recover, at his own pace, without feeling pushed or whatnot, in his own space?

Bruce explained his ideas to Shayera, and the woman nodded every so often. "Alright." She spoke, after he'd finished. "Let's say all that's in place. What happens when he lashes out? Get's angry? How much do you know about Jason's reaction to lazarus - have you asked Tim? Talia?"

Bruce was ashamed to admit that he _hadn't_. Shayera clucked in her throat. "Start there, then. Ask-"

"But then she'll know what I'm trying to do-"

"Chances are she's known all along, Bruce. If I know you, and from what I've heard about her? She'll have been preparing all along, Bruce, this can't be news to you."

It wasn't.

"Asking shows you want to learn, that you're willing. Keeping quiet does you no favours. Okay, lets say part way, a few days, weeks in - Jason wants to leave. Doesn't want to stay, or listen to reason - he wants to _go_ , end of story, what do you do? Sick and tired of living under _your_ roof, following _your_ rules, then what?"

"Allow him his space and try again."

Shayera thought about that. "How far are you willing to go?"

Bruce looked up at that, but she ignored the flash of hurt in his eyes and continued. "I said what I said. You've been here before, you've said it yourself, and we've all seen it, or at least part of it. How much is too much? How far, how many buttons will Jason need to press before too much is too much? That enough is enough, limits reached?

Bruce clenched his jaw. "Whatever is necessary." 

Shayera didn't flinch at the sting in his voice. "You know I'm asking because I care, and because we're thinking steps ahead, so go ahead and get pissed all you want, it doesn't affect me. What is necessary, Bruce? Mandatory evaluations? Talking therapies once a week? Give me something definite."

"I can't. _Whatever it takes, I will. do. it._ " Bruce ground out, and Shayera moved forwards, eyes pointed. "See, Jason is going to ask you all this, and if he doesn't, then he'll think it. He's a smart man, not a kid, a child - a fully grown man, capable of making his own decisions, and he'll want to know Bruce, what happens when he pushes you, because I'll tell you this - Jason pushes. He pushes buttons, deliberately, he gets on nerves, he tests you, to see how far you'll go, and how much you can take. In the short time we've spent together, he's done it to me countless times, testing. And now we're talking lazarus, which adds in a whole layer of unpredictability. You can hate me all you want Bruce- I'm laying it out for you."

Bruce turned away, and Shayera could see the tension in his frame. She too joined him in looking outside for a few moments, calming herself.

"Have you...at _least_ discussed the idea with Dick? Damian?" 

Bruce didn't respond, only to shake his head once. Shayera pinched her palms in effort to stop herself from throwing her hands into the air.

"They're your sons too. Your feelings towards Jason are one thing, and theirs are also something to consider, Bruce. You will not be the only one leaving in that house - I don't care how big it is, sooner or later, they'll cross paths. Are they on a similar wavelength to you? Willing to at least try? Because from what Diana and Clark have told me, I'm doubtful that's the case-"

Bruce looked pissed on hearing Diana and Clark discussing him, but he said nothing. Shayera waved him away. "They didn't say much. Only that their visits have been very few, total less than one hand in fact, and they haven't outwardly expressed any particular feeling towards Jason's situation, so that makes me wonder. They'll need to be on board with the idea too, it would be very unwise to try and drop this on them without notice of some kind."

"I'll...I'll talk to them." His voice was reluctant, and Shayera cringed inwardly - she didn't envy the man whatsoever.

"Alright." Shayera breathed. She stood, fishing into her jeans pocket, and made her way to the vending machine at the end of the hall. Two bottles of water in hand, she passed one to Bruce, swigging her own. Settling once more, she picked up where she left off, not mincing her words.

"If worst comes to worst and Jason says _no_ , I don't want to go back with you, for whatever reason, then what?"

Bruce looked a little grief-stricken. "With Tali-"

"With anyone. With her, without her, by himself, to his associates, I don't know - lets say he refuses your help. Then what?"

"What do you mean? If he chooses otherwise, then I'll have to respect his decision."

Shayera smiled, rubbing her leg. "Not quite I meant, its my fault, I didn't explain the question properly, sorry. I meant - if he chooses not to go with you, what happens to your plans of reconciliation, starting afresh? Are you still willing to do it, if that potentially means him not-"

"I'll do it." Bruce held her eye, gaze unwavering, and she caught her breath.

"Even if he hangs up the phone on you-"

"I'll keep calling-"

"He picks up that one time, only to yell at you to not call any more-"

"I'll text him-"

"He blocks his number-"

"Then I'll get it from Tim, or Diana, Talia if I have to. I've learnt my mistake, I'm _not_ giving up on him again." His voice was fierce.

Shayera stared at him for a moment. 

"Shayera, I will do _whatever I have to do_ , for _however long_ , until he gives me the go ahead. Whether that's days, weeks, months, years, I won't stop trying. That's what I did last time- I stopped trying. Stopped asking after him, stopped reaching out to him, stopped because I thought it was too much, that I couldn't do it anymore, that he was past saving, because he didn't want the help. But Jay-Jason's the _strongest person I know_. I don't know many other people who would travel to another country to meet their birth mother, only to be betrayed by that same woman, and yet - fight for them, defend them, and in their few last breaths, try and save them. The same one who fought his way back to life from his own coffin six months later, who, despite whatever Godforsaken hell the League had him captive, never stopped fighting, pushing, never giving him, _living_ , to come back home, so angry and so hurt, but still - fighting, fighting and lashing out, angry as hell but still, struggling. Enough, Shayera, that he chose to leave, even when I gave up on him, when we said no more to each other, but he still went, from the only home he's ever known, and made something of himself, and now he's back, again, from the dead, from fighting and protecting the innocent, chi-chil _dren_ for fuck's sake, and I-I swear Shayera, I'm ready. I'm ready, I'm willing, and I'm not giving up on him, _never again_." 

Bruce's tone had risen in volume, but Shayera still sat, studying the anger, the pride in his fierce gaze, determination in his posture, back ramrod straight, primed, _ready_.

"Good. That's what Jason needs to hear, and that's what you need to remind yourself, whatever he decides."

Shayera spoke firmly she stood now, shaking one leg out. "I've got to get back. Still planning on going in?"

The big man nodded. She smiled briefly.

"Give us a few minutes to clear out-"

"No...take your time. I'd like to sit here for a while, to try and...organise my thoughts."

Shayera understood. She bent to hug Bruce, placing a light kiss on the top of his hair, and felt his hands encircle her waist.

"Thank you, Shayera." His voice was gentle, and Shayera stepped away lightly, breaking their embrace.

"I'm sorry, what was that? Hard of hearing, you see."

Bruce scowled, a small flush appearing at his neck. "You should get that tested." but his eyes gave away his amusement.

Shayera gave him a look, then with a small wave, took her leave.

 

 

Upon entering the room, Shayera found the laptop playing, treats cleared, and Tim sleeping against Jason's chest, all curled up and tucked in, just like a little bird. Shayera cooed at the sight, and Jason turned to her, a small smile on his face.

"How you doing, Jay?"

His face turned sad, and it took him a while to answer. "I'm...its not great, Shay. The Pit is taking effect, already trying to sleep is proving pretty difficult. I need to get outta here, before someone gets hurt." His tone was full of regret. "I'm getting stronger, I can feel it already, and it takes a lot to keep _it_ from taking over. It's only going to get worse from here, and I don't want-" Jason looked directly at Tim before continuing. "-I don't want him to see when it starts to happen properly."

Shayera kept her voice soft. "He hasn't before?"

Jason shook his head. "No. Not as bad, not at its worst, and most brutal. It's....intense. The things I'll say, do even - he knows I won't mean any of it, but it'll be hard for him to look at me in the same light, I know it."

"You can't be sure-"

"I am. T gets it, she's seen it before, in others, in me, and she'll know what to do. Tim? It'll hurt him, deeply, and I can't have that." His eyes were firm, emerald green, sparkling, and they flashed now, a ring of florescent light glowing before disappearing altogether. Shayera crossed her arms, impressed despite the circumstances. She'd never seen _that_ before - John's was nothing like it.

"Yeah. Its unusual, I know." Jason read her expression easily. "There are quite a few stages to go through, and that's just getting control of the Pit, beating it. Physically, I'll heal of course, but I'll need some extra training and whatnot to really get myself in tip top shape - all this weight loss and infection shit ain't helping. Then there's having to confront all that psychological stuff, just hearing a kid makes me freeze on the spot. I-I can't-my job involves helping people, in all sorts of fucked up situations, and I-"

"You're willing to go back, after.." Her voice trailed off.

"Absolutely." Jason's voice booked no room for argument. "I love my job, what I do, and the people I get to help, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm still young, and I want to do it for as long as I can. Our lives are on the line with every mission, its a risk you just have to live with in this line of work. I understand the consequences, just this time around, I dunno...it was weird, shit really caught us off guard."

Shayera moved into the room, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. "Did you find out who was behind it all?"

"No-" the man checked to see if Tim was truly asleep- _he was_ \- before continuing. "-and that's what I'm going to do. But that won't be for a long while yet, not in this state. We're..my group, we're apart at the moment, and we'll probably take a break, since we've been going at it non-stop for more than two years now. Even if we were regrouped and raring to go, the people responsible for this shit - they would have gone underground, setting up another base, another network, before popping their heads out, and its easier to catch them in the open than fishing in the dark."

Shayera nodded. It made sense. She was, first and foremost, a warrior, and that meant fighting for survival, eliminating the enemy. She played by the League's rules of course, by Earth's, and all their peace policies, nice and friendly, but that's where she and Jason really understood each other, being able to do whatever it took to fight, to do what others couldn't, to fight, dirty, _hard_ , to push and struggle and succeed, against all odds. She wouldn't encourage him in this endeavor, they both knew that, not with her position, but she certainly wouldn't discourage him either, and that was more than enough for Jason, she knew.

"I leave it all in your hands." Shayera eventually answered, and Jason smirked at her, understanding perfectly.

"Bruce wants to talk to me, I take it." The man spoke after a while, and Shayera looked up at him, not giving anything away.

"Jay." But Jason was looking down at the sheets, away from her, and she squeezed his knee gently to gain his attention. "Hear him out, okay? That's all you have to do. Hear him out, listen, and take your time to think things over."

The man gazed back at her, assessing, knowing that she clearly knew more than she let on, and a few moments later, nodded, though the action was stiff.

"I can do that. Listen. Not like I'm going anywhere, is it?" A small chuckle, but the sound was hollow.

"What do I do about-" Jason was looking at Tim, and Shayera read the affection easily, _love_ , _protection_ , pride too, at this young boy in a suit, mature far beyond his years. "He isn't the lightest sleeper either so-"

"Don't worry about it. I've got him." Shayera uncurled from her position, gathering Tim in her hands, bones light and wispy, and she smiled down at the young, delicate features, kissing his cheeks, tracing his dainty little nose. "He's like a little doll." She murmured fondly.

"Be careful with him, Shay." His voice, though amused, held a trace of warning, and Shayera looked up to see his eyes fixed on hers, not quite letting go of Tim, almost possessive.

"He's my little bird. I'd rather die than let anything happen to him." She tucked him into her chest, and they smiled as Tim mumbled in his sleep, face hidden in her jumper.

"If only he was awake to see this shit." Jason smothered a chuckle, and Shayera laughed quietly, shushing him.

She moved to Jason, and with one arm, held him tight, kissing him on the head. "You hang in there, and keep fighting, you here?"

Jason's voice was muffled, but she head it anyway. "Yes Shayera, I love you too." His exasperation was fond.

"If you need _anything_ Jay, anything at all, if you wanna talk, rant, scream, whatever - _call_ , _text_ me. Don't hesitate, I mean it- I'll come."

"I will Shay, promise. At least if it means I get to check you out."

Shayera swatted him on the arm before kissing him again, murmuring _I love you, Jay_ into his hair before stepping back to smooth his sheets. Squeezing his hand one final time, she left the room, winking at him.

 

 

Jason looked out of the window, the darkness settling in. Already he was feeling anxious, and whether that was due to Bruce's incoming arrival or the Pit, he couldn't be too sure.

He remained like that for a while, trying to settle himself, knowing it wouldn't be long before-

"Jay?"

Jason froze at the voice.

 _Bruce_.

Just the two of them, for the first time in God knows how long, and Jason fought to keep his emotions under control, his voice neutral. He knew what Bruce was going to eventually ask, and his stomach was in knots, at having to tell him _no_. He realised he hadn't yet answered Bruce, and so turned to the doorway, tacking in the man in all black, charcoal grey, the blue eyes on his.

And stared.

Honest to God, Jason stared at Bruce. His face. His eyes, the strong sloping jaw, angled nose, high cheekbones, broad chest, stocky and strong, warmth, deep lulling voice on those late, wintry nights, hot cocoa in hand, shushing his giggles as he reenacted parts of _Hamlet_ in hushed tones, afraid of Alfred's wrath, and in that moment, his throat was impossibly tight, closed up, and Jason swallowed, once, twice, before turning to look at the window.

"A beautiful night, isn't it." Even to him, his voice sounded detached. 

Bruce entered the room, uncertain, then a little more, stopping to rest by the wall near the corner opposite him. Not too close, not far away either. Just the right distance, as if he were watching a caged animal, unpredictable, and Jason swallowed down his bile.

"Not a full moon." The man hmmed, voice melodious, and Jason fought to keep his eyes open.

"Afraid I'd turn into a werewolf?"

A huff. "Something like that."

Jason couldn't stop the smile from appearing on himself, glad that Bruce couldn't see. "Wouldn't be so bad. A big, silver grey beauty, golden brown- no, hazel eyes. Sharp, strong and powerful. I'd look great, if I say so myself."

At of the corner of his eye, Jason saw Bruce's mouth twitch at the corner. "And me? What form would I take?"

Jason took a moment to think. "Black." He decided. "Sleek, much like a Jaguar. Smooth, distant, grey eyes, crinkly, real sad and knowing. Hidden, one with the fields and the sky. Strikes efficiently, pounces with certainty, moves with purpose. Alpha of the pack. You'd...you'd howl into the night, silhouetted and proud, and the sound would shiver the souls of the dead under the night."

Bruce looked at him, slightly stunned. "That's beautiful, Jay. You always did have a way with words."

Jason swallowed at the compliment, opting to play with his sheet instead, not quite managing to face Bruce. "Can't take all the credit. You and Alf did a right number on me, I can tell you that."

Bruce chuckled, the sound so familiar, and Jason felt a prick at the back of his eyes. _Not now, not now_.

The room turned silent again. "Alfred sends his love. He...he misses you very much."

Jason closed his eyes, forcing the welling back, and nodded, once, twice, not trusting himself to speak.

And then-

"How...how are you, Jason?"

Jason took his time in answering, debating just how honest he should be. "I'm...there." He decided. "I...there's a lot that...one step at a time, but its-its kinda overwhelming if I'm honest."

Bruce nodded. "I understand-"

"No, you _don't_." Jason cut him off almost automatically, and he closed his eyes, wincing a little at the harshness of his tone.

He wasn't wrong, though.

Bruce didn't contest the statement, leaning now with his back flat on the wall, hands by his pockets. Deceptively casual, but Jason could see the tension in his frame, the way his eye contact was short and limited, much like he was feeling. _Afraid to fuck it up_ he thought to himself, _same as usual_.

Jason tried again, steadying his voice. "You don't. I..I'm not even trying to hurt you or anything, but its the truth. You don't know, because you weren't there. Its'-I'm not blaming you, alright, I'm not, its just..." He struggled with the words, wondering how he could put together a string of poetry so effortlessly, almost like breathing, and find it so difficult to talk to his once-Father, well past estranged. Maybe it was because writers, poets, authors - they were faced with a page and pen, their thoughts and a whole _world_ of imagination to explore, limitless, not flesh, warm and solid, _real_ , all thought and judgement, and the comparisons made his chest stutter.

"I...I came here, Jason, to ask you something from you, but I realise now that it wouldn't have been right, not really. Unfair, selfish of me to put you in that position, and I've done it before, haven't I?" His voice was low, a little as if he were speaking to himself, debating, and Jason looked up now, taken aback to see Bruce staring outside, murmuring, eyes seemingly lost in the distance. "I..I spent a lot of time, thinking, after Xan, wondering, and looking back, there were so many things that just....if only I'd just made it clear, or told you or.." the man swallowed, shaking his head minutely, only to snap his head round, and Jason was startled at the sudden movement, Bruce staring right at him. 

"Jason, I... I wan-"

 _brrriiinngg_.

Both men stared at each other, shocked, the sound cutting into the silence.

Jason looked up the ceiling, mouthing an "are you freaking _kidding_ me?" before catching Bruce's eye, who was struggling to keep a straight face.

"I-no, just igno-" Bruce started, his attempt brave, but his mobile had other plans, and he cursed, _actually_ cursed, swear word and all, the sound a growl, that Jason leaned his head forward in shock, eyes bugging. He swore remembering Alfred washing his mouth with soap for words less unsavory than that.

 _brrriiinngg_. _brrriiinngg_.

"I think you'd better answer that." Jason spoke quietly, mildly amused, but Bruce seemed to be fighting with himself, eyes screwed, counting.

The phone continued to ring, and now the sound, once amusing, was getting on his nerves, ramping up his agitation. "Bruce, for fuck's sake, answer the damn phone already."

Bruce sighed before fishing out the object, and Jason turned his face to the opposite side, trying to keep calm. Of course, the universe just _had_ to mess with him in the most cartoonish way possible. Bruce Wayne, emotionally constipated asshole, opening up for the first time, all raw honesty and shit, and the fucking phone just had to ring. He could practically predict what would happen next, and as it turned out, he was right on the money.

" _Dick?_ "

Bruce's voice cut into the silence, but unfortunately for him, that was the _wrong_ thing to say. Away from him, Jason's face had turned to stone on hearing that name, and all semblance of familiarity and awkwardness seem to disappear in an instant. The golden child, of course it had to be him. Couldn't stand the lack of attention for one minute before kicking up a fuss, and Jason felt a cooling within him, distant, cold, and he listened to Bruce argue with the man-child, something about the brat not eating whatever brand of vegan-le-fucking-tofu knock-off burger for the night, or whatever, he didn't give a damn. Bruce kept trying to cut the conversation short with "I'm in the middle of something" and "I'll talk to you later", but that only made matters worse. He was the secret, the "something", not important enough to be given a name, actual consideration, and something like anger mounted in his veins, his eyes fiery. For once, the voices had been right. That was the thing with the Pit, the hallucinations and mocking taunts - they worked from what was already there, the insecurity, the anger, self-loathing - and magnified it till it became the centre of your focus. The Pit couldn't put what wasn't there in the first place, and now Jason felt the memories flood his mind, _second best_ , _third rate_ , that red-headed bitch Dick drooled over, whose eyes were always cutting towards him, disapproving, the day she'd told him in his com, privately, that "he'd never match up to Dick Grayson", her silly little boyfriend, nights where his arms slipped over the bars time and time again, despite all the practice in the world, legs clumsy, landing heavy, disjointed, ungainly, and he'd be there, tiny and pipsqueakish, watching the effortless acrobat practically _dance_ in the air as he showed him, all smug faced bitch, how it was done, truly, flying with unattainable grace, that even Bruce, at odds with the man, would stand at the back, watching, absolutely mesmerised, and Jason would stand there on the mat, air in the Cave cold, knowing that he'd never be able to measure up, not even close.

And now, as Jason tuned his mind to the present, he could hear Bruce _still_ on the phone, arguing, the bickering like a little married couple, fond exasperation, something about cajoling the brat to eat, promising whatnot, and Jason had no choice but to listen to it all, back rigid, fists balled, not quite strong enough to walk out of his own accord, but something must have given him away, for silence suddenly filled the room.

Except, the air was excruciatingly tense, and it was as if Bruce knew, he just _knew_ , that he'd fucked up royally. Part of him was was logically sounding out that _he_ had in fact told Bruce to answer the phone, but still - did Bruce not having fucking caller ID? Did WE not do that shit anymore?

"Ja-"

" _Get. Out._ " Jason knew that if he had to raise his voice any more, he'd scream himself bloody hoarse, and so he'd only just managed to keep his voice sane, though he trembled, and the anger bled into his tone.

But Bruce hand't caught it. The batshit waste of space, probably hyped up from his lap-dog useless spandex of a son made him either deaf, or careless, for Jason felt something touch his back, a hand, almost caring, but the gesture was an untimely one, full of _lies_ , and the rage had him half jumping out of the bed, past the pain, his stitches that groaned, eyes luminous green, ready to pounce, as he let out a feral scream at the man, unnatrual, that even the bed shook with surprise.

" _ **I SAID, GET. OUT!**_ "

The _look_ on Bruce's face, fucking hell - he looked shaken to the core, jumping back as if he'd been burned, the _fear_ stricken across his face, and Jason saw it all, fear _of him_ , the _animal_ , unholy, and he laughed, the sound bitter, smile predatory, as Bruce backed away, palms a little outstretched, mouthing bullshit about "I'm so sorry, I didn't think, Jay, Jay fucking lad, I didn't mean it-" but Jason lunged at him, ripping out lines, stitches bursting, monitors bleeping, alarms flashing, something sharp, a dull-then a _gushing_ , a tension giving way, and something hot and stick dripped from his chest, rapidly staining the sheets.

The nurses came in then, shouting, angry, pushing Jason back, down, ordering Bruce out, Bruce who looked horrified, mumbling his apologies, wide eyes leaving Jason, and Jason who _screeched_ back at him, throwing whatever he could find at the retreating man, screaming and _screaming_ , tears cascading down his face, eyes glowing, the bed, railings shaking, then coming apart, swinging freely into the air, smashing into the wall, shattering the lights overhead as it flew, and Jason fighting now, fighting against the hands and grips, claws that wanted to trap him, struggling and pushing, _help_ , but no-one heard him, as usual, as before, a common occurrence, and a short moment later, something cold and foreign pinched his neck at the sides, a cool liquid flooding his vision, and then-

 

 

Everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> عبد أسود = black slave  
> مزراب الفئران = gutter rat  
> قوة وقوة شرسة من الألغام = strength and fierce heart of mine.


	51. Point of no return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions reach breaking point. Tim is left reeling.

_Two thirty am, early Wednesday morning, private conference room_.

Talia hissed at Bruce. "You _**fool**_! I leave for a few hours, and yet, not even a day that Jason has been awake and already you've provoked him! Had him _sedated_ for goodness sake- do you have _any_ idea what you've done?"

Bruce glared back, his tone venomous. "As if _you_ have any leg to stand on, with all the shit you've done, manipulating him, pitting him against me, his family-"

Talia snarled, eyes luminous with rage, and it took all of Tim's strength to hold her back, arms rigid. "Talia, we-"

" _Manipulating-_ " She broke off here, her laugh dry and bitter, and Tim felt the hairs on his back stand on edge. "-you should be kissing the very ground I stand on! If not for my interventions, you and your useless idiot eldest would have been long _dead_ by now, Jason _dead_ -"

Bruce lunged forward, face red, and Clark struggled to keep his best friend back, not surprised at how difficult he was finding it. At this rate, they were going to destroy this damned room, and already hospital costs from Jason's Pit-induced damages were _through the roof_. It was a wonder security wasn't here already, not with all the noise they were making. Thank God for money. "Bruce, you need to calm down-" 

Bruce whipped his face to him, noses only inches apart, and Clark winced at the fury strewn across his friend's face, his voice acidic. " _Calm down?!_ The woman who kept my two sons away from me, trained one into being a murderous assassin, a _child_ , Clark, turned the other against his own family for her personal vendetta, a toy weapon, and what - now she wants to bar me from him _again_? The same foul creature who _deliberately_ drove a wedge between me and Jason, Clark? My own _son_ , for years?! Don't you **dare** Clark- you tell me to calm down one more time and I _swear to God_ -"

"A _wedge_?-" Tim cursed aloud as Talia herself fought back, clearly about to wring Bruce's neck if she could, not mincing her words. "That was all _you_ , _dearly beloved_ , you and your utter stupidity, foolishness, inability to see beyond your own narrow, backward morals! _You_ were the one that drove the two of you apart, _not_ me! I've always, _always_ wanted the best for Jason - you gave him up! You, _the_ Batman, gave up on your own son, and now you stand here, giant hypocrite, preaching in the same pathetic, self-righteous way as usual-" 

Bruce roared, and now it was Clark's turn to curse, the man's voice like mountains shifting in rage. "You have been nothing but a damn **fucking** _thorn_ in my side for _years_ , spewing your poisonous _bullshit_ like a bloody parasite and I won't stand for it _anymore_! _**ENOUGH IS ENOUGH**_! I've had it! No more with your lies, your deceit, using my children, -that's right, I said it: _my_. _sons_ \- they are _mine_ , _Waynes_ and I have idled by long enough! Jason was never _yours_ to begin with, not even now, and if I had it my way, you'd be out of Damian's life for _good_! _I should have dealt with you long ago!_ Jason is coming home with _me_ , that is _**final**_ -"

Talia's laugh was close to hysterical, hair flying about, and Tim gritted his teeth, widening his stance, planting his feet a little apart. Boy, this woman was _strong_.

"You suffer dearly from delusions of grandeur. Damian is _mine_ , my child, the one that I birthed and carried on my own, of my own _womb_. Jason is mine, the child I have cared for and looked after since he was _fifteen years old_ , over the past _five_ years, far longer than you ever had him, and listen here, useless man - I know that boy better than you _ever_ will! What he likes, what he eats, how he sleeps, what makes him happy - you, for all intents and purposes, are _unfit_ to even think of yourself as his Father! If I could, if Timothy wasn't so devoted to you, I'd have him with me also! JASON. IS MY. SON, AND MY SON IS COMING HOME WITH _**ME**_ , where _I_ will take care of him myself, like I've always done-"

" _ **FUCK. YOU**_ , you delusional, crazy _bitch_ \- I _**hate**_ you, with-with _everything I know to be true_ , and I should have let you die in that fucking fire back then, like _FUCK_ am I allowing Jason to go back with you! _**OVER ME DEAD, STONE COLD BODY**_ -" Bruce spat, lashing out furiously, and Clark thanked all he knew to be possible that his strength was many times greater than the average human, right now, or he'd be left with a caved in chest. This was getting too much, all the hate and fire between the two ex-lovers, as if shit wasn't bad enough already.

Diana had walked in then, eyes alarmed at the sight of the four of them. "What is goin-"

"So you hate me now, hmm? Didn't seem that way when we were together in my quarters, or fucking in those hot Icelandic springs, or in that hotel room North of Italy, those six times in London, the French villa, across the Chicago night sky, or the many _many_ moments with me on top, or you pressing me down, hands at my back - from what I recall, you couldn't get enough of me! And now look what we have here! Your ever faithful hangar of a _bitch_ , political lapdog- I bet she has no _idea_ how to make you scream and come like _I_ did, hmm-" Talia's eyes were full of disgust, jealousy too, and her tone dripped with spite, smirking languishly at the sight of Diana's reddened face and clenched fists. 

"Woman. _Watch_ yourself." Diana's tone was deceptively calm, but the heaving of her chest, tense shoulders, and sharp eyes gave herself away. 

If Talia didn't cut it out right now, she'd be trodden into groundmeat, but Talia didn't care, laughing aloud at Bruce's incredulous snarl. 

"How _dare_ you compare yourself to Diana! She is more of a human being than you will _ever_ be- get the _**FUCK**_ off me, CLARK! TAKE YOUR BLOODY HANDS OFF ME _**RIGHT NOW**_ -" Bruce looked close to be running mad then, a shade of magenta at Diana being insulted, in his actual presence no less, the _audacity_ \- but Talia continued with her venom, delighting at Diana moving closer to her, teeth gritted, eyes hard.

"Diana, please. _Talia, for fuck's sake, cut it out, stop already_ -" Tim shook Talia's shoulders a little, trying to aim for a shred of common sense, knowing that the woman was entering dangerous territory, but Talia ignored him, unruffled by the warning, and she continued with her taunts, skating over Tim's loud swearing.

"We might as well address the elephant in the room, hmm, dearest _Beloved_? Diana, didn't he tell you about us? All that we've done and _had_ over each other, all the years past? Why not, Bruce? You can't be too ashamed, is not Damian a product of our union? All these years Diana - Bruce could never _not_ want me, not at all! He may have loved you, wanted you, even now, with the two of you together- but understand this, bitch - Bruce will never be able to hate me completely, no matter what he says. We are forever-"

" _You disgusting, evil whore of a harlot, bitter and cruel._ I should _smite_ you right where you stand. You deserve nothing but hellfire, with all the pain and misery you've caused Bruce and Jason, _my son_ -" Diana advanced forward menacingly, eyes on fire, ignoring Tim's pleas to calm down, heels making cracks against the floor, and Talia _lashed_ out, Tim only ducking his head just in time.

" _Your_ son?! Empty headed wench-"

" _My_ son. _My_ Robin, _my_ boy, _my_ little one, the one who calls _me_ , _Mother_ , that loved _me_ and I loved _first_ , back when he was a mere child, orphaned and alone, malnourished and shunned by society, the child I held across my chest, in my arms, whom I taught, trained, cuddled, kissed, fed and cared for and raised _as my own child_ , who told me all of his secrets, even as I would wipe his tears, reading to him, _MY BOY_ , **_long_** before your meddling, your twisted, psychopathic intentions,-" Diana looked ready to tear Talia to pieces, nostrils flaring, wrist gauntlets visible, and out of the corner of Tim's eye, something long and silver was moving down the woman's right arm, glinting in the fluorescent lighting.

 _SHIT SHIT SHIT_ , was all Tim could think, and calling on all his strength, he pushed himself and Talia backwards, Talia who fought back, blades of her own appearing at her wrists _where the fuck had they come from, Tim had no idea_ -, head jutted, hard, eyes full of Lazarus _rage_ , snarling, ready to meet her match.

" _Yours?_ Don't be so foolish, woman. Where you when when Jason was being bludgeoned to death by that madman? If you so loved him, my boy, why did he choose to leave you to find the woman _you should have been_? Weren't you enough for him? How could you fail so badly that Jason felt compelled to travel alone to an entire country by himself, to look for the love you claimed to bestow on him? You, you and Bruce - your failures allowed that madman to torture and kill _my son_ , the one I sacrificed almost everything to keep alive, to care for - where you _you_ Diana, when Jason was out prowling the roofs at night, unhinged? In the midst of nightmares so tormenting he would weep unashamedly, his very bones shaking, clinging to me with wide, unseeing eyes? Battling his demons, skin gaunt, thin, hollow - _where were you, oh Princess of Themyscira_? Calling yourself his _Mother_ and yet, at his lowest, most vulnerable, in his our of need - WHERE. WERE. YOU-" 

Diana's eyes had darkened to almost black, her sword out, swinging, the enemy primed for elimination, and Tim, in utter desperation, flung himself across Talia, breath in his throat. "DIANA, NO-" 

and Clark decided then, patience exhausted to the max, that he-none of them- 

" _ **ENOUGH!**_ " 

Clark boomed, voice thunderous, the sound deafening, so frightening that the walls shook with the sonic infiltration of his vocal cords, and the effect was _instant_ to the second, the room's occupants staggering slightly.

Silence.

Not a single person moved. Apart from a few quiet, heavy pants, the air was thick, tense, and deadly quiet.

Clark took a few moments to calm himself, clenching and unfurling his fists. There had only been a few times in his life that he'd ever been this _pissed_ , and his anger was detectable in outright waves. Even Bruce had stiffened in his arms, taking a tiny step back, and the man's face was angled from his front, jaw clenched, heart rate elevated.

" _Enough._. This, all of this-" Clark broke off, breathing heavily, but his tongue was thick, and he swore, loudly, in Kryptonian, curses fierce, before continuing, shaking his head. "We are _not_ doing this. _Absolutely not_. I don't want to hear another word, not from _any of you_ , **IS THAT CLEAR?**?"

Silence.

Clark nodded once, the action stiff, mechanical. "Good. Tim, you and Talia go back to your hotel. Diana, cool off-"

Diana _glared_ at him, mouth open to protest, black holes boring into his own, defiant, but one look at his face had her mouth clamping shut, the line thin and furious. With a sharp turn on her heel, Diana marched out of the room, flinging the doors open so hard they flew several feet into the air before landing with a _crash_ , hinges completely torn off.

There was a scoff from Talia, and Clark whipped his head round to her, eyes ablaze. "Don't you _dare_. _Get out_ , right now." It was an effort to keep his voice level, that this woman had indeed, intentional or otherwise, caused a lot of hurt to his two best friends, and whether unaware or unrepentant of the fact, Clark had no idea, but to _stand_ there, mocking, grinning, at people who could easily rip her from limb to limb?

 _Unthinkable_.

Talia jutted her chin at him, blades still sharp and poised for action, stance ready to attack, but with Tim's nudging, the boy not quite looking at her, she stood straighter, blades disappearing mid air, staring back at Clark coolly, as if the last hour and a bit of screaming was a distant memory. A final smirk at Bruce, and Talia walked out, sashaying, heels sharp against the floor. Tim watched her go for a moment, before looking back at him, and Clark saw the tension, anger, _frustration_ , at her, at everything about this, the situation, and they made eye contact, understanding. Tim held his gaze a little longer, eyes softening - _thank you_ , grateful for the intervention, before flicking over to Bruce.

 _Take care of him_. 

Clark dipped his head imperceptibly, giving the boy a small, tired smile. _Message received_.

Tim stood a moment longer, and then moved slightly, one hand at his front, towards Bruce, to reach him, but halted on seeing Bruce turn away, and Clark closed his eyes then, knowing that the wedge between Father and son was now another foot deeper, Tim over on Talia's side, when it was clear the boy was trying to hold the woman back, Tim who failed to vocally support Bruce, and Clark felt something akin to pain on watching Tim inhale shakily at Bruce's dismissal, the sound tiny and strained, and head bowed, the boy left, hurt.

The room was blessedly quiet now.

Clark said nothing for a few seconds. He debated saying something, aiming for reassurance, wanting to know his friend's mental state, but after years of friendship, working closely, there was no need. A hand to the man's shoulder would only get shrugged off, accompanied with a heated glare that could probably melt steel, and so Clark moved away from his friend, giving the man space, and sat down heavily in a seat that had him in full view of the room. Bruce was still ever so tense, the shoulders gave it away, and the man was now staring at the window, a tiny tremor running through his frame.

Clark waited.

It was unlikely Bruce would want to say anything right about now, not voluntarily at least. The man had a lot of resentment towards Talia, and rightly so. Insulting Diana like that- Clark knew that if he wasn't what he was, _Superman_ \- the warring partners would have come to blows, most certainly, and Bruce would come close to killing that heinous woman. Part of him knew Bruce was also angry at _him_ , that his near invulnerability allowed him to stop Bruce from going any further, probable to strangle the life out Talia, the same one who'd brought Jason _back_ , his elite human strength not enough to match Clark, and Clark hated himself for it, that constant reminder, one that had taken years of effort and persistence to overcome, overriding insecurity and ego, that their friendship could flourish, respectful of boundaries and personal standing. 

Clark looked through the ceiling to Jason's room a few floors up, several hundred meres across. _Still sleeping_. Heavily sedated, and Clark clenched his jaw. Tim had called not long ago, explaining the situation in rushed tones. The hospital had called sometime just before midnight, informing him that the young Perez had required substantial sedation due to severe agitation and physical disturbance, and Tim had dressed hurriedly on his way to the ward, only to meet Bruce outside, head in hands, eyes red. Apparently there'd been a misunderstanding on his part, he'd acted without forethought, and Jason had reacted badly, requiring sedation and two nurses who needed treatment for injuries. Tim hadn't concealed his anger, swearing loudly, before asking Bruce _how bad_ , but Bruce only shook his head, voice quiet, that _the staff had asked him to leave_ , that he was still waiting on further information. Tim, sensing Bruce's shock, had led him away, taking him downstairs in an effort to get away from the tension, the guilt heavy on his Father's shoulders, and it wasn't long afterwards that _Talia_ had shown up, eyes bitter at having been denied access to Jason upstairs. Heated words, anger flaring at the other, and then a phonecall from Tim had Clark flying out from work as quickly as possible, forgetting to text Lois, momentarily stopping to glance into Jason's room, ducking to avoid being spotted by the nurses and staff crowded outside the room, discussing with hands on hips. His chest had pained on seeing the younger man with various drips in place, infusions running, dried tear tracks on Jason's face, left wrist chained to his railing one one side, the other railing missing entirely, the wall immediately opposite dented enough to leave cracks, overhead light bulbs flickering madly. A mess, one that Clark knew Bruce would beat himself over, and he'd closed his eyes on hearing Bruce and Talia go at it a few floors down, pitches raised, harsh tones. Clark arrived to find Tim in the middle, trying to play pacemaker, the boy's eyes widening then flooding with relief at his presence, but that didn't deter the exes in the slightest, before things came to boiling point, with Bruce lunging at Talia, and Tim and Clark struggling to keep them apart, cursing filling the air, spittle flying.

"I can't let her take him. Not again." Bruce suddenly broke into Clark's musing, and Clark looked up, a little startled at the intensity of Bruce's gaze, eyes dark.

Clark swallowed, voice tight. Did Bruce want his support on the matter? No, he thought to himself. Whether he agreed or otherwise -and Clark knew he had conflicting thoughts on the matter, partly on whether it was even his place to have an opinion, seeing as Jason wasn't his- Bruce had clearly made up his mind. This wasn't a call for support, or ideas - Bruce was levelling out a _fact_ , a statement of certainty. Nothing would deter him on this, and Clark felt his mouth go dry. 

Not once had Talia, nor Bruce, mentioned any intention of asking _Jason_ wanted he wanted.

Not that Jason could give them an answer for the time being, sedated and all. 

Clark suspected that even if Jason were asked, Bruce would accept nothing other than acceptance of his offer, and Clark couldn't blame him too much, not with what he knew between his friend and Talia. As morbid as it was, if there was any time to say _I'm sorry_ and _let's start over_ , _let me be there for you_ , now was _it_. A chance for the once Father and estranged son to reconnect. But the question still remained: what did _Jason_ want? Did he even want any of their help? Clark knew the man had friends, associates, a team of sorts - Jason might want to go to them. He might want to be alone. They'd only been in contact for a short while, and Clark was fairly sure Jason's feelings towards Bruce and his current stance hadn't changed. Jason hadn't brought up Bruce once, not a single mention of the man. He thought back to Gerebeta - it was clear to all of them that _Talia_ was an important part of Jason's life. A room in his house, her stuff, previous visits - and quite close, judging by the way Jason's multiverse friends reminisced about her- _God_ , this was a mess. Jason was essentially a child being used as a pawn between two, no _three_ bitter exes, and Clark didn't like it, even though he loved his friends. Jason...Jason he'd come to know, a little better, a little _more_ , and at the heart of it all, Jason was a good man. A big man with an ever bigger heart, who'd had a whole lot of shit to deal with, and who was trying, damnit, he really was, a man who fought and was still fighting, who cared enough to _care_ about someone he really ought not to, and all Clark wanted for him was the _best_ , his best interests at heart. 

Bruce was still looking at him, watching, assessing, and Clark forced himself to look at his friend, his friend who was now cottoning on a little to his position, that his support might not be automatic, and Clark watched the realisation slowly dawn in Bruce's his eyes, that his support...wasn't _quite_ there, to be assumed. 

They stared at each other.

Years of friendship allowed them understood each other with few words, if any.

Clark began, eyes on Bruce for a moment longer before averting to the side slightly. "It...it might be better to...wait, until Jay wakes up. See what he wants first."

His throat was tight.

Bruce continued to watch him.

Clark had known, of course. He'd kept in contact with Jason after Xan, aware of his deal with Diana. And having to explain his presence at the Cave in the early day's of the search, when Jason was missing - the _look_ Bruce had given him when he'd explained that he and Jason had stayed in touch. That _look_ \- Clark was sure he wouldn't forget that look for a _long_ time - a mask frozen in time, full to the brim and then some, of jealousy, envy, anger. So very unexpected, and if not for Tim, who'd arrived in the Cave at that very moment, agitated as he took control of one of the screens, words tumbling over each other - Clark knew Bruce would have reacted quite differently, getting up and in his personal space. Stalking him as he sought to probe further, to learn more, that the alien had managed to connect with the estranged son, when his own father didn't even have his number. Clark could see it now - the closer he grew with Jason, the more the tension would develop between himself and Bruce, biting back words, narrowed eyes, before it would eventually come out, and Bruce saw it too, judging by the tiny shift in his posture, chin jutted, eyes hard. The only to stop this from developing would be if he stopped his contact with Jay altogether, but Clark couldn't do that.

Jason was becoming very quickly, if he wasn't already, a friend.

Someone who _understood_ , what it was like, the nightmares, what it took to deal with the...memories, a man who continued to astound him with a maturity far beyond his years -forced to grow up well before his time-, vastly different from two, three years ago. From a trigger happy, mentally unstable, anxiety-driven lanky teen, to a well-built, perceptive young man, intelligent eyes, whose laugh was rather hearty, booming and yet comforting all in one, if their conversations over the phone were any indication.

Someone he cared about. 

The same someone who seemingly did better on his own, distant, apart, with a few around him, and Tim had let it slip once, one night at the Watchtower, that Jason liked him. That Jason didn't trust easily, his inner circle highly guarded, and so whatever had happened between them back on Xan - before cutting off, walking away, and Clark had watched him go, realising the gravity of what Tim had said, knowing already just how protective Tim was of Jason, guarded. _Don't fuck it up_ , that was the take home message, and Clark had stared at Tim's retreating back, resolving inwardly _not_ to. 

Bruce was still looking at him. Something had shifted between them, and they both knew it.

Clark was becoming protective of Jason, too. And if that meant going against Bruce....

Clark stood, eyes not leaving his friend, and was taken back by the courage that he'd managed to conjure up in the few minutes of tense silence. 

"If we get into this now, undoubtedly one of us will say something hurtful, or that we didn't mean but can't take back, and it'll screw things up between us. So, for the sake our friendship, I'm going to walk away now."

Bruce's eyes were narrowed, but still, the man remained silent.

"Let's hear what the doctors say first. Get some rest, Bruce." Clark stepped forward, placing a hand on Bruce's arm, squeezing it, but Bruce was rigid under his touch, stiff, jaw tight, the air strange between them, and Clark fought to remain calm, giving the man a nod before taking his leave, black holes boring into his back, stomach jumpy.

If he wasn't careful, he might lose his friend over this, and permanently too.

 

 

 _Early afternoon_.

Jason waited till the nurse had left before breathing out slowly, the effort heavy and draining.

He took his eyes off the damaged wall, the holes, cracks, away from his handiwork, and opted to face the window instead, in his brand new bed.

Last night, he'd lost control. The first in a long, _long_ time and Jason _hated_ himself for it.

Self-control was important to him. What it meant to be in charge of his emotions, to be stable, to _breathe_ and think things through. To work through the mounting rage, feel the cool as his eyes closed, calming, and Bruce, in the space of fucking _minutes_ , had blown the gate wide fucking open. The control he'd been working, shaping, building on for years, and just like that, a mistake, ignorance, had cost him months of work, nights of gritted teeth, sweating through the encouragement, eyes that held his and told him not to _give up_.

But- if he were honest, brutally honest - it wasn't Bruce's fault. Not completely, anyway.

The timing of the call could have been better, fair enough. The man could have asked the Dickhead to call back later. He'd _tried_ to cut the man short. Bruce, for the first time, was about to open up, raw and honest, and the universe - it hated Jason, Jason P. Todd, thought it funny to screw him time and time again, and so instead of letting have this one thing, with someone he hadn't spoken to properly in _years_ , blew it all to hell, and Jason swore quietly to himself.

He'd lost control, and that was his fault. Down to him, not Bruce, who looked horrified at himself, as much as Jason wanted to blame him. It would be most convenient, but the deceit wouldn't be true, and more than that, it would be a slap in the face to all these years of struggling, to those who'd helped him face and conqueror his demons. Yesterday morning the voices had kicked in, mocking, taunting, his failure as a son and as a Robin. Talia, Tim, Diana - he was on good standing with them, and though the voices had tried their damnedest, Jason had been able to keep their vitriol at bay, but only just. They'd probably cottoned on during the visits, but out of love, ignored his tense breathing, eyes that were both hollow yet sharp at the same time. Dick, however, was another matter altogether, strained and unknown, foreign, and Dick's call had been the final trigger, setting him off. The rage had become too much, Lazarus _too damn much_ , and it had taken over, flooding his veins, clouding his eyes, across joints and muscles, seeping into his bones, caught in his breath, twisting his mind, whispering _see, I told you so. Not like Dick, the golden child, first born, Bruce's pride and joy,_ and Jason had lashed out, fighting, clawing, knowing that the voices were not all right but too far gone and out of control to halt the chaos. The cool liquid, soothing and lulling as it pinched his neck, blurring his vision, but Jason had Bruce's face in mind now, begging apologising for his fuck up, and he shifted, pulling the sheets higher to himself.

He had to get out of here.

The nurses had been talking, when they thought he was asleep and unable to hurt them. One had sustained a bruised cheekbone, the other, a swollen jaw. The porters had come in at one point, bringing in a new bed. The lights had been changed, the damaged wall would be inspected tomorrow, maybe the day after. It had been difficult to control him, they said. Very agitated, strong, and Jason felt horrible at their mistreatment from his hands, pity in his sleep slumber, that they had no idea as to his true strength under the full brunt of Lazarus, these kind people who would be hurt by his actions. He had woken up three hours ago, four maybe, it wasn't sure. The sedatives had worn off sooner than the medical team had expected, if the hushed, surprised tones were anything to go by. A wash, something light to help ease his stomach, and they'd let him be, eyes understanding that he was sorry, ashamed of himself. Jason had asked not to be disturbed - no visitors, he'd been clear on that, and the staff had nodded quietly, no doubt thinking of the big, black haired blue-eyed man that had sent the younger man into a frenzy, and Jason had sighed with relief on hearing various people be turned away, the nurses firm and unyielding.

God, he was so tired, and there was still so much to come.

There was no way he could go home with Bruce, not even a little bit, and certainly not after this. The reasons were too numerous, too much, and Jason realised with a touch of bitterness, that Bruce could easily set him off when the Pit kicked in, amplifying the taunting, ramping up the hate-filled voices, and making things a whole lot worse than necessary. Nor could Jason handle this by himself - he'd tried that before, and the aftermath was awful, bloody, that Talia had clucked her tongue in sympathy, a quiet _Tt_ at finding him surrounding by bodies filled with black holes, and him in the corner, weeping, tugging at his hair. His friends, the Ghosts, various others - they didn't know about any of this, his real name even, all the shit he'd been through, for his safety, for theirs, and Jason wasn't about to start now. Tim wasn't an option - the risk of hurting him was too great, and Jason would rather die than a thousand times over than lay a hand on the boy. Nor did he want Tim around at his very worst, _God_ no. He'd be damn near toxic, and no matter what Tim would say, insist even - things would change between them, a little hesitancy there and there, a flicker of fear, that Jason knew.

Talia was the only option, and Jason felt both relief and resentment at the conclusion.

Yes, it was Talia. He loved her, and trusted her with his life. She would keep him safe, no doubt, would encourage, push, train him once again, and they'd overcome the Pit. He loved her dearly, knowing more about her than anyone, all the things she'd told him about herself, her life, her childhood, what was expected of her, at night when she rocked him to sleep, in the day when they walked hand in hand in the gardens. Yes, he'd been brain damaged to the hills, unable to speak, reliant and dependent on her, but Talia had continued to talk to him, sometimes at great length, telling him things he knew to be private but only to him, tone quiet and pensive. He had never told her how much he _remembered_ \- for instance, the time she failed her English studies just before her ninth birthday, or her first kill, the mission where she'd lost twenty five-no, twenty eight men over four days and had escaped to China for a week before being brought back to face her Father, the first man she'd ever loved- no, surprisingly _not_ Bruce. Either Talia knew that he knew but chose to remain silent, guarding her secrets, or believed that he didn't, wouldn't, or couldn't remember. Either way, Talia had told him, and Jason treasured her trust.

But she'd _caused_ this. The _Pit_ and her taste for madness, chaos. Talia who had kept him from Bruce in the beginning, for reasons she wouldn't say whenever he asked, that he apparently would never forgive her if he knew, and Jason would always let the matter go, but not entirely. Jason would never hold it against her, saving his life twice over; thankful that she'd given him this second chance to live again, to see Tim and Diana and Alfred, Clark even, but the fact was that living meant battling against the Pit, which seemed determine to break him _more_ than before, his punishment for daring to improve, to live again, and Jason knew he had an uphill battle on his hands. Resentment that he had no real choice in the matter if he wanted to overcome this, and that _hurt_.

Just then, his stomach rumbled, painfully. Jason glanced down before looking away.

It wouldn't be long before the Pit kicked up a fuss again, like a selfish, demanding child, and Jason had no desire to feed her any more than necessary.

 

 

 _A little after eight in the evening_.

Tim glanced to his phone at the side, then looked out of his window.

He'd been too jumpy for breakfast, lunch no better, unable to stomach more than a few handfuls, not with the fight and Bruce... _God_ , the way Bruce had looked at him..playing over and over again in his mind all day as he'd taken calls and read through reports. The man had expected him to speak up in the midst of the shouts, to back him up in regards to Jason coming home with _them_ , - after all, hadn't he told Bruce it was a "good idea" over lunch last week?- _not_ Talia, but Tim hadn't said a single word to that effect, and the anger was there to see.

Jason had been awake for the last few hours, but Tim had pushed down the initial desire to see his brother in favour of taking time to think things over. Even if he wanted to see Jay, the man himself was refusing visits from pretty much everyone, Talia included, and the staff were all too happy to enforce his request. They weren't happy, it was obvious. Jason, intentional or otherwise, had assaulted two of the team, damaged hospital equipment, and caused a right disturbance. With his increasing strength, it was obvious a few members of the team were pushing for an early discharge, and Tim couldn't blame them, not with Talia flaunting her access in the background, her and Bruce's sometimes obvious vying as to who could give Jason the most, a weird tug of war, and their bickering was causing a lot of stress. The sedatives had worked this time round, but it had taken a large amount to actually sedate Jason, and with the Pit taking hold, Tim knew that it wouldn't be long before Jason became too strong, too unstable, that the sedatives would be ineffective, and his propensity of outbursts under Lazarus meant that the staff here were in danger. Next time it wouldn't just be a punch to the face or a swollen jaw - Jason had ripped his metal bedside railing clean off, and that was with one hand, nowhere near peak strength and alertness. It meant that the timeline for having Jason transferred to private care had now been moved forwards, and Tim knew that Jason had to be out of here before the end of the week, at the very latest, if they wanted to leave this place in one piece.

Talia was the best person to look after Jason. That was the truth.

She was clearly the most experienced, and there was no amount of money, research, private access Bruce could conjure that would trump having experience, the type that only came with time. Talia had been there, _before_ , and more importantly: Jason _trusted_ her. Yes, things weren't quite as rosy between them at the moment, Jason angry at her, but when it came down to it, Bruce or Talia, there was no doubt as to who Jason would pick if he _had_ to, and Bruce, call it ignorance, denial - deep down, Tim was sure he _knew_ , and it was killing him. 

Tim's phone beeped with a message. _Almost there_.

Clark would be here soon.

Tim swallowed down a sigh. If Bruce knew what he was doing, and with who....it would be hard, to look him in the eyes after this, and Tim felt a prickling in his eyes, at the thought, at the hurt Bruce would unsuccessfully fail to mask before cooling, eyes hard and distant, the _betrayal_ acknowledged.

But this was for Jason, and Tim could only hope that in time, Bruce would understand why.

A slight tap at the window jolted Tim out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see a dark figure hovering by the window. He shuffled over to the window, trying to smile but coming up short, and Clark said nothing, drawing him in, a small sad smile for the both of them, and after a short moment, broke their embrace with two brown paper bags.

"Dinner?" The big man's voice was calm, gentle, but the way he spoke - Tim knew refusal wasn't an option. With a thankful nod, he took the bag, ignoring the crisps and chocolates and inhaling the large double cheese, roasted chicken and green pesto baguette that Clark knew he loved, courtesy of Cafe Marcos, Upper East Gotham. Clark chuckled at the sight, and the two began to dig in, feet outstretched before them. It was a little while later when Tim spoke, the loaf nearing halfway eaten. Clark too paused, having been silent throughout, knowing Tim would speak when he was ready, and Tim was thankful for the older man's understanding.

"Jason's best hope of overcoming the Pit is if he goes with Talia."

There was quiet for a while.

Tim spoke again. "She knows him. She's been there at his very worst, much more than me. Jay trusts her. They have their own issues, especially with his coming back, but that aside, Talia has the most experience."

Clark still said nothing.

"I love Bruce. I know he's trying, and I love him for it, even though part of me doesn't... _want_ him to...to reach out to Jay. I think, no I _know_ Bruce thinks its the right time, the perfect opportunity to try and reconnect with Jay by helping him, and I get it, I swear. Being there for him, helping him recover, getting back to his full strength, working through the Pit, and its a nice idea, a good start to things. But I know Jason better than he does, than both of you, and for the most part...Jason won't like it. Haven't asked him, and I will once he allows visitors, but I'm pretty sure he won't want to go with Bruce. Firstly, it's too much, way too soon. They haven't seen each other since Xan. Two - Bruce can't prove why exactly Jason should go with him over Talia, or anyone in fact. What Bruce is suggesting isn't a good idea because Jason looses an element of control, and if there's one thing Jason loves more than me, its being in control of himself. Its taken him years to get to a point of relative security, not self loathing, or comparing himself to others, like Dick. Self control, knowing where he stands, and being under Bruce's care makes Jason dependent on him, especially at this stage. It means Jason's life is in his hands, and whether Bruce realises it or not, he'll be the one holding all the cards. The power dynamic will shift. It'll ramp up Jay's agitation through the roof if he goes under Bruce's care, knowing that it will be his money, his equipment, his resources. Like a debt being owed."

Tim paused, working his thoughts in order.

Clark continued to listen.

"I think worse than that is Bruce...doesn't seem to truly understand that this move is a pretty selfish one. It is. It's what _he_ wants, and even if Jason wants something similar, on the same lines, to reconcile even - _now is not the best time_ , not really, not with the Pit playing havoc on Jay's mind. Jay said the Pit, it manipulates and prey's on your fears, doubts, insecurities, and its clear to me that Bruce, though he may not mean to, can actually do more harm than good. I mean, look what's happened already. Imagine then, Jay at the Manor, and Bruce says something or does something, even the littlest thing - imagine Jay, and this time, a Jason battling the Pit at its worst. His heath and well-being's at risk, as is Bruce's, Alfred's, Damian's - its too much. And God forbid anything happens - Jay will hate himself for it. He'll never forgive himself, and already there's a lot of things in the past that he struggles with. And, if by a miracle and I do mean a miracle - Jay decides to stay with Bruce, in the Manor. What about Damian? Not that I like the kid, but he does have a right, a say in all this. I don't know much about their League history, but Damian holds a hell of a lot towards Jason, especially when it comes to Dick, and I can't say for sure that the brat won't try anything, which will inadvertently lead to Jay defending himself, and let me tell you up front - If I barely held my own against Jay back then, in Jay's current state, Pit flowing in his veins? No fucking way. And that's me we're talking about - put Damian in my place and there's no question - he won't stand a chance, not at all. "

Clark chose his words carefully. "At this point, it would be hard pressed to get Bruce to listen to reason. Once he's set his mind on something, it can be almost impossible to dissuade him otherwise, Tim. I-" Clark closed his eye briefly, pausing, and felt Tim's own gaze, questioning. "Bruce. He...He's expecting my support with him bringing Jay back to the Manor but I...I don't think the idea is wise, for Jason's sake. I understand why, but getting involved is essentially me standing his way, or worse than that, a stab in the dark-"

"I noticed, that night." Tim suddenly interrupted.

Clark clamped his mouth shut. They both knew what night he was referring to. The first night Clark had shown up at the Cave, answering Tim's call.

"I saw the way he looked at you. We both know he's hurt, probably confused at how you managed to connect with Jay when he can't. You and Jay have every right to be friends, to stay in contact - there's no law against that, and Bruce needs to deal with whatever ego fest he's got in his mind. Jay likes you, I've said it before, and he's not that forthcoming when it comes to things like that. He's mentioned you a couple of times, and its always good things. From what I've seen so far, you care about him, and I'm glad as fuck you do, that Jason has got another person in his life who does. Bruce's....feelings are not just _how_ and _why_ you guys connected, but why _you_. What _you_ did that _he_ didn't, or couldn't, but its not a magic solution, a one answer fits all. Same as with me. He doesn't get it - its not about playing it safe. I can't tell you the number of fights me and Jason have gotten into, yes, even when we were hanging out, looking out for each other. As friends, as brothers. We still have them, we get mad as hell with each other, silent treatment and all. I don't let him slide on the bullshit, the self-pity, neither does Talia or Alfred. We call him out, right to his face, because he needs to hear the truth. The underlying reason why Bruce isn't getting across to Jason is rather simple, all other factors aside: _B fails to see Jason as he is, right now, in the moment_. In his mind, Jay is still the kid, the teen, the one who liked this or who did that. It isn't that I've neglected what Jay's done in the past, all the shit he's carried out - I've still got the scars. But I see him _now_. What he says _now_ , and whether you've realised it or not - _you do too_ , to an extent at least. Until Bruce understands this fundamental concept, he will continue to be confused, continue to find Jay unreachable, but Jay isn't, and that's the weird thing. Not a soldier, or a memorial. He's fucking _here_ , alive."

Tim ran a hand through his hair, willing himself to calm down. Clark was watching him, the frustration lining his frame, but Tim knew he understood. Talking to Bruce - getting across to him and making him _see_ could be excruciatingly difficult sometimes, and Jason was a difficult topic to broach already.

After a few beats of silence, Clark spoke, voice low. "What do you need me to do?"

Tim considered this. He looked over at Clark, holding his eye for a short while, and then looked away, resting his chin on his hands. "I've been deliberating over this idea for a while. I knew from the moment Jason came back what he'd have to deal with, and whilst I love Talia, I..don't want her to have complete control over everything regarding Jay's recovery, if at all possible, though part of me doubts it."

Clark raised his eyebrows at him, clearly surprised. "I thought she was-"

"She is." Tim swallowed. "But I kept help thinking...a part of me _suspects_ that if Talia takes Jay away, we won't see him for a long time after. Not that Talia will _deliberately_ manipulate Jason or anything like that, he's not that easily swayed, and his mind this time is different to back then. But... Talia will want to keep him close to herself, near her, to protect him because she loves him, and she might not let him come back... but....at least if we get to see him, to stay in contact, that if she knows Jason isn't alone...I wish I could explain it better...I mean, Jay loves Diana. He loves Shayera, me, he likes you, and I... I highly doubt she'd do it against me, for you, it depends, but she _would_ against Di - Talia would keep Jay from her-, and that's spiteful on a deep level, denying Diana like that. We're in his life _too_ , not _just_ Talia. It's not that I don't trust her; I can understand her need to keep things quiet, secret even, and I know she'll take care of Jay, but to have him all to herself this time around, shutting others out, especially as Jay has more people this time who care about him and want to see him? I...if we can avoid it, that would be great. So, I'm proposing a solution. Supporting Talia taking charge of Jay's recovery but on one condition, if you guys are willing. If you want to, and if you agree."

Clark leaned forward, curious. "Go on." _What did Tim have in mind?_

Tim twisted his fingers absent-mindedly. "You....you, Diana, Shayera - you guys get access to Jay, in whatever private compound Talia chooses to care for him in. That as he recovers, you guys train him. Once a week, more frequently, less, it doesn't matter - each of you take a session to build on a particular area _alongside_ Talia's programme. Strength regime, skills, whatever. It will help solidify the fact that _you_ guys are _real_ , his _relationships_ with you all are real, not imagined, and that will in turn, lessen the effect of the Pit on his mind, and what he believes. Get him strong and better than before. I don't believe it will take long - he's already really well trained, but he'll need help with the recovery. He'll doubt himself many, many times - the Pit will do that to him, and play up whatever went wrong at the camp and God knows what else, weakening him psychologically, and cause him to misjudge his actions. Overthink things. Hesitate, panic attacks, doubt his leadership skills, ability to reason, all that. Jay will need both physical and mental help, and _you_ guys have been through it all, individually, and as a team. You've gone through hardships, tests, confronting failure - the whole nine yards, and I know with all my heart that Jason will improve under all the different tutorships you guys might possibly offer. So. That's the idea, if you're up to it, time commitments permitting, emergencies and all that. Doesn't have to be a rigid schedule, like "every week or else", no, it can be flexible. But Jay will have the opportunity to learn from people far more experienced than him, and if there's one thing Jay loves, its learning, new things particularly, and making himself better. He's a fighter. Knock him down seven times and he'll get back up, each and every time, I can promise you that. He'll swear, cry, and lash out, but trust me - Jay won't quit. I....in this way, it reinforces the fact that you guys are a part of his life. He'll have something and people to live for. Talia will know that she isn't the only one whose looking out for him."

There was silence for a while.

Clark thought deeply to himself, already thinking of the possibilities. Training, simulations, mental exercises - there was much they could tackle, himself, Diana, Shayera-Bruce? Would...would Jay be willing- _Talia_ be willing to let them, Bruce help?

"Do you think Talia would agree to us being involved?" Clark spoke after a few minutes.

Tim smiled thinly, taking a swing of water. "Honestly? If it were anybody else, a _hells_ no, no fucking way. I'm hoping she likes me enough to _at least_ consider the idea. If I can come to her with a solid proposal, she might be more inclined to hear it out."

In other words, _a gamble._ Talia was most certainly fond of Tim, that much was clear, but if she believed Tim was the one possibly standing in her way, her plans? A troubling thought. But as for himself, helping Jay, when he could? He didn't need convincing twice.

"And Bruce? Jason can have his reservations, but we all know that Batman is a force to be reckoned with. If Jay considers it...I think it might work in both their favour. Jay learning, Bruce being with Jay again, even if its for a short time only. What comes out of that, well, is up to them. "

The boy hesitated.

"That...I'll ask Jay about it, if he's willing. Maybe later, when he's a little more stable. I can't exactly predict how he'll take to the idea of Bruce training him, but for now we'll say you three, Di, Shayera and yourself."

"Leave it with me. I'll speak to them, see what they think. It's a _yes_ from me, I'm more than happy to help Jay." Clark's eyes twinkled, placing an arm around the boy's shoulders lightly and Tim smiled back, a little relieved at the readiness of the older man to help.

But then Clark spoke, and Tim felt himself stiffen. "Bruce will not take the idea well, Tim, you supporting Talia on this, not any of us. It'll be as if we went behind his back, and he'll be angry. I want you to be prepared for that."

Tim nodded, facing his baguette, and then spoke quietly, tone pensive.

"C. Don't...don't feel guilty about wanting to protect Jay. Or considering his best interests - it means you care. You're not....its, how should I say this - its not like you're stepping into Bruce's shoes or whatnot, cause I'm sure Bruce might see things a little like that. If B truly loves Jason, then he'll understand, and he'll work through it. Just...give him time."

Clark squeezed his shoulder in response, then nudged him gently, voice teasing. "Finish your food. I didn't fly all this way and spend an arm and a leg to see half your food go to waste, young man."

Tim snorted, picking up the sandwich, and spoke, voice muffled with food. "I can out eat you any day, anytime. Ask Jay." 

Clark grinned, flicking the boy's ear. "That I will."

 

 

_Thursday, late afternoon._

"I'm not leaving till I hear your thoughts, Jay."

Jason stared at the lithe creature seated comfortable on his bed, his first visitor since yesterday, lean legs folded like a pretzel, munching away at a burger whilst _he_ had to do with a few slices of bread or else risk throwing up. Tim looked back at him, shit eating grin, taking a painfully big bite of his burger, and all Jason wanted to do right then was to toss that bloody thing right out the window, cause it just wasn't fucking _fair_.

"Where does it even all go, anyway?" He grumbled, ignoring Tim's bark of laughter.

"Jealously does you no favours." Tim spoke primly, accent bitingly posh, Alfred style, and Jason rolled his eyes, failing to hide a smile.

"Fine, fine." Jason huffed loudly. "I take it having me on board would make Talia more likely to agree, is that it?" His voice was a little sharper than intended, and Tim angled his head at the slight, but chose not to match it.

"More likely. If we can emphasise the benefits, then she might look more favorably to the idea." Tim swallowed, aiming for calm.

"I mean, I don't exactly have a choice here." Jason didn't allow Tim to interrupt, wanting to protest that _no, he did have a choice_ , and he readily ignored the boy's o-shape of his mouth. "Honestly, I don't. I can't do this alone, I've tried before. There's no-one who understands shit like Talia does."

Tim clamped his mouth shut. "Yeah." His voice was quiet. No contest there.

"So, your big ass plan is to advocate me going with Talia, and have Diana, Shay and Clark drop in and train me on a frequent basis. Won't that just draw attention though, all those visitors?"

"Not if we plan it properly. Talia has the means and resources to keep you safe, away from nosy bastards. Besides, even if anything were to happen, wouldn't you rather have Wonder Woman or Superman on your defence"

Jason stared at Tim, a frown on his face. "It means they'll see-"

" _Maybe_ -"

"But I don't _want_ them there when I'm that bad, Tim! They won't understand, they-"

"Not necessarily." Tim cut in. "They won't need to see the breakdowns if you don't want them to, I trust Talia to make sure of that. Even if they do witness it - what makes you think think they can't handle it, hmm? Or that they'll think differently of you? That they haven't dealt with weirder shit, Jay? You've got an Amazonian, an alien, and a birdwoman - and that's just the beginning, years of fighting, of experience, in all sorts of situations - I guarantee they've pretty much seen it all. You're anxious, I can understand that. If you agree to the sessions, then they won't happen straight away, mind you, at least until you can stand on your own two feet. Once your training starts, it'll be a session or two in the week at most, with just one of them at a time, in private, and for however long you'll want. I know Jay, but listen - it means you get to see them, and they you. They'll help build you up, train you back to peak ability and then some - and they can take the hits, the punches, all of the Pit. No fear of hurting them, or Talia."

Jason opened his mouth then paused, as if to consider things. He moved his jaw from side to side. "What if I'm not feeling up to it, or-"

"Then you don't. Talia will continue to train you regardless - she'll simply substitute the lesson for something else. She won't let up on you, won't take it easy just because, you know that. The idea I'm proposing to _you_ to reinforce the fact that you've got friends, a family, and we're not leaving you to go through this alone. We're here to help. I'm not trying to force you Jay, I promise. If you really don't want them there at all, all you gotta do is say so, and it'll just be you and T, no-one else."

Jason said nothing for a while, but Tim knew he was thinking things over. 

"And if Talia doesn't agree, then what? I mean, all this is at her discretion. No matter what you _think_ you can do Tim, understand that she's _Talia al Ghul_. Even with all your whizz mate, the moves up your sleeve - whilst clever and all, and I know you can intentionally make things difficult for her if you wanted to, Talia isn't someone you want against you, believe me on that. She adores you, but keep me from her like that or try and pull something to sway her to agreeing, and you've effectively turned yourself into a threat."

Tim said nothing. They both knew Jason was right. Tim was banking on his good standing with Talia to pull this off, but he was taking a risk. Even now, the woman might feel that he was playing Jay against her by manipulating him, and Talia wouldn't take to that idea too kindly.

Jason breathed out slowly, speaking sometime later. "Let's say I..agree, at least a trial run?"

"If you want."

Jason bit the inside of his cheek. "Just the three of them? And they're happy to do it?"

Tim gave him a look. "The three. Clark agreed right off the bat. Shay said _yes_ , that was last night. Doesn't like Talia mind you, but she knows she plays an important part in all this, and she can play ball if the others can agree. Diana hasn't said anything yet, but its clear she doesn't like the idea of you going back to Talia and in her care, especially as she wants you close to home as possible, the Manor or otherwise. What do you think about Bruce to joining-"

"No!" Jason half yelled before catching himself. "I mean..for now, three is enough. We..I can try that.."

Tim nodded, understanding. A short breath later, and then "Has he-"

Tim cut off as Jason flinched on the bed, and it took a while for his brother to answer. "Haven't seen him. I know he's tried, though." His voice was strained.

Tim thought to himself. "Do you want to see him? Before...or-"

"I don't know." Jason's voice was thick. "It-it wasn't his fault, not exactly. I reacted badly, I had a bad morning that day. I-the look on his face, Tim. As if-as if it was a wild animal he was dealing with, or-"

"Don't say that." Tim's voice was sharp. "You're not an animal. Get that shit out of your head right now."

Jason looked away, jaw tight. "As if you have any idea- you-you don't know, Tim, you haven't seen me when it's at its worst and I-"

"I don't care. Jay, I don't give a damn whether you're howling on all fours, pissing blood or screaming bloody murder. You're my _brother_ , _my_. _brother_ and I'll love you regardless, no matter what. You've overcome this shit before, you'll do it again, and this time, it won't just be me, or T, Alfred - if you let us in, you'll have more people around you who are _there_ Jay, who want to help. Use them. But I'm not going to let you get away with the self pity bullshit, you hear? Cut it the _fuck_ out." Tim's voice was hard.

Jason closed his eyes, only just able to manage a stiff nod.

"Give....give me a little more time to think it through, alright? T...won't be happy, Tim. And Tim-" Jason opened his eyes to Tim, before looking away.

"Bruce. When he finds out-"

He felt a small squeeze on his ankle, and opened his eyes to Tim, who was watching him, a weary smile on his face. "I know. She won't be, and Bruce.. I..." the boy was unable to finish, and instead looked down at himself, twisting his fingers nervously.

Jason beckoned the boy over, and Tim moved in close, curling into his chest. They said nothing for a while, the thump-thump of his chest strangely audible to his ears. _Could this work?_ He wasn't sure.

"Can I have a burger now?"

" _No._ "

It was worth a try.

 

 

_Two days later, Saturday lunchtime._

Tim felt sick. Horrible, stomach churning _sick_ , and he wished, more than anything in the world, that the ground could swallow him whole, right where he sat.

Jason had told him _yes_. _Fine, lets see how it goes, but lemme be the first to say I fucking told ya skinny ass so if shit goes south._ He'd still refused to see Bruce, despite the man's numerous attempts, and Tim had purposely avoided him for that very reason.

Shayera had agreed, it hadn't taken long for Tim to convince her, and they'd discussed the idea further over lunch in the Watch-tower. Logically, it was the best option, better than Talia having full control at least. Diana....it had taken several hours and a whole day's worth of sullen silence before giving her answer. She'd initially stormed off angrily at the idea, unable to stomach the thought that that miserable, conniving _bitch_ would be getting her way once again, but as time went on, and a short conversation with _Alfred_ , who, as much as he wanted Jason back at the Manor, himself did not seem entirely convinced that Jason would fare better with Bruce, despite his son's reassurance that _it could work_ \- Diana found herself agreeing to the proposal. If it meant Jason being kept well and safe, that she could see him, and better yet, teach him, train him, her boy - yes he'd be with Talia, but Jason _knew_ who she was, and her son wouldn't forget her, not with Diana reminding him trough the torment that he was _hers_ and he was loved. 

But now, as they sat round the small coffee table, drinks barely touched....it wasn't supposed to go like this, the truth so ugly and glaring, and they all knew it.

They'd planned to break it gently to Bruce on his own, but Talia had walked in, planted herself in their midst, arrogant and stubborn, refusing to leave if they _dared_ to discuss anything pertaining to Jason without her knowledge, and Tim had looked at the rest of them then before sighing heavily, knowing it would hurt Bruce if he found out a second later, not with Talia gloating silently as she prowled around.

Bruce had turned to stone on hearing the proposal, and had yet to say a single word since, not after all the explanations given, voices uncertain.

Not a word from the man, and they'd been in this stuffy room for forty five minutes already.

"So that's the idea T. I know its-" Tim began, wanting to find common ground with Talia but the woman cut him off with a barking laugh, the sound grating, and Tim winced.

"You cannot be serious, dearest Timothy. Out of the question."

Bruce was staring at him, still as a statue, mouth thinned, but utterly silent. _Angry_ was an understatement.

It was as if all of them had gathered against him, Tim knew that, and it felt as if his chest would burst any moment. He could barely look Bruce in the eye, the shame making his skin white hot. Diana too couldn't look at him, not when she'd agreed with Bruce into bringing Jay to the Manor, but Clark and Tim had both made sense. As much as she hated Talia, Tuesday's incident made it all too clear that Jason would not fare well around Bruce, Jason who couldn't even mention the man's name without clenching his jaw. Talia, whether she wanted to admit it or not, had the experience Jay needed to get through this, and if co-operating with her could potentially mean having access to Jason _peacefully_ , then Diana would take that chance. Shayera avoided his gaze, having already warned the man that a similar outcome like this, Jason going with Talia, was more than likely, and yet the truth out not, with Jason having agreed to try things out, made matters worse. That all three of the would be able to see him but _not_ Bruce- Shayera couldn't imagine what Bruce was thinking at the moment, a...friend, who had opened up to her about Jason over the last few months, who very much wanted to reconnect with Jason, and now here she was, knowing all this, the tears he'd silently let out on occasions between themselves, against him. As for Clark? The man was staring down at the floor, body rigid. He'd let down his best friend, a man he should be supporting without hesitation and his relationship with Jay was akin to rubbing Bruce's face in it. Only God knew if things would ever go back to being the same between them, not after this kind of revelation.

Two friends, a girlfriend, and a son, all on board the possessive ex-girlfriend's ship, and none of them had the courage to look Bruce head on, not as he sat there, still, deathly silent, taking it all in.

Tim tried again. "Please, T. Would you just consider-"

"I said _no_." Talia's eyes were sharp.

"I could just take him away, should you fail to meet us this halfway." Diana spoke calmly, eyes fixed on Talia, and the two women stared each other down. "As if you could even _try_ and stop me."

Tim felt a shiver in his bones.

Talia hissed back. "Try _anything_ of the kind and I'll make your presence on our Earth nothing but a _misery_. As if you have any idea of the pull and resources I have at my proposal. I'll have governments turning against you and your kind quicker than you can finish fucking Bruce on a Monday morning-"

Diana was already on her feet, but Clark pulled her down by the hand sharply, glaring at Talia. "I would advise you to think carefully before speaking." His tone was venomous, a real danger hidden in the undercurrent, and Talia _Tt_ ed, jaw clenched, but kept quiet.

Another bout of silence, and then-

"You would really take her side over mine, Tim? After all she's done to Jason, Damian, our family? And now you support her taking Jason away from us, from me? _My own son_? You would do that to me?" 

That was Bruce now, voice deadly soft, blue eyes stormy beneath the practiced calm, and Tim held his breath, willing himself not to shake.

"All of you, after-after _everything_ you know about her, what she's done, all that you've seen, the pain, the _disappointments_ over and over, and now that there's a chance, to-to- and now, _behind my back_ , like utter _cowards_ -" Bruce's eyes fluttered shut for a brief, tense moment, and the group could see how clenched his fists were, knuckles blanched a casper white, struggling to remain composed.

No-one dared to breathe.

"Bruce, we're-" Diana began, but the man turned to the side slowly, the movement a painful dismissal. Diana swallowed, hurt.

Shayera looked away. Clark sank a little further into his chair.

Talia, for once, made no comment, but her eyes held a flicker of pain, oddly enough.

"Bruce, please. Its not about sides, I swear it isn't. I'm-Dad, listen, I'm not- T, Talia knows the Pit, what it does, how it affects Jason, she's seen it before, she knows how to help him and what needs to be done to get him through this-" Tim begged, reaching for Bruce's hand across the table, trying to grasp it, but Bruce pulled back as if burned, eyes radiating hurt and anger, hate lining his cheek on one side, something akin to betrayal across his face, in the tension of his jaw, nostrils a little flared, before standing up, walking away from the group to the other side of the room, back ramrod straight.

Even Talia looked taken aback.

Tim forced himself to remain calm, not to break, that he'd been expecting this, Bruce's reaction was normal, but still. _God, it hurt_ , and judging by the deathly pale silence, the group knew the gravity of the situation between Father and son. He shut his eyes tightly, and held his head in his hands, breathing, just _trying_ to keep it together, but he was wavering, on the brink, that he and Bruce - they were _so_ close to falling apart now.

" _Talia._ " Tim began, but his voice hitched, and he swallowed, once, twice. "If you knew how hard this was for m-" He cut off, breathing in, stilling the pain in his chest to subsided but it only blossomed further.

He tried again, pleading, voice wet sounding, unable to look at any of them. "It works for all of us. Jay remains under your care. These guys get to see him roundabout once a week, spend time with him, help him, reminding Jay that he's loved. No-one is trying to take your place, I promise. It's all for Jay, that he knows we love him, that we won't give up on him. Please, can't you see that?" Tim was shaking a little, a hand pressed to his face.

Silence.

But Tim couldn't sit any longer, not even to hear what Talia had to say. _Bruce_ , God no, he-he-

Tim stood up suddenly, moving towards his father unsteadily, fear in his voice, wringing his hands like mad. "Bruce, please don't do this. I'm-I'm begging you, try to understand. I'm not trying to take Jay away from you B, I love you, you _know_ I do, I wouldn't-I'm not trying to hurt you, I swear on my parent's _graves_. Don't hate me, please B, please don't. I-" Tim reached his father, touching his arm, but Bruce only turned to _look_ at him, face now masked into blank nothing, expressions hidden, and Tim knew then that something almost irrevocable had changed between them, and he moved, desperately hugging Bruce round the chest as tight as he could, as far as his thin arms could reach stumbling over his words, begging to be forgiven, but Bruce said _nothing_.

Did _nothing_.

Not a hand by his shoulder, or on his hair. Didn't reciprocate the hug, didn't fucking _move_.

Bruce stood there, stiff, foreign, whilst Tim _clung_ to him with every ounce of his might, desperate, but it was too late.

It was awful, and the longer he held on, pleading, the worse it became, before Bruce finally spoke, and Tim almost collapsed at what he heard.

"You have until the end of the week to submit your resignation as Vice President of WE." The voice was cold, clinical, and devoid of life.

Tim reeled backwards in shock, and for a long, hideous moment, the words wouldn't come out.

"Whaa-" He gasped. 

Somewhere in the background, Clark had stood to his feet, something about an " _Alright Bruce, that's enough_ ", but Tim couldn't hear him, not when his thoughts were crashing into one another, legs wobbly.

Bruce only looked at him once more before striding out of the room, his movement swift. Not an ounce of recognition on his face, as if Tim was nothing more than a stranger in his presence.

Tim staggered, and a pair of hands guided him back against the wall. Someone mentioned "water", a hand was on his hair, aiming for comfort, but his eyes were unfocused, his hands trembled, the room suddenly too hot, _too much_ , a sense of doom closing in over his head, the lights growing darker, his chest thumping erratically and breaths catching, one, one- _breathe_ just _bre_ -


	52. It is done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce leaves, Clark is provoked, and Tim struggles with the aftermath of his Father's departure.

_Saturday, late afternoon._

"That's all of it. Its..." Clark sighed heavily, working his jaw.

On the other end, Alfred remained quiet, waiting for him to finish patiently.

"He's hurt, A. Really, deeply hurt, with all of us, and it will take him a while to understand that this was for Jason, not him, not about trying to prevent the two from reconciling or anything similar. I can imagine it appears that way now to him, having been so distant from Jay all this while, and now that he's back, a chance to help him through his recovery, and we're taking that away from him. He...Bruce, he won't answer our calls for a while, I know that, and I'll give him a little while to stew things over, but I promise to keep checking in on him."

Alfred said nothing for a long moment, and then spoke quietly. "How is Master Timothy?"

Clark swallowed. "Not...not good, Alfred. He-he's sleeping at the moment, poor kids been running on empty fumes the last couple of weeks, and the shock of hearing Bruce lash out like that- Bruce-he couldn't have meant it, surely? I mean, Tim is great at what he does, and I know he absolutely loves being VP. Sure, he vents sometimes about snooty investors and paperwork Alfred, but I see it- we all do - this is his _thing_ , business and tech, its what Tim excels in far more than anything else. Bruce-surely Bruce can't have meant it? To take away something that means so much to his own son, just to hurt him like that? And, I've-I've gotta ask, A - Bruce isn't _disowning_ Tim is he? Because from the way he even _looked_ at the boy, as if Tim was just another stranger passing by- "

"He's angry, Master Clark. Very angry, but more than that, _hurt_ , and I'm afraid Master Bruce has a bad habit of lashing out when he feels wronged. I believe taking the position of Vice President away from Tim is the one thing that came to Bruce's mind at that very moment, one that would _hurt_ the boy as much as _he_ felt hurt, I'm sure, what Tim loves and enjoys most of all. But disownment, as a son? _Impossible_. **Over my dead body** , Master Clark. No matter how Master Bruce feels about Tim and what he's done, my son would _never_ dream of doing such a thing again, not with Jason so estranged. As angry as Bruce may be, the man would be absolutely _crushed_ if he had to lose another son, particularly by his own hand, I can assure you of that, and cutting Tim out of the family would be akin to Bruce tearing off his own limb - the man would hate himself forever, and I would _never_ forgive him." Alfred's voice cut through the air like glass, punctured with anger and frustration, and Clark berated himself for upsetting the older man as so.

"Part of me is surprised it wasn't Red Robin, if I'm honest." Clark had to admit- Bruce's outburst had taken him slightly aback. Way before WE and Tim promoted to VP, he knew the boy had started out with an almost cult-like admiration of _Batman, the Detective_ -

"Not for a long while." Alfred's voice was sombre. "Master Timothy has become more and more isolated over the last several months. His patrols are fewer, almost always solitary- the young man hasn't been seen in the Cave with the others for a long while now, and getting him to stay at the Manor for any more than a night's dinner is akin to plucking hairs off a feral cat. Things have been...strained, to say in the least, between Tim and the rest of the family, especially Damian. I have tried to reassure the boy that his presence is always welcome, but it is not _me_ he seeks this from."

" _Bruce_." Clark understand clearly.

"Bruce, his Father." Alfred confirmed. "Bruce and Master Dick-"

" _Dick_? Really? I thought the two were close-"

"That was before Master Dick passed on the mantle of _Robin_ without Tim's seemingly agreeing, or knowledge even, the details are unclear. Ever since then, there has been a great deal of...awkwardness, and dare I say it, _hostility_ between them. The changes were gradual, and Master Dick, I believe, was fairly ignorant up until a few months ago, after which he has been struggling with the change, the gulf between himself ad his younger brother. I....part of me feels the young man was oblivious to the differences until Tim began to lash out openly, and I can forgive that, with him living in Bludhaven. But another part of me suspects-and I think this is more than likely the case here- that Master Dick _understood_ on some level what was going on, but was unsure of how to "correct" his mistakes, opting to smooth over the cracks with bravado and false cheer until it became too much and too obvious to hide. As a result, Master Tim has distanced himself greatly, pouring his efforts into his work, and at this point, I am not surprised at the close relationship he shares with Master Jason. Despite their differences, the two boys share a great many similarities, and though I am _not_ happy with the pair's estrangement from the family, I am glad that they have found at least solace and strength in each other."

Clark didn't know what to say. 

The Dick he knew and watched growing up, and even now, was a man besotted with his younger brothers, protective and guarded over their well-being. And now to hear that _Tim_ and the man were estranged? Damian he knew was a handful, and the hostility between the youngest and his next older brother was apparent to many, though Clark understand part of Damian's prickly nature was due to his upbringing with the League. And Jason, _God_ , this was all so- where was _Bruce_ in all this- _oh_. Bruce, who wasn't exactly the most open when it came to emotions and whatnot, and Clark would never want to step on Bruce's toes when it came to kids and child rearing, areas he had absolutely no experience in, but still-

"Master Clark?" Clark could practically envisage Alfred's right eyebrow raised, a cup of tea held delicately mid-air. He pinched his nose, letting out a slow, controlled breath.

"Sorry Alfred. I..I'm just-" Clark closed his eyes, leaning against the wall. "It feels like we've gone past the point of no return here, but I can't give in to that. There's miscommunication on all sides, brewing under the surface, and now its all come to a head. Could you...could you talk to Bruce? Tim-he-I doubt he'll want to say another word after what's happened, I think he'll shut down and put on a front. Similar to Bruce, but that will only make things a lot worse. Taking VP from Tim, A, that's _low_ even for Bruce. He checked out a few hours ago, I heard him at the reception desk. Phone switched off completely, I can't reach him, he's deliberately masking himself from me. I..I'm worried, Alfred. Worried about him, how this is affecting him, Tim, Jason - I don't want him to do something stupid to try and deal with whatever he's feeling."

"Master Bruce will do his best to shut down any attempts at conversation initially, and I have no doubt he will maintain a distant, cool front in an effort to mask whatever he feels inside. Let me handle him, its about time my son has a little common sense knocked into him. As for Master Timothy, please take care of him for me. I want him _home_ , with his family, but the boy will no doubt feel too frightened to return, and Bruce might not take too favourably to seeing him around, which is frankly the pinnacle of stupidity. His own son, for Christ's sake, what on _earth_ was he thinking-" Alfred cut off here, voice sharp, and Clark winced internally. 

Alfred was more than a little pissed - he was straight up _furious_ , and Clark thanked the heavens it wasn't _him_ that Alfred was mad at.

A few notes of silence, and then Clark found the courage to speak again. "What do you want me to do? Talia wants to-"

The response was strained but well-controlled, and Clark knew he had Alfred's military background to thank for that. 

" _No_. That woman has caused enough trouble already, any further meddling will worsen the situation. Master Timothy will want to retreat into himself, hide away in his apartment, a place far too impersonal for my liking, there is little sentimental value, and such isolation will do him no good at this present time, a time wherein the boy will need to be reminded that he is _loved_ and is highly _treasured_. If possible, please persuade him against staying there, I too will do likewise when I see him. The Manor, though his home, is the least likeliest place Timothy will want to return to; facing Master Damian in the halls or at the kitchen table will also not help, and will more likely than not escalate the tension between them, with Tim's connection to his Mother and Jason. Timothy will also do his best to avoid Bruce were he to come home, staying cooped inside his room and opting to eat in solitary confinement, and I will not have Bruce saying another foolish thing to the boy in my presence, I forbid it. Until I have spoken to Bruce, the Manor is not the best place for Tim at present. Most of his things are at Master Jason's house, where he has made himself _home_ , and though Jason is not around at the moment, it is likely that Master Timothy will feel somewhat better in an environment he is intimately and most comfortable with. Therefore, the boy will likely feel happiest staying there for the time being, or at least until I can persuade him to come home. It takes roughly forty-five minutes between Gotham and _Danver_ , traffic permitting, and I will have a chauffeured car assigned for work purposes should Tim require one-"

"Wait, _work?_ But Alfred, Bruce said that-" Clark moved away from the wall, slightly confused, but the older man cut him off sharply.

" _I do not care what Master Bruce has said_. Timothy _will_ return to work, whether Bruce likes it or not, and that is _final_. The boy enjoys what he does, and I know it is what he feels sets him apart from the other boys - taking it away from him is unforgivable, and I will not allow it. Master Bruce may be founder and CEO, but with Tim's position, his current track record, and I believe Mr Fox's support if requested, the board can band together to veto the decision if it comes to it. They may dislike Tim for his age and position they feel is undeserving, but almost all agree that the boy is intelligent beyond years, and in the last year, has proved himself outstanding overall. A few may not like him, but they all _need_ him, and that is all that matters in the end."

"But surely Bruce can just _fire_ the entire board-"

"He most certainly _can_ , and in doing so, he will create _waves_ in the business world that something is wrong, present an image of instability amongst WE shareholders, and that will make a few of his investors scared at such a rash decision, one which will have negative consequences indeed. Bruce, though hurt, is acting like a toddler in the middle of a tantrum, but despite this, he is far from stupid. Master Timothy will remain VP for as long as the boy wishes, if he desires it so, and Bruce will simply have to deal with it. He will sulk, ignore the boy even, but Tim is not going anywhere, I'll make sure of that."

Alfred's tone was final, and for a moment, the silence was thick. The man continued in a gentler tone.

"Master Timothy is my grandson, as is the other three charges in my care, boys whom I have raised with my own hand, as well as their father, my son. He, no matter what Bruce has said or implied, in whatever ignorant and dangerous way he cares to behave, _is a member of this family_ , a _Wayne_ , and I will not have it any other way."

Clark was relieved, but the hole in his chest remained as empty as ever. "As for you, Master Clark."

Clark swallowed. "Yes, Alfred."

A paused, and then-

"Thank you, you and Miss Prince, Miss Hol, for doing what was necessary. I...understand the gravity of the situation between the four of you, especially you and Master Bruce, what all this means, but from an elderly man who has lived through much, let me tell you this: friends are hard to come by. Good friends are even rarer, and brothers are like dust in a gold mine. Understand this: Master Bruce will be angry at you, and no doubt this will worsen as you and the others meet and train Jason on a regular basis. He will keep you at arms length at best, if there is work to be done, otherwise any attempt to talk to him will be difficult, and on one or two occasions, may result in physical altercation. Bruce is hurt at what he feels is a betrayal by his friends, hurt at being unable to see Jason, and do not be surprised when he takes this anger out on _you_ particularly - Jason speaks fondly of you. There will be tension between himself and Miss Prince, and though it is not my place to interfere, I will do my best to offer her comfort and understanding. I will not allow the man to throwaway what he and Miss Prince clearly should have started a long time ago. My advice to you is this: give him space, and give him time. Do not allow angry looks or spiteful tones to affect the friendship you both share, neither your status in our family. Master Dick will need you now more than ever. Continue reaching out to him as usual, and Bruce, when he finally comes off his high horse, will come to realise the value of friendship, people who came about him and his family, and will bring himself to his senses."

Clark's voice was tight, and he said nothing for a long, long while. "I can't lose him, A. Bruce, he-he's my best friend, and I...but Jason..I care about him _too_. I want the best for Jay, to not only see him through this, but help him conqueror all of it. I-it feels like I'm in the middle, that my allegiance is torn, but I.." Clark clenched his fist, then uncurled it, and Alfred's voice was quiet but firm when the older man spoke again.

"A good Father realises his mistakes before its too late, Master Clark. Master Bruce has a right to whatever he feels and what he thinks, no matter how much we may disagree, but as time goes by, if he is the man _I raised him to be_ , the Father he is so desperate to be to Master Jason, then I believe Bruce will come to a greater understanding of things. In time, my boy will appreciate the help and efforts all of you have made, despite the conflict here and there. Do not worry, Master Clark. You, Miss Hol, and Miss Prince, along with Master Timothy and Miss al Ghul, are doing the right thing. I must admit, I do not like Damian's Mother, and a part of me remains suspicious of her intentions towards Master Jason and Master Todd, but for now, she is the most experienced to help Jason with the Pit, and if all of you are willing to work together during this time period, then you have my utmost thanks and heartfelt gratitude."

Clark smiled softly. "No need to thank me, Alfred."

A quiet chuckle on the other line. "You have helped my family more than words could ever describe, young man, and even if I gave you the world on a silver platter, it wouldn't be enough. _Thank you_ , Master Clark. Please keep me updated on the situation."

Clark was touched my the man's kind words.

"Will do. Take care, Alfred."

A _click_ and just like that, the conversation was over. 

 

 

Clark took a moment to compose himself, then turned to face the room's three other occupants, who sat watching him.

"Alfred knows. He'll...he'll talk to Bruce. I'm taking Tim back home with me."

Talia opened her mouth to disagree but whether it was something in his eyes or a moment of clarity, Clark had no idea, but the woman closed it again, nodding, and looked away to the side. For a moment, there was silence, and then Shayera spoke, one wing dipping to the floor. It had taken quite some time to hash out the actual details, but the four of them had finally agreed on schedule they could all live with.

"We are in agreement, then?" 

That was directed at Talia, who looked at them briefly, eyes resting on Diana's. 

The two women stared at each other. Distrust, anger, and _guilt_ could be read across their faces.

"So long as Jason remains under my care, I will honor the terms of our arrangement. I shall provide you with the access codes and other details in the next few hours."

Diana stared back, eyes cool, before speaking. "It is settled, then."

Talia didn't move, and held the Amazonian woman's slight glare. "It is."

Clark looked at the two women before speaking. "For this to work, we can't have any of what happened yesterday happen again, for Jay's sake. Whatever it is between you two, put it aside for the time being. No-one's asking you to be friends, but if we can manage basic civility and mutual co-operation, then that would be _great_." His tone was sharp, a warning, that enough was fucking _enough_ , too many people had been hurt already.

The woman eyed each other uneasily for a moment before looking away, their silence as confirmation.

"Good." He blew out a breath, rolling his shoulder. "Any idea on when Jason might be discharged? He's getting stronger by the day."

Talia crossed her legs. "In the next day or so. I will explain the situation to him."

"Alright. Each of us will see him before he leaves." Clark's tone booked no room for protest, and thankfully, all Talia did was to dip her head in agreement.

Diana stood now, looking at Clark once before switching her gaze to Shayera, expressions unreadable but eyes _sad_ , and together, the two friends left the hotel conference room, intent on visiting Jason one last time. 

Clark closed his eyes now, trying to organise his numerous thoughts when a quiet but undeniably _smug_ voice cut into the air.

"You did right the right thing. Bruce was simply being stubbor-"

Clark's eyes flew open, rage in his throat, and in one instant, he had _the_ Talia al Ghul pinned up against the wall, arm across her throat, eye to eye, her feet far from the ground. Teeth gritted, Clark watched the woman's eyes flutter in panic, primal instinct that had her grappling furiously at his arm, to remove the offending pressure, the utmost _fear_ across her slowly darkening face, of what was happening, that she'd _underestimated him_ , Clark Kent, Kansas shy, bumbling reporter, Superman, gentle kind giant, and Clark smiled, the shape more feral than imagined, a grimace, predatory, and let his voice drop several octanes. He shook her slightly, enough to snap her attention, to _fucking pay attention_ , and spoke quietly, danger in his voice.

"I'm only going to say this just once, Talia. _Back. off_. Back off from Bruce, who you've antagonised the whole time Jason's been here, rubbing it in his face, that he's lost Jason, his _son_ , that's right, I said it - Jason _is_ Bruce's son, not _just_ yours, and no matter what has happened between them, I can assure you of this- deep down, if you strip _everything_ away, those two will _always_ be connected. They're distant right now, estranged, a lot of hurt and hate and so much miscommunication and what not, but believe me when I tell you that they will _always_ love each other, no matter what. Can't stand to be in the same room, but they didn't give up on each other because they _wanted_ to - it was because they _had_ to, for their sanity, to live again, _really_ live, and I can see- no, I _know_ that that fact alone _kills_ them, that they can't ever sit down and just talk without all the shit and hurt coming to the surface. I...I've hurt my best friend doing what I've done, can't even be sure if I've lost him for good now, and to be honest, even if Bruce forgives me, I doubt he'll ever forget it. I can't-we can't even look him in the eye, and all of this, _all_ of it, Talia, is for _Jason_ , because we love him, and we care about him. _Not_ for you, to boost your own ego, your pride, to get one up on Bruce."

Clark's voice rose, eyes reddening, and Talia struggled even more, but he ignored her, voice fierce.

"So let me make this extremely clear, if I haven't already - _stay. away. from Bruce._. Don't push him. Don't say another word to him. You've got what you wanted, _control_ , the fact that Jason places you over Bruce, we get it. And now, in your obsessive need to feel secure, you've left a man you once loved - _and had another child with but failed to inform him, again_ \- **_heartbroken_** , gutted that once again, the opportunity to reach out to his son has been taken from him, **yet again** , and that this time, to make matters worse, we, his friends, the woman he loves, the same woman who knew and loved Jason _long_ before you came into the picture, when Jason had _nothing_ , when the boy didn't know what love and comfort was, Jay who called Diana his _heart_ , the love of his life, the first woman he ever fell in love with, whom he called _Mother_ first, we-we did that to Bruce, behind his _fucking_ back because it was the right thing to do, even when it meant hurting him, taking Jay away, all because-because-. So _don't_ , just _don't_ alright, just-" Clark's could barely speak now, so deeply hurt, and it was only Talia's weak slaps against his arms that made him realise that he was slowly _suffocating_ her. 

Releasing the pressure slightly, Talia gasped, clutching at her throat, but Clark still held her there in the air, eyes now closed, fighting with himself to remain in control, just struggling to take it all in, his friend who looked so damn _betrayed_ , the _look_ Bruce had given him, almost _disbelief_ that someone he considered a brother could do this to him, and for a long, painful while, all that could be heard was Talia's short pants, gulping for air, before gradually quietening.

"You-" Talia suddenly spoke, voice _raw_ and bent on unleashing hell, and Clark opened his eyes to look at her, floored by the intensity of her eyes, too green and full of _pain_.

"You think I _want_ to hurt Bruce like this? That I've _ever_ wanted such a thing?" Talia hissed, eyes flashing, and Clark stared at her, silent, faces a few centimetres apart, not answering her question.

"That I-I enjoy seeing a man I once had in my arms like _this_? A-a man I considered giving up _everything_ for? That I-I kept Jason away from him out of spite, Damian away from him out of spite, out of bitterness? That I derive pleasure in seeing him so _broken?_ " Her voice hitched.

Talia's eyes were shiny, glistening, but still, Clark said nothing. 

"You all think of me as this _witch_ , a bitter, cruel, jealous woman who cares about nothing and no-one except _herself_ , who acts in favour of her own personal gain. Do you have _any_ -any idea what I-I've given up, the things I've done, what I-I-for Bruce, for Jason, for Damian - the image that you have in your head of this-dictator like-" Talia broke off here and turned swiftly to the side, wiping her face stifly.

Clark watched her.

"I...we have our differences, Clark. I don't agree with a lot of what he says, or does, but understand this - I've never, ever, wanted to hurt Bruce. _Never_. I loved him, once, I-I called him my _Beloved_ for good reason, and had I been someone else, or not so committed to a vision, a legacy, if-if the choice was completely mine, and up to me- I would left everything and everyone to be with Bruce _years ago_ , power be damned, legacy be damned. None of this, Jason, Da-it wasn't supposed to be like this, and I tried, I-I did my best, tried to- knowing the consequences, that he would come to _hate_ me when it was all to protect _him_ , the boys, what it _cost_ , oh God-"

Another tear. 

Clark closed his eyes.

He eased his arm entirely, bringing Talia back to the ground gently, and for a few minutes, it was silent, Talia against the wall, Clark facing her, one breathing and _breathing_ at the loss, the pain, feeling so torn, the other lost in her grief, _sacrifice_. Clark debated on apologising, putting a hand on her shoulder, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, and he held his face in his hands, wondering how a family could be so torn apart, why it had to be so _hard_ all the time, loss, regret, mistakes, time that failed to heal old wounds. Clark took a step back, and then another, slumping down to sit on the armrest of the nearest chair, tired and drained. He expected Talia to leave, to flounce out of the room, or fight back, but the woman sank to the floor almost soundlessly, knees a little close to her chest, eyes distant. 

They remained like that for what seemed like ages, the room stuffy, lifeless, until Clark spoke, voice level.

"Why don't you tell Bruce what happened? How....why-" He began, trying to aim for... _something_ , he wasn't quite sure. Honestly, Clark didn't know where to begin, or what he should even ask.

Talia smiled, but it was a sad one, a little shaky, and it disappeared as quickly as it came. "He would kill me." She sounded so sure, and Clark felt his chest stutter.

"I-I'm sure-" Clark began, mouth ajar, but Talia cut him off swiftly.

" _He would._ And if he didn't, then he would do his best to make sure I never see or speak to Damian again. I...I _can't_."

Clark clamped his mouth shut. The first few months, no, a _year_ after Jason's death, Bruce had been...a shell of a man, death warmed up, mad with loss, eyes wild, and had actually _killed_ the Joker - Clark had placed a call to emergency services who'd revived the criminal, but Bruce had done it- strangled and beat that madman to death, and afterwards, in the Cave, after lashing out and screaming, eyes bloodshot red, Bruce had broken down inconsolably, heavy, wretched sobs against his chest as the man _wept_ for his boy, his dead son, the light of his life, so cruelly taken away from him. Things had changed for his friend, for them all, and now that Jason was back, after disappearing for two years, now that the boy turned man was back, alive - here they all were, denying a Father the chance to reach out to his son, and Clark wished the guilt would drown him whole.

Talia was watching him now, watching him realise that she was _right_. 

Bruce _would_ kill her. Whatever it was, for whatever reason, that had to do with their past, Jason, Damian - it would push Bruce over the edge, once and for all, and Clark wasn't sure if he could stop the man this time, or more than that, whether he'd _want_ to stop him.

Clark clasped his hands, mouth suddenly dry, and he pinched one palm to keep it together. His stomach felt hollow. 

"Jay is going to remain in your care. Tim believes you're the best person to look after him, and I agree. For now, we...let's stick to what we've all agreed. Take care of Jay, leave it at that. Don't-just _leave Bruce alone_. He.." Clark broke off here, looking away. Out of the corner of his eye, Talia nodded. 

"You are a good friend, Clark." Talia's voice was quiet, and oddly enough, sounded sincere. "Bruce -he is angry now, but...give it time. He values your friendship."

Clark said nothing.

He stood now, looking up a few floors, listening to the slow, steady heartbeat of the young boy Alfred had entrusted into his care.

"Timothy shouldn't be alone right now. As...as soon as he's awake and said his goodbye to Jay, I'm taking him home. I'm not leaving him by himself." Clark moved to the door.

"Thank you, Clark." 

Soft, and yet it made not an ounce of difference.

Clark stopped for a moment. "It's not for you."

He closed the door quietly.

 

 

 _Evening_.

"Cool. Make sure you bring the box-set and all. Oh! _Don't forget_ -" Jason's spoon was mid-air, words little slurred due to the ice-cream, but at least he was now strong enough to feed himself.

Tim made sure his deceit stayed intact, keeping his voice playfully snarky as he took another scoop of ice-cream. Jason couldn't know what had happened, _no way_. 

"Yeah, I know, Sasquatch, I won't forget, God, you're such an old man, Jay." 

He rolled his eyes, earning himself a dull kick from the big man, who snorted before laughing. Seated in the armchair, Tim met Clark's eyes for a moment, the _look_ , that Tim was pretending, that Clark wasn't happy but understood nonetheless, before switching his attention back to Jason, who'd nattered on, torso stretched across the other side, looking for something.

"So you'll call-"

"More than that, fathead. As soon as you're settled in with T, I'm coming over. Want me to bring pizza?" Tim stretched his legs out on the bed, passing his tub of ice-cream to Clark to finish. The acting, the lies - it was making him feel sick, pretending to his brother like this, and Clark took it without a word, brushing his fingers slightly. Tim opted for a light sandwich now, hoping it would be solid enough to stop the liquids in his stomach churning about.

"Nah, it'll be cold anyway. I'm sure we can ask the cooks or chef, whatever, to make some. How about you, C?" 

Tim watched Jason turn to Clark now, green eyes wide and hopeful, and for a moment, he let the act drop, mouth drawn, eyes heavy, before taking a bite, hoping to both settle his stomach and convince Jay all was well. Part of him had to give it to Clark - the man knew how to act. It helped that he'd had years of practice, his secret identity being a simple-minded reporter, slouching shoulders, odd glasses and ill-fitted suits. It was strange, natural even, watching Clark mask his own pain with a smile and warm eyes, Jason who laughed easily with him, teasing, and for a few moments, Tim tuned the pair out, mind replaying the last few hours. He'd woken up two, maybe three hours after Bruce's cold departure, confused at first, neck sore, turning to the side, before it all came back to him, Bruce's dismissal, and Tim felt the blood drain out of him, numb to the core, stomach churning, mouth like acid, and without warning, he had dashed into his ensuite bathroom, stomach heaving as he threw up coffee-brown liquid. Tim had slumped to the side of the porcelain tub, cool against his forehead, the room spinning, and it was only the sound of _voices_ that brought his mind to focus. A woman's voice, low and concerned, a cool rag against his mouth, wiping away debris, a man whose hand was gentle, hoisting him up, and Tim came to realise that it was _Clark_ who had him, Talia who was telling him to gargle, spit out, something darkish around her neck, blurred even, and his movements were sluggish, slow. More murmuring, and then feeling light in the air as he was presumably lifted, then gently placed onto something soft and thick - _mattress, oh, the bed_ , before Tim's eyes came to be. Talia, whose hand was on his thigh, green eyes on him, a bottle in the other hand, Clark, whom Tim realised was beside him on the bed, something heavy around his shoulders - _oh, Clark's arm_ , and Tim just stared, and _stared_ at them, remembering, Bruce who looked as if made of stone, a marble pillar, whose eyes seemed dead to him, who'd left since without a word, and the panic built up then, in his throat, spreading into his hands, and Tim felt the agitation rise, then more, and _more_ , until it was too much, _too damn much_ , and-and-Bruce, he jus-he _left_ and he-

Tim burst into tears.

Noisy, gut-wrenching tears, and Tim cried from the blackest depths of sorrow, sobs that racked his lean frame, weeping into Clark's large chest, broad hands that brought him as close as can be, murmuring, a chin on his head tucking him in, Talia whose hand still hadn't left his leg, her sad eyes on his pitiful presence, and Tim held onto Clark as tight as he could, bunching up fabric in gripped fists, shaking, that he'd done it now, lost _Bruce_ , destroyed his Father, a _no more_ between them, that in one motion, he'd shattered it all, their fragile relationship into dust, that Br-Bruce _hated_ him, would never _forgive_ him, not after this, taking Jason away from him, all the lies, and Tim had let it all out, voice hitching and broken, the pain and rejection he'd kept buried for so long, so _lost_ , _Bruce's_ name that was strained through his tears, a man he loved too deeply for words, whose approval often meant life itself, and they'd stayed like that for a long time, Tim in Clark's embrace, Talia by his side, until Tim couldn't cry anymore, too exhausted from the effort but sleep fruitless, a taunting mistress, and then after the silence, came the talking. That _Bruce was just hurt, and he'd come round to it, he'd understand, not to blame yourself, Timothy, that Bruce didn't mean it, that you're still and will always be his son, Tim_ , and Tim tried to listen, _he tried_ , honest to God he did, but all that came to mind was a rock, pale, mask-like face, eyes that saw through him yet burned in the background. Eventually someone had brought food, Talia cajoling, Clark encouraging to eat just a little _something_ , and Tim obeyed, but his movements were mechanical, stiff, no life behind the eyes, and he'd missed the way Talia and Clark had looked at each other over his head. So he ate, tiny mouthfuls that left his mouth tasting of sawdust, that sat in his belly like little lumps of lead, leaden with clay, gaze faraway, eyebags heavy, sore, and Clark encouraged him to sleep, but Tim found that he couldn't, _wouldn't_ , not when his mind whispered at him that _Bruce never wanted him_ , that _he'd been waiting to get rid of him_. So Tim had listened to Talia explain the deal she'd accept with the League - _Tim's_ deal, her quiet apology, but then Tim had interrupted suddenly. 

_Jason mustn't know_.

Not about _it_.

 _Not what Bruce had said, none of it,_ and Tim's voice became fierce as he continued, that _Jason would switch his entire attention to him, ignoring himself, his recovery because that's what Jason did - he cared about others. Jason would never forgive Bruce, never speak to him again, would probably lash out at Bruce hurting him, Tim, by taking away something he loved and was good at, and Tim couldn't bear any more pain, not on both sides, that if Jason knew, Bruce would lose two sons, not just one_ , blame him forever, and though the adults had protested, that it wasn't a good idea, Jason would want to know, he wouldn't like Tim lying to him like this - Tim had put his foot down, that if they told him, he would _hate_ them for it, that he- _all_ of this was for Jason, and if they messed this up, he'd never forgive them.

Clark and Talia had said nothing more, but their faces gave their displeasure away. 

Tim was unrepentant, even as he trembled against Clark.

And so, after a pitiful attempt at some food, Tim had gotten himself cleaned up, face washed, and practiced being happy and relieved at seeing Jason in his room, joking, laughing over something or other, Jason who would tease him no doubt, eyes twinkling, face handsome, laughter loud and bright. Tim had gone in with Clark, but on the entrance to his brother's ward, he faltered, nervous, that he wouldn't be able to keep the pretense up, that he would burst into tears again, Jason would know, a Jason who would become mad like hell that someone had hurt him, _Bruce_ had hurt him, Jason who would vow to beat the daylights out of Bruce before never speaking to him again, and Tim had felt a hand on his shoulder just then, comforting, a little squeeze, and he'd turned to look up at the smiling face of Clark Kent, kind Uncle Clark, who said nothing but pulled him in closer, understanding, and together they'd made they way to Jason, but just, just _thinking_ about Bruc- _God_ \- Back to the present, Tim's chest was now hollow and empty, palms a little clammy, remembering ice-blue eyes cold to his touch, the torso stiff and unmovable, his presence an unwanted intrusion, foreign-

" _Helllooooo_? Earth to Timmy, come in." A mocking sing-song voice suddenly broke through Tim's internal musing.

Jason's hand caught his vision, and Tim stiffened momentarily, forcing the welling behind his eyes to disappear. "You alright, Timbo?" There was a frown on Jason's face, and Tim, panicking but trying to hide his fear, felt the sudden and urgent need to get rid that _frown_ , the confusion in Jay's eyes, that it didn't belong there, and so he faked mild embarrassment at having being caught daydreaming, a pink tinge to his cheeks, flush creeping up his neck, and took a snappy bite of his sandwich, grinning up at his brother, who was now watching him, eyes a little narrowed, a flicker of distrust between them.

"Sorry, Jay. Just got a lot of things on my mind." Tim hoped his voice wouldn't break here, one hand inconspicuously sliding beneath his thigh to hide the trembling. At the corner of his eye, Clark's mouth thinned, then turned into a frown, but the man kept his promise. _No telling Jay, not about any of this_ , and Tim was grateful. 

Jay said nothing for a moment, arms crossed, watching him, and Tim prayed to all he knew to be true that nothing would give him away. "You know you can tell me anything, right kid? I mean it. Whatever-"

" _I know, Jay!_ , Gah, stop Mother-henning me." 

Tim winced internally - he'd cut Jason off a little sharper than intended, and now the man's gaze was intense on him, calculating. For a few seconds, only the beeping could be heard, and Tim held his breath, praying that Jay would just buy the damn act for pete's sake, until his brother suddenly smiled, slapping his hand down to his ankle and squeezing it, and nodded, off on another tangent. Clark had thankfully noticed his distress, elevated heart rate, and took over, continuing the conversation, quips here and there, giving Tim a bit of a breather, a chance to compose himself before joining in.

Thankfully, Jay didn't push him any further, and now, with final visiting hours drawing to a close, it was time to go.

The next time they'd see each other would be in one of Talia's private compounds, far from prying eyes, and Tim's throat felt tight.

"Kid, what's up with you today, eh?" Jason had somehow managed to drag Tim close to his chest, and Tim relaxed into the man, deep and warm, voice lulling, Jason whose chin rested on his head, hands that held him at the sides. "I'm worried about you, Timbo."

Tim stilled, then spoke. He knew Jason worrying meant that he'd forgo himself to focus on him, and Tim couldn't have that. 

He had to distract Jason's focus, else he find out the truth, and so he put all his efforts into giving the most Oscar worthy performance he knew to be possible, slumping on his brother.

"Just gonna miss you, that's all. It...it'll be weird, not having you around. _I'll_ miss you like hell."

Jason chuckled, bringing him even closer, and kissed his head, rubbing his arm comfortingly. "Unlimited access, remember? Anytime, anywhere, just say the word and T will have someone pick you up. She'd never keep you from me, _never_. And if work gets a little busy, I'mma text you regardless, even call while you're taking a shit, I don't care. I'm always on the other end, kid, you know that."

Tim smiled despite himself. "I know, Jay."

"Atta boy." Another kiss to his head. "And if that little brat keeps giving you shit, you let me know, alright? Also: I wanna see you put on at least ten pounds the next time I see ya-"

" _Ten pounds_?! How the _hell_ am I gonna do that, Jay?-"

"Dunno, so you better start eating every damn thing you see on sight, clear? I wanna see muscle, not bone. Also: no bags. I count more than three lines under each eye and I'm holding off on cooking Thai pad soup with the lemon roasted duck you love so much-

Tim gasped. " _No_. No-nuh-uh, _you wouldn't_ -"

"Try me. Eat. Sleep. Don't be afraid to contact me, however you want. Don't care what time of day it is over in Gotham, you wanna see me, drop a bell, someone will pick you up, anytime, capiche hermano?"

Tim couldn't help the big smile from forming on his face, the first genuine one since the beginning of his visit. "Got it, Jay. And take care of yourself, alright? T's gonna keep me updated daily, and Clark and the rest too, so no cheating. Put your back into it, lazy slug, and remember: you've beat _Pit the bitch_ before, so you can and will do it again this time around."

Jason was laughing at the name, and even Clark chuckled too. "Will do." His voice was quieter after his laughs gradually subsided. "I...it-no, I _can_ , I swear it. I won't let you down."

"Good." Tim nodded, voice muffled into his brother's chest, and he hugged the man as tightly as he could.

"Mind if I talk to C real quick? Just a minute or so, won't be long." Jason's voice was soft above him.

Tim nodded and prised himself away from his brother, meeting Clark's gentle eyes and soft smile, before leaving the room with quietly.

 

 

Jason watched his brother go before turning to Clark. "Thank you, for looking after him."

Clark smiled, reaching out to squeeze Jason's arm, and Jay touched the hand that was there, then held it firmly. "No problem. I'm always happy too."

Jason nodded, still looking at the door through which Tim had left. He took a slight breath, still holding onto Clark, because this was about to be the big man's test of his genuine concern towards him, whether he would lie, the ultimate pass or fail.

"How did it Bruce take it?" Jason made sure to speak suddenly, without hesitation, and snapped his head to look Clark in the eye, gaze boring into him.

A flicker of pain, hurt, in Clark's eyes, mouth opening then shutting just as quickly, and Clark's hand stiffened under his own, a _tiny_ pull away, but Jason made sure his grip was iron firm.

They stared at each other.

_Clearly, not very well at all._

Jason waited. 

Tim hadn't fooled him.

It wasn't that the boy's pretense was bad - far from it. Tim was a _very_ good actor, as a matter of fact, when it came to putting on a front. A cool, neutral front, _unaffected_ -

but Jason was _better_.

Working with people, assessing them, predicting the next move - it was his _bread and butter_ , and Tim, nor anyone of the Bats, had a patch on him when it came _that_.

He understood people, had learned to read and predict patterns, emotions, all from a young age. Those who hurt, were left vulnerable, poor, all of life's hardships and the choices people made from the lives given to them - such skills had kept his survival many a time out on Gotham's streets; the same skills he employed in his work with the Ghosts, the people he helped, and they were the same set of skills he'd used to assess his brother and Clark from the moment they'd walked into his room. Tension in Tim's shoulders, Clark's a little too, Tim who seemed scared yet determined to hide his anxiety at the same time, Clark who wasn't happy, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, little Tim who had zoned out more than once, eyes dull and distant, bags under his eyes, tiny mouthfuls as if to prove a point, Clark who'd thrown the boy a few concerned looks, who stepped in to continue the conversation - and how Tim's body seemed to slump in _relief_ before somehow withdrawing into himself.

Something was _definitely_ wrong, and Jason felt his stomach churning. 

The strain had been obvious with Diana, who skirted around Bruce and kept the topic light, on the two of them spending time together, and Jason had let her, not wanting to upset her further, remembering overhearing herself and Bruce wanting him to come back home with them. Shayera had been far more difficult to read, the woman understanding his assessing gaze, throwing him off very well, but his initial suspicion still remained.

It was more than Tim just missing him, or work being stressful. Clark too was upset, and the biggest thing those two shared in common was _Bruce_ , so it was something to do with him.

Bruce- surely it had been more than obvious that Jason wasn't going with him, right? He can't have been _that_ taken aback? Or that- _oh_.

_They hadn't told Bruce what they were doing._

They'd gone behind his back, effectively, and Jason saw it clearly now, in an effort to help him, because Bruce wouldn't or couldn't understand, they'd agreed together, that Bruce would feel deeply hurt by his friends at the revelation, especially if he pictured it now, "losing" a son to an ex that he didn't get along with, another son helping, his friends not backing him up at such a crucial time, and Jason let out a strained sigh. A part of him...his chest _hurt_ , the thought that once again, _Bruce_ had lost him, and he closed his eyes, unable to imagine what it must be _like_ for the man to go through this _again_ because time, time apart and reflection on his first return to Gotham taught him that he was't the only one who had suffered-

 _But was there more to it than that?_. Yes, Jason decided.

Tim had seemed hesitant, downright resistant actually, on discussing anything other than him, his plans, joking around. Jason had warned him two days earlier, maybe three, that Tim's idea... _Talia_ wouldn't be happy, _Bruce_ something else altogether. Even then, the boy had been uneasy, swallowing thickly, so inbetween then and now, something had changed, and Jason wanted to find out _what_. He could very well push Tim, push until the boy finally broke down and let it out, but Jason couldn't bear the thought of hurting his brother any more than present. Talia, he wasn't sure if she'd budge, but Clark? Clark, who was honest and kind? He just might, and that was why they were still here, hand on hand, staring at the other, waiting, wondering who would break first.

Clark opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Jason titled his head. _He wants to say something, but either can't, or won't._.

He spoke softly. "We've kinda made it a point _not_ to lie to each other, haven't we?"

Clark closed his eyes, but he nodded, just once. 

Jason _hmmed_. "And I can't lie, I like getting to know you, C. It's been great so far, and I'd like to keep it that way. How about you?"

Clark's hand squeezed his _tight_ almost immediately. That was all the _yes_ Jason needed. 

He squeezed back.

Jason thought to himself.

"If I make you tell me, this will hurt the trust thing we've got going on, being all open and shit. It'll also put you at odds with the other people involved, am I right?"

Another squeeze, and this time, Clark looked at him, and Jason felt his breath stutter at the _hurt_ that was in Clark's eyes.

"I won't push you C, I promise." 

Clark's head dipped in obvious relief. 

"But-" the tension appeared in the big man's shoulders, and Jason continued, even though he hated what he was doing, putting Clark in this position - he, Diana, Shay, Tim - they were sacrificing their relationship and standing with _Bruce_ for _him_.

"Whatever it is, it has Tim riled up, including you. He's trying to hide it from me, as are you. I'm gonna find out, because Tim and his happiness means more to me more than _anything in the world_ , and there's nothing either of you can do or say to change that. So I'll stop here for now, I'll let Tim have this, whatever he think's I'm buying, because I know the kid wants me to focus on getting better, but I will not allow that little twerp to sacrifice his happiness for mine, you hear? I'm also not going to push you because _I care about you_ , and I'm not having you make all this great progress, only to be at odds and hurt again, especially if its because of me, nor am I willing for us to go back to what we once were, I won't allow it. Look....B...I imagine he probably didn't take the news very well, and I actually get it this time around. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say part of that is due to you and the others...agreeing, really, and let me say this: _thank you_ , C, for being willing to do that for me. I know...I can understand how this must feel, you and Bruce, and I appreciate what you guys are doing for me. I..if what I know about him still stands true, and if your friendship is as rock solid as it appears to be, what I've heard it to be, then the Bat will come around, it'll just take some time. C, if there's _anything_ \- and I do mean anything- you wanna share or whatever, you know how to reach me, and we'll see each other for sure, alright?"

Clark said nothing, only to swallow, and Jason shook the man's hand slightly, prompting a quiet, strained response.

"I...he...it should be the other way round, Jay. Me, looking after you, not-"

"Friends don't keep score, dipshit. There's no "and now its you're turn" when it comes to life and shit, cause guess what? Joy and pain are two sides of the same damn coin, the good and the bad, and they happen to everybody, all people, no matter who they are or colour or background: _that's life_ , and you gotta learn how to deal with all of it. We help ourselves, and we help each other. We've got a good thing going on, so don't get all guilt-trippy on me, alright big man?" Jason kept his voice lighter, smiling at seeing Clark's shy blush.

"Alright, Jay." The man's voice was soft.

"Good man. Now, get outta here already, go home to that gorgeous wife of yours."

Clark shot him a _look_ but Jason only laughed, ducking his swat, and Clark threw him a rueful smile, then enveloped the younger man in a giant hug, before leaving.

As soon as the door shut, Jason let all traces of amusement disappear in an instant.

Whatever idiotic thing Bruce had said, that had Tim looking like he was going through some PTSD shit, he was going to find out.

 

 

_Unknown location._

Bruce had _no_ idea how he'd arrived in this dingy, filthy place, crawling with cheap prostitutes and drug addicts, and he didn't _care_.

In his addled state, he could only remember pieces; being kicked off his flight for intoxication, camera flashes in his damn face, loud swearing, stumbling around, then into a taxi, his command to _drive_ all slurred and whatnot, the elderly man who looked at him in the rear view mirror muttering _gringo_ before taking off, and then shot after shot, then a bottle, another, _another_ , a few bars in quick succession, drinking and gulping till each one kicked him out, wanting nothing more than to let loose on someone, a fight to breakout, anything to numb the pain away.

Bruce swiped at the bottle, staring through the empty glass. He growled, then with a surge of anger, threw the bottle amongst the others, mind dull to the tinkling of glass.

He wouldn't be surprised if security came knocking at the door, if they even had security in this shitty, rat-infested place, but he was Bruce fucking Wayne, and they could _eat shit_ for all he cared.

 _Ha_. 

_Coma mierda_ , Spanish for _eat shit_ , Jay had said that once, when they got into a fight about letting a fourteen year old child drive an Aston Martin V8 Vantage. They'd gone from discussing specs, technicalities and all the other joys of _cars_ , to Jason and himself red faced, screaming at each other, and at the height of their argument, Jason in a high pitched voice screaming _**coma mierda, old man!**_ before the Cave turned deathly silent. They'd stared at each other, chests heaving, before Bruce's lips had twitched at the corners, then another, a tremble, a smile, and then they were both laughing, laughing so hard tears had fallen, Jason slumped over on the passenger side, Bruce's head buried on the steering wheel, wheezing, and though Alfred had punished them both, Jason having his mouth washed out with soap, Bruce on house-keeping, they'd beamed at each other, _Father and son_ -

 _Son_.

He was being denied Jason once again, and Bruce held his head in his hands now, tears streaming.

Green eyes which beamed at him, smile toothy, voice young and ever so cheeky.

There was a knocking at the door, voices concerned, but Bruce dulled them out, slumped against the bed on the floor, his chest bursting. 

_He was trying, so-so damn hard, so hard to correct his mistakes, to take this opportunity an-and make it right, for fuck's sa_ -

All he wanted was a chance to reconnect with _Jason_ , his son, the one he'd been forced to give up, the child he should have never let go, and once again, the choice was being taken out of his hands, _Jason_ taken from him, _Tim_ for Christs sake, his own _son_ , stopping him from see-seeing, how he, after _everything_ , knowing and _being witness_ to what Jason's death had done to him- and Bruce clutched the bed sheets, shaking his head, tears heavy, mind filled with memories, a young body tucked into his side, a small hand in his, the eyes that stared in wonder at his own-

Bruce wept.

 

 

_Danver, almost one in the morning._

"Thank you, Master Dick, for looking after your brother on such short notice. I shall be back tomorrow evening. Goodnight, my boy."

Alfred smiled sadly to himself, hearing Damian in the background, voice young and enquiring, _worried_ , though the boy would be hard pressed to deny such a frivolous emotion, of course. He checked his phone again. There'd been an alert a few hours back on a low-down gossip site, an obviously drunken _Bruce Wayne_ swearing at the paparazzi, unsteady on his feet, apparently requiring police escort off the tarmac, but Master Dick had made the arrangements quietly, something about defamation of character and threatening to _sue_ , and the alert been dropped rather hastily. Apart from that, nothing from Bruce. No calls, no messages, no incoming flight data- Richard had checked, and no identifiable aliases either. Bruce had done such a thing before, for a few weeks, when staying in Gotham had become unbearable after Jason's... _unreachable_ , despite Clark's efforts, only returning to the Manor absolutely _haggard_ , clothes hanging off his thin frame, face drawn, eyes hollow and black. Alfred debated leaving a second voice message for Master Bruce but at the last minute, decided against it. No, it would be better to talk in person, most certainly, and the moment that stubborn-headed son of his stepped back into the Manor, they would have a long, _long_ talk. Alfred sighed quietly, one hand on top of the dark haired charge whose head was across his lap, tear tracks evident in the dim lighting.

"My dearest boy." Alfred murmured to himself, placing a kiss on Master Timothy's temple, before taking a moment to rest his back against the headboard.

The young Master and Mr Kent had arrived some time ago, and Timothy had all but rushed into his arms, forgetting the other man, tears streaming, and Alfred had held his grandson tight to himself, precious and fragile as ever, rubbing soothing circles against his back as the boy cried. Despite his efforts, Master Clark had declined to stay for something to eat, clearly uncomfortable at being in Jason's house without his permission, and Alfred had let him go with a small, understanding smile, gripping the man's hand tightly in utter thanks, to which the bigger man said nothing, face kind, before taking his leave. Alfred had managed to calm Timothy down enough to eat proper food, a little lamb curry with pilau rice, one of his favorites, before herding him off to the bathroom, selecting a set of pyjamas to wear. Later, clean and ready for bed, the boy had made his way to his room, saying nothing but to drowsily rest against his shoulder, before slumping into his lap, and Alfred had let him, reading one of Jason's books to his boy in a low voice. Belly full, safe and sound, Alfred looked down at Timothy before easing the boy's head into the pillows, tucking the boy in warmly.

"Rest, my boy. All shall be well."

Taking a moment to soothe the boy, Alfred straightened, before turning the bedside lamp off. A quick dusting of the covers, he left the room, opting to leave the door open slightly in case Timothy wanted him, and made his way downstairs, his own room rather undisturbed apart from the light travel bag he left on top of the duvet. Resting against the couch, Alfred closed his eyes, breathing in slow and deep, before dialing a number he knew by heart, by instinct, written in the scores of his still sharp mind. One ring, then another, another yet, and then a drowsy voice answered blearily, grumbling at the time, a muttered curse, a loud yawn on the other end, but Alfred waited patiently, savoring the voice, the sound. He let his mouth quirk before stilling, having heard that response countless times, a young child who fought to stay asleep despite loving school, curly hair buried deep into the covers, and Alfred would ignore the childish protests,- _seven am's too early Alf, this is torture, what have I done to you to deserve such a cruel, heinous thing, O Zeus_ \- as he dragged the sheets away, to a child whose hand was usually slapped against his forehead in dramatic flair, voice breathy.

"Master Jason. Is that any way to speak to a dear old man like me?"

 _Absolute silence_. 

A sharp inhale, a tiny "Alf?" and Alfred felt a wetness seeping in at his eyes, and he swallowed, letting his voice shake a little, as he answered Master Jason, one he missed more than humanely possible, a piece of his heart.

"Aye, Master Jason. It is, and I....I have _missed_ you, my dearest boy."

 

 

_Four days later, WE Boardroom._

Tim adjusted his tie before moving onto the next item.

 _Alfred was right_ , he thought, as he tackled the V8 floorplans for the WE London branch. _Go back to work and hold you head high, Master Timothy, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You did the right thing, and in time, your Father will surely come to appreciate your selfless efforts. Do not fret, I will talk to him. He cannot and will not take this away from you, I give you my word._

And so, he'd done just that.

Taken Alfred's advice.

Little pep talks in the bathroom mirror whilst tying his hair back.

Cleaned himself up, dried his tears, made himself home at Jay's place, a car driving him into Gotham and WE under forty minutes at seven thirty am sharp every morning and back to Danver again anywhere between seven and nine in the evening.

He'd spent the time getting back into his work, reading through reports at the dining table or the living room couch, eating much of Alfred's home cooking and Jason's food - thank God for the two giant freeze freezers his brother kept-, relaxing, eyes drifting around every so often at _home_ , his photographs all over the house, the room upstairs that was all his, texting Jason who was now with Talia, in a compound on one of her smaller, private Islands, moaning about the woman's almost unbearable fussing and whatnot, Talia in the background who would _Tt_ amusedly, Shayera who would be coming first next week for the first session, and Tim was looking forward to this weekend's visit. Dick had called; Tim had answered, Dick who somewhat knew what was going on and tried to offer his support, his voice kind and friendly but the silences long and distant, awkward, not a word from Damian, but at home here, with his things next to Jay's own, warm and comfortable, away from Gotham and...Bruce, Tim found that he could _do_ this, _not_ crumble, _not_ give in and give up on his relationship with his Father, Alfred who checked in with him regularly. Apparently, Bruce was not yet back, MIA on all communication, but the _moment_ he was, Alfred promised, he and the man would have a long, fruitful conversation about his behaviour, one that would include severe reprimanding, and Tim wasn't to worry in the slightest - all Bruce needed was a good talking to and the man would come to his senses quicker than one could say 'apple pie'. Diana and Shay too, they'd visited, and the of them had spent a few hours one evening watching a film and eating popcorn, just to remind him that Tim that he wasn't alone, and that they _cared_. He'd done it before, standing up to Bruce, putting on the Robin suit, getting in Batman's face that he needed a Robin, unafraid of what the Big Bat Bat would say, and do, and this time was no different. Bruce just needed some time, that was all. He'd reacted badly, though expected, said things he didn't mean, surely not. A little time, some space, and Bruce would begrudgingly realise the error of his ways, and they'd go back to normal- weird silences and nervous laughs, one armed hugs, but the _love_ would be there, unspoken, _Father and son_ , and that would be that.

And so for four fucking days, eight hours, fifty two minutes and seventeen seconds, Tim let himself believe that lie.

Mr Ghortubra was speaking now, voice nasally, and Tim held back the irritation in his voice as he began to answer the man's question, the same as the other twenty times he'd asked. 

"Mr Ghortuba, we've discussed this matter before. As I explained earlier, the prototype is on schedule for completion before the start of summer, which will give us plenty of-"

Tim's words faltered, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow down before stopping completely.

Movement grinded to a halt. Even the piece of paper in his hand was stuck mid-air.

The room too had quietened considerably, eyes darting between the pair.

Tim tried to breathe, he did, tried to remember the mechanisms of of the damn thing, something about intercostal muscles contracting, lungs expanding, the diaphragm flattening, all of it, but the air was so horribly tense, his tie far too tight, but Tim couldn't move, not when his seat was fucking glued to the floor, couldn't speak, tongue thick and heavy, and he felt the blood drain from his cheeks, the room spinning on a tilt. He attempted to say _something_ , _anything_ to avoid looking like a gormless fool, but the words tripped over themselves, stuttering, and he was far too frightened to blush at himself, at the confused looks he was getting because A-Alfred hadn't mentioned that he- _he_ -

 

 

At the entrance to the room, _Bruce_ stared back at him.


	53. Wayne vs Wayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce makes work difficult for Tim.

Tim stared at Bruce.

Bruce stared at Tim.

No-one moved.

By now, the sweat dripping down Tim's back had become cool against his skin, and his mouth dry as sandpaper. He swallowed in an effort to re-start himself, placing his clammy palms flat against the desk, but still, Bruce was still staring, and _staring_ , and all Tim wanted to do was to melt in his _goddamn chair._

The room was unbearably tense, a few mouths slightly ajar, all praying someone, _anyone_ would speak, and one, two maybe, shifted in their chairs, awkward, uncomfortable, till-

 _till_ Mr Lucuis Fox himself came walking in, a little hurried, and Tim caught the slight wince in the man's shoulders as he took in the scene.

Clearly Mr Fox had wanted to either pre-warn him or had been rushing to stall Bruce somewhat, thus giving Tim a decent heads up, but that hadn't been the case here, and now straightening, Lucius turned to Bruce with a pleasant smile, eyes daring him to _not_ comply and _play the fuck along_.

"Mr _Wayne_! How good of you to join us! I take it your... _personal matter_ has been resolved?"

By now, Lucius had placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder, and the big man tensed underneath it but remained where he stood. The gesture seemed friendly, but Tim could see how the older man's knuckles were bent against his Father's shoulder, _squeezing_ , and Tim held his breath, willing himself not to fall apart that very moment. Another squeeze, and this time, Bruce seemed to wake up from his stare, flicking his eyes over the board with a practiced, false smile that made Tim's stomach churn.

"I have, _thank you_ , Lucius. My apologies for the delay; I can see it is _business as usual_ , or so they say." Bruce let out a little laugh, shoulders relaxing somewhat, _Brucie_ plastered on his damn face, and the board members in turn sighed in relief, turning to each other. All but two failed to notice that "Brucie's" eyes remained ice-cold towards the young man currently seated at the far end of the room.

"Of course, Bruce! It's not as if this is the first time, anyway. Business as usual indeed, we're all used to your.... _international exploits_ , put it that way." 

That was Mrs Waters, head of PR and social management. Her blonde hair was tossed merrily over her shoulder as she gave a teasing smile towards the other members, who chuckled lightly, winking at each other knowingly. The voice was mocking but they all detected a slight bitterness, resentment, jealously even, and Tim shifted, a blush forming on his cheeks. "Brucie" played along, leaning against the doorway frame, deceptively slouched, but Tim could see the outline of a clenched fist in his trouser pocket.The man grinned back, but the look was almost feral, and Tim felt a chill spread through his bones.

Poor woman.

" _Kelly_. You know me too well." Bruce flashed a winning smile at the woman, who placed her chin in her hand, legs crossed, an admiring look on her face.

"Clearly not well enough." someone muttered bravely, a few titters, and Tim watched Bruce's eyes darken momentarily before the man suddenly moved, walking round the table, nodding, standing over shoulders to peer at documents here and there. A few _good_ and _ask Accounting to do a quick double check on these figures_ thrown here and there, _hmm_ , a pause at Mrs Waters, who batted blues eyes and long legs at the man, and then-

 _Bruce_ was behind _his_ chair, so damn close his cologne seeped into his hair, something husky but not enough to cover the faint trace of whisky, big shoulders casting a looming shadow from the sunlight behind the glass, and then Bruce's head came into focus above Tim's own, Tim who could just about make it a few shallow shaving cuts, fresh, presumably from this morning, one or two a little red, the tension lined in the clenched jaw, the _hmm_ that was now considerably darker, far more predatory, but still, Bruce was looking over his work, reports, pausing at figures, tapping a finger absent-mindedly, and Tim was _frozen_ , marble rock, before the man spoke, voice low enough for his ears only.

" _I thought I made myself clear._ " The voice was rough, an edge of steel in the tone, and Tim flinched in his seat.

Bruce was flicking through a page nodding, the pretense sound, board members far less anxious than before, oblivious to the scene before them, and Tim prayed to the heavens that he wouldn't break here, not like this, and not in front of _him_. Lucius was currently dealing with questions from a few of the vultures, but his eyes switched to them frequently, concerned.

"I-" He tried clearing his throat, but nothing seemed to be working today. It felt as if his chest would burst, and Tim couldn't stop the stutter from entering his voice.

"Bruce, I'm sorry I-I didn't mean to-"

"Mr Ghortubra, I think _Tim_ won't mind having a look at the reports on materials and expense accounts, won't you, Tim?" Bruce had suddenly straightened, fixing the older gentleman with a kind smile, but it a _lie_ , a _lie_ -why couldn't they see that? -, and Tim gulped in his seat.

"Actually, Bruce, I've already-"

"Nonsense! It's always worth having a second look, isn't it? You _are_ Vice President after all!" Bruce's voice was cheery, mocking, and the room laughed, but Tim sat there, face turning slowly red, knowing _exactly_ the game Bruce was playing, what he was about to drag him into, and he _hated_ him for it.

"Oh! Also, I want that finance sector report reviewed and on my desk by lunchtime today, the new figures from Rene here by two this afternoon, have Dele and Peter's report by fourish, not a second later Timmy, then..." 

On and _on_ it went, the list of demands, and by the time Bruce had finished, walking out with a lazy backwards wave, Tim was close to tackling the man down to the floor. 

Bruce was punishing him for staying, knowing how the board would take an outright firing, and so _instead_ , Bruce was going to make it as uncomfortable for him as possible, enough to pack it all in and call it "quits". Unluckily for _Bruce_ however, Tim wasn't a quitter, and teeth clenched, he set to work, determined to meet Bruce's ridiculous targets. At least this weekend he'd be out of the country, visiting Jason and it did come, the week-end, but despite loving every minute of his stay with Jason, his fond bickering with Talia, Tim found it difficult to truly relax, knowing what he was about to face the moment he stepped into work again Monday morning.

 

 

Next week finally arrived, and with that, Tim and Bruce found themselves embroiled in a game, one designed to place pressure on Tim, but for Tim, it felt as if he were a frog, in a pot of hot water, being slowly boiled alive, each day hotter than the next, and by the end of each day, or "round", Tim wasn't sure if he'd be able to withstand the next round of testing.

Day _one_ :

Bruce set four deadlines, pulled forward two in less than three hours, and had him type up a two hundred plus report ready to tackle for the next WE meeting at eight am _sharp_. Three meetings were cancelled, his presentation on renewable energy devices ridiculed to high heavens, and at the end of the last board meeting for the day, Tim was issued with a beginners guide on "public speaking 101: how to pass", much to his humiliation.

Day _two_ :

Bruce wasn't too pleased with the reports received from yesterday, so dearest _Timothy_ was tasked with editing those reports, and two more, again due before the end of the evening. The big man himself was also not feeling up to the weather, and so all incoming calls was transferred to _Tim's_ desk, complaints included, and Tim had finished the day with tears in his eyes, shaking. Alfred had called him home, and Tim had obliged, but Bruce had refused to make his presence known. Apparently it was rather irresponsible of him to let a fifteen year old, near sixteen, drive, especially at late night, too late for Alfred to drive him, all alone in the darkness, and so Bruce had had his car seized, the yellow clamp mocking him from the front window of the living room. Thus Tim had waited the one hour plus for an Uber to pick him from the Manor, alone downstairs in the dark. Damian had entered at one point, face blank, before leaving with a box of treats, look almost smug, and Tim had barely held it together before his phone dinged with the taxi's arrival. He arrived at Jason's just after eleven thirty in the evening, and face wet, he drifted to sleep, shirt, trousers and all.

Day _three_ : 

It appeared as though Bruce no longer had his own secretary - an impromptu spa day, Bruce's treat - and so Tim was now faced with the strenuous tasks of delivering fresh coffee to Mr Wayne by the hour, mixed blueberry cranberry muffins, his favourite steak and kidney lunch from the other side of Gotham, piping hot or else he was going back, oh, and Bruce wanted two new sets of reports on the WE London account, due at the end of the day. Also, the Tokyo report needed re-doing from yesterday, a presentation on quantum physics and theoretical application to electrics due at lunchtime, and before it was forgotten in the chaos - Bruce required three sets of dry cleaning picked up, one of which was an hour plus away from the town centre. The rest of the board knew something was up between them, but as long as targets were being met, and money being made, they opted to wisely stay out of it, not when Bruce could easily redirect his focus onto _them._

Day _four_ : 

Tim had almost punched Bruce in his punchable smug face when, in front of the _entire_ Board, the man reamed him loudly for a slight miscalculation of figures, asking if he'd ever gone to school _at all_ , and if so, what on earth was he doing, all while eating a full English breakfast, to add to his embarrassment. The rest of the day, as punishment for his below average performance over the last few days - Tim had been relegated to _intern_ level several floors down, and having to make his way downstairs, laptop in hand, in a sea of stares and whispers, was beyond mortifying. Later, Bruce had come downstairs, and in the midst of the entire floor, close to eighty interns in total, young and eagle-eyed, dumped pile of work on his desk, and proceeded to flip through each one, shouting out inconsistencies, mocking and spiteful, all whilst Tim struggled to remain in control, to keep his cool. He eventually finished and left WE just before ten, but his sleep was frightful, restless, seething at the humiliation he'd endured over the last few days.

And now it was day _five_ , the first boardroom meeting of the day, and Tim was at _breaking point_ , his stomach doing jumping jacks the whole way to work.

Honestly, it was a miracle that he'd managed to dress himself earlier this morning, so sleep deprived he'd poured a fresh pot of coffee down the sink before attempting to "drink" from an empty mug.

A seven am meeting, Bruce had been clear on that, and yet, even at six fifty, less than ten minutes till the start, no-one else had arrived. 

And so Tim waited.

And waited.

And _waited_.

Until, a little past noon, the members filed in, relaxed, casting odd looks at the young VP's exhausted persona but sent muted greetings nonetheless, and a few minutes later-

"Brucie" walked in, bright-eyed and cheery, well-rested, black hair gleaming, and all Tim wanted to do was to _throw_ the man into the wall- clearly Bruce had told a flat out _lie_. Instead, he held his tongue, and report after report was discussed, Bruce making his way round the table, until he came to a pause at Tim's chair, Tim who was sat rigid, fists clenched, daring, just _daring_ Bruce to try something with him. 

" _Here_." Tim could barely keep the venom out of his tone, thrusting a report somewhere in Bruce's general direction, causing a few eyebrows to rise in surprise, but Bruce ignored them, and took his time _hmming_ , clicking his tongue slightly, and moved in a little closer, oblivious to Tim's discomfort.

"Oh, _look_ Tim, you _missed_ out a whole paragraph on-"

"How long are we gonna keep doing this, Bruce?" Tim's voice was low, intent for Bruce's ears only, and the man froze for a moment before his features smoothed out, mask firmly back in place.

"I have _no idea_ as to what y-"

"Cut the bullshit. You know _exactly_ what I mean. Look, I'm sorry, alright? I did what I did because it was the _right_ thing to do, for _Jay_ - _not_ you, and if your ego can't handle it, well that's on you, _not_ me. Bruce, you have to understand, I didn't mean to hurt you-"

"But you did, didn't you, Tim?" Bruce was still calmly reading through the reports, and now moved closer, close enough that Tim's head was directly against the big man's chest, an intimidating presence. "In your _infinite wisdom_ , behind my own back, you- no, these figures on page twenty eight haven't accounted for inflation, ask Mr Jeffries to have a look at these again- you, knowing how I felt about Jay, what I wanted, still went ahead to make a deal with that devil, the same one who you've been in contact with all this while. That lunchtime, you sat there nodding and smiling, telling me it was a "good idea, B", and yet- oh, also page forty four, I want a more detailed breakdown of the costs- you play detective and gather my friends to agree to something you _knew_ , undoubtedly, would hurt me, and you sit here, in the seat and company I own, the position I _gave_ you, after conspiring to keep my son away from me, for the second _fucking_ time, after ever- _everything_ -" 

"Bruce, I-" Tim felt a prickling in the back of his eyes, and he moved, one hand to his Father's own, sliding underneath the palm, trembling, but Bruce moved it away steadily, tutting, and Tim bit his lip at the _rejection_.

"Now my son is gone, and to make matters worse - you all get to see him, and I _don't_. That's what you wanted, isn't it? Why - was it out of jealously-"

" _No_ , God _no_ B, how could you even _think_ -" Tim pleaded quietly.

"How could I _not?_ You came to me months after Jason's death, forcing your way in at the lowest point of my life, a time when I didn't want to live anymore, intruding, putting on a suit that was not _yours_ to wear-"

"That was for _you_ , all for _you_ Dad, not m-me-" Tim gasped, and this time, Bruce turned to look at him briefly, round shiny eyes meeting a pair full of pain, and the two remained locked like that for a few seconds, outside world forgotten.

"You say that, but how can I be sure it wasn't because _you_ wanted to be Robin for yourself? You've always looked up to Jason, wanted to be like him - I suppose, in a way, you've won again, haven't you? Jason out of the picture-" The voice was a little mocking, tense, and Tim felt himself harden at the implications Bruce was leveling at him.

Tim leaned in, eyes fierce, unable to believe that Bruce was really doing this, this fucking _shit_ , knowing full well none of it was true, that he'd put up with the "outside" status for years in an effort to help him, _Batman_ , accepting that he wasn't _son_ , not _partner_ , an unwanted intruder they had to put up with because he knew their secrets, and _now_ Bruce was-was-

" _Fuck. you._ " Tim hissed, eyes full of anger, and he clenched Bruce's hand _hard_ , squeezing as much as he could at the wrist, pinching a nerve, chest heaving. "Fuck you, B-how-you _know_ what I went through and _why_ \- you think all this is because I'm _jealous_?! That I don't want _him_ back-"

"Didn't you say that, before Xan? To leave him alone?" Bruce hissed back, a sudden fire in his eyes, the venom drawing the room's attention, and now the air was quiet.

" _I did_ , because I knew, even back then, that you'd probably want him back, like a fucking selfish prick, as-as if he were a bloody toy you could just dust off from the attic and put back on the shelf, and I didn't _want_ that for him - after so _fucking_ long, what it took him to get to this stage, and now _daddy-o_ has a change of heart-" Tim spat, and Bruce gripped his hand so tight the knuckles had blanched white, but Tim shook him off angrily, smacking his hand away.

The two were facing each other now, faces a few centimetres apart, and Bruce's voice was louder now, gritted and harsh, conversations halting. "I made a mistake, we _both_ did! None of us wanted to- it was because we _had_ to, and you wouldn't understand because you've never had that _love_ before, have you-"

Tim's eyes bulged and he pushed against Bruce as hard as he could, standing up now, _absolutely furious_ , ignorant to the gasps and stares from the rest of the room. "You arrogant, narcissistic, asshole - like you even know the _meaning_ of love! What, love your kid but when shit hits the fan you _give up on him_ because you can't fucking handle it, some dad _you_ are-"

Bruce looked as though he wanted to tear him to pieces. " And _you_ do? Enough to decide that _she_ knows better?! Can _do_ better?! _You- you understand_ \- give me a break, Tim! As if you could ever comprehend what it means to be a parent, the relationship between a child and his father, how could you?! Its not as if _you_ had parents to speak of, who gave a single _fuck_ about _you_ -"

_That did it._

The finishing line, the punch to the gut - insecurity and neglect all wrapped in one, past trauma being thrown in his face, being loved and actually wanted by people who fucking cared, who loved without condition, not what you could do or the name given to you, the expectations required from you, all the pent up hurt and pain between them, feeling like an outsider, shunned in favour of the demon Brat, Bruce who either didn't acknowledge the change or just couldn't be asked, Bruce finding out that he and Jason had been in contact all this time, knowing Talia, the tension when Jason was in hospital, unable to stand in the same room as each other, _avoiding_ , the _look_ Bruce had given him that Saturday when they'd broken the nes, Tim being so _sick_ and _tired_ of feeling worn, feeling down, unloved _when it wasn't fucking true, Jason loved him_ , having to play pet monkey, errand boy, shouted out, his work ridiculed, people staring, gossiping - a red haze filled his vision, mist at the peripheries, and he-he- everything had now reached the surface, tensions breached, boiling point and then-

Tim _lost it_.

He _lunged_ at Bruce, delivering a solid punch to the jaw, connecting with a audible _thwack_ , Bruce's head rolling to the side, and the man staggered against the wall, shocked for a fraction of a moment, the air frighteningly silent. Tim stood there, red faced, fists clenched, chest heaving, before Bruce seemed to _snap_ back to his senses, rage filling his features, and he retaliated, moving so quickly Tim barely had time to defend himself before being tackled to the floor, and then they were _at_ it, all the hate and the hurt being unleashed, screaming at each other, _selfish and arrogant and that's why Jay hated him_ , _you betrayed me and I'll never forgive you_ , a bloody nose, a torn shirt somewhere, chairs being scattered, paperwork flying all over the place, one thrown into the table, another against the wall, the dull _thud_ as flesh dolt out flesh, shouts, screams, more grappling, more hits, before pairs of hands were prying the two away, _clawing_ at each other, mad as hell, pleas to _calm_ down going ignored, big men in navy blue who struggled to hold them, curses filling the air, separating the two participants and moving to the opposite ends of the now deserted corridor, before Tim found himself in a smaller, unoccupied room, locked inside, and he _lashed out_ on the chairs, the table, screaming, that he _hated_ him and wished he'd _never_ \- _never come in the first place, never been-been_ , that _J-he'd been right all along_ , pounding against the door, hitting, before the tiredness crept in, adrenaline wearing off, and Tim _sank_ to the floor, tears streaming, and hugged his knees close to his chest, rocking himself, the line between love and hate so blurry, Bruce who just-he- how _could he_ and-and-

 

 

It was several hours later that a knock on the door had Tim jolting suddenly, and he wiped his face.

He didn't need a mirror to know that he looked a right _state_ , hair untidy, blood on his shirt, and he doubted Bruce looked much better either, judging by the way that punched had landed, amongst other things. Tim debated at least aiming to appear somewhat presentable, but the damage was already done. He'd lost his cool, reasonable and well-balanced, and all it had taken was a few words from Bruce -that _bastard_ \- their spat would make for gossip fodder, that was obvious, and it would take an outright _miracle_ for the news to stay contained within their offices. Tim could picture it now, the headlines - "Chaos at WE: Father vs Son" "War of the Wayne", Vicki Vale and her other league of cretins lining at WE entrances, cameras flashing away as they shouted shit like " _Why do you hate your father, Mr Wayne_ " or " _Is this the end, should we expect a company takeover?_ ", waves in the business world, whispers and searching eyes-

"Sir?" An older male, uncertain. Probably the security guard, the one that had dragged his screaming, gangly ass in here. "Mr Lucius-"

" _Yeah_." Tim answered heavily, and with a sigh, he stood, wincing as his mind registered the dull throb on his knuckles, as well as the slight ache at the back of his head when Bruce had tackled him to the floor. He took a final look down at himself. He shook his head, the smile rueful. _No point_. Opening the door, the guard seemed a little embarrassed to be doing this, and attempted to apologise for earlier, but Tim waved his apology off, far past caring. Walking however, he was surprised to find that the entire floor was empty.

As in, _completely_ empty.

No staff, not even their secretaries, or-

_Oh._

Lucius.

Heaven sent for _sure._

Tim gave a silent prayer of thanks, tuning out the squeaking of his shoes against the floor. At last, they arrived to Lucius's office. The security guard moved to the side, giving him a look of understanding before turning away, and Tim made a note to give the poor man a raise should he have a job come tomorrow. Taking a deep breath, he entered the room-

Only to find _Bruce_ sat in one of the chairs facing Mr Fox's desk, rigid form, shoulders tense, head bowed. The man didn't move, and Tim felt bile reaching the back of his throat on seeing him, hate on his lips.

But someone else was _here_ , and Tim wished he hadn't looked.

Seated stiffly in the sofa to the left was-was, oh _fuck_ no-

 _ **Alfred**_.

_SHIT._

Thin lips in a straight, firm line, disapproval written all over his face, back ramrod straight, hands clasped primly, and Tim felt his heart _sink_ in his chest. Tim stopped with a slight stagger, feet clumsy, mouth open to apologise, explain, whatever, but the _look_ on Alfred's face - so _disappointed_ \- had any notion of courage draining away, and he bowed his head, unable to look at the man. Swallowing, Tim moved quietly to take the over chair, sitting down, unable to hide the tremor in his hands, and for a moment, the room was deathly silent. 

Lucius stood then, facing the window, and began to speak, voice relatively level, but they all knew the man, and Alfred was furious, and rightly so.

"I remember when I first started at Wayne Enterprises. Your Father, Thomas Wayne, stopped by the engineering department one day. I was very young then, barely having worked in the company for a few months, and was tasked with going through a pile of reports concerning a new prototype for engine of some sort, I can't remember. Wasn't the most glamorous thing in the world, not the most exciting, but I was new, the youngest, and it seemed right that I be given the boring jobs before "earning" my way to the more interesting parts of the job. I'd been sat there for six hours straight, eyes were glued to the pages, bored outta my mind until I realised: all of a sudden, the room had become full of excited whispers, and so I looked up, only to find a small crowd of people at the opposite end of the room, hovering over a group of three, four maybe, in suits. I don't know whether it was the tiredness or whatnot, whether I couldn't be asked to _also_ stand and fawn over God knows who, but I decided to take a break. So I stood up, left the reports as they were, slung my bag over my shoulder, and began to make my way out. I was halfway towards the door when I heard a voice call out to me, Philip, my manager back then, asking where I was going. Again, call it tiredness, but I missed the hiss in his voice, the one that meant "get back to work, ya damned fool"- I didn't even turn around when I told him that unless I could eat paper, the work would still be there when I got back." 

"I suppose Philip got all flustered, something about insolence and disrespect, but I heard this deep laugh, a real laugh, and that got my attention, so I turn back to see your Father, Thomas Wayne, walking towards me. Tall, in his forties probably, looked quite ordinary apart from the suit, nothing really jumped out at me. I'd never met him before, a plus for me, so I wasn't in the least bit intimated by him, because at that moment, I had _no idea_ who he was. I knew of the _name_ , sure, _Thomas Wayne_ , we all did, but I didn't have a face to the name, didn't know it was _him_ standing in front of me- that's what you get, running a large company. Your dad- he walked up to me, clapped me by the shoulder and declared it _lunch time_ , and together, we left for just that. We walked through to the cafeteria, all eyes on us, I was't sure why but didn't care, but your dad, he seemed nice enough, offered to buy me lunch, and after refusing several times, I finally gave in, 'cause he was so damn persistent - and food in hand, we began to talk. _How are things_ , _do you like what you do_ \- I assumed he was one of the higher ups, so I remained professional, told him things were good, all of that. But then he leaned in, loosened his tie, and looked me right in the eye. "Man to man, tell me what you really think. Off the record, forget the uniform, the clothes." 

"I paused. Had a few things running through my mind - me, a young black engineer, newly graduated, and apart from one or two faces here and there, surrounded by nearly all white colleagues. Bombarded with paperwork, early starts, late finishes. Wasn't entirely happy, but at least I had a job, even if I felt lonely, work colleagues who were generally from an entirely different background to my own, most Ivy League, well off, in the same social circles, me from a single mother who'd pawned everything she owned to send me to school, funded myself through college, now to live in one of the poorest parts of Gotham, a shitty one bed apartment with drug users across the hall, with a woman I loved who too was finding it difficult, facing the same problems I faced at work, but made worse because of her being a _woman_. Wasn't sure about career progression and all that, but I figured I should just hush and keep quiet; people like me who'd managed to finish college and have their degrees in hand were _much_ less successful in finding relevant work, and for those that did, it was for less pay and respect that their white counterparts."

"So I looked at this guy, white, middle upper, this guy who was now essentially asking me to dish out on the negatives of my job, the only one that had given me an offer out of the near four hundred engineering firms I'd sent my application to, not including the whole bank of jobs I'd applied to far unrelated to my field, in the hundreds. A man I didn't know, far above me I'm sure, asking me what I felt about the job I sweated blood and tears to get, "off record", a job where I'd been three times more qualified than the average applicant because _I had to be_ , to get the _same_ level of respect. I was tired, and somewhere in that tiredness and low-level frustration, I found the courage to look him square in the eye and tell him that a. He was damn crazy if he thought I was gonna do such a thing, that b. there was nothing he could offer me on this green earth that would get me to shit out nothing less than roses and daises when it came to"work" and c. suit or not, I was gonna enjoy the rest of my half hour lunch break in peace, and d. if he wanted, we could pretend that we'd had a pleasant conversation which had finished on wishing the other well and the best of luck. Your dad looked at me for a long moment, nodded in understanding and we finished lunch in near silence before leaving our separate ways. I went back to work, he to wherever, I didn't care. The excitement of the impromptu visited lasted for a few more hours before things went back to normal, me back to work, in my little corner at the back of the room, by myself." 

Lucius paused here, voice fond, and Tim found that though they were still cowered, he and Bruce _were_ listening intently. The pair of them were aware that Mr Fox and Thomas Wayne had known each other years back, decades of friendship, but they'd never known _how_ they'd started off at the beginning until now. For Bruce, his father had often spoken of Mr Fox, a man he had admired greatly, full of respect for him and his work, and someone Thomas considered a close friend.

"It was a few days later that Mr Wayne came by again, and this time, there were more suits. The floor mangers were behind them, barking orders, looking real on edge, and for a moment, I felt kinda sorry for them. No matter what, their jobs were one the line too. The group stopped at this prototype, the same one the pile of reports I was going through were based on, but since I was basically insignificant, I turned my attention away and re-focused on the paperwork in front of me. A little time goes by, and then someone mentioned my name, then some hmming, more talking. I didn't think much of it until I had one of my colleagues appear in my face, quietly telling me to "come on", that Mr Wayne- _yeah, him,_ \- wanted me for something. I stare up at him for a moment, confused, before standing up, smoothing my tie and following my colleague. As I'm approaching this group of people, who are watching me, I'm thinking "Oh God, its Mr Wayne, how-what am I gonna say-what does he _want_ -" till I arrive, and my manager, Philip, _turns to your dad_ and says "Mr Wayne, this is Lucius Fox, one of our newest hires. Fox, tell the man what you've found so far in your reports."

Mr Fox turned now to look at them, smiling, and Tim couldn't help but smile despite the tension, just imaging the look on his face, on realising he'd been talking to the boss all that time.

"Man, when I tell you that I _froze_ , I clammed up completely. It was less than a few seconds I'm sure, but to me, it was as if time had stopped, and I-I wanted the floor to eat me up alive. And your dad, he was just standing there, looking right back at me, watching, but there was this _look_ in his eyes, amusement maybe, I dunno, and...and when I _saw_ that look, like he was enjoying seeing me so pent up and damn scared, man I got so _mad_ \- like, how sick does someone have to be to enjoy making someone feel powerless? Like all this time, it was _him_ , and had I said anything less than praise and glory that day, I'd have been long gone by now, and it made-I got angry, I felt so heated- So I fixed him an ugly _glare_ and got right into it. Laid it all out, the inconsistencies, the flaws - I gave not a single damn fuck and it all came out, the design flaws, everything, and more than that - the longer I spoke, the angrier I felt, and with your Father _still_ staring at me, I got even _madder_ , mad enough to go in and ream the four other projects in the lab - projects that I hadn't been allocated to but I'd observed the work nonetheless, inspected bits and pieces myself. I said right out the bits that wouldn't work for sure, silly, stupid things, and for a couple of minutes, I've never seen a bunch of middle aged men so shocked in their entire _lives_. Like, it was as if the world as they knew it had come to an end, and by the time I was done with my rant, my chest was heaving, my fists were damn near clenched, and I was ready to turn, collect my stuff and see myself out." Lucius chuckled.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tim saw Bruce had a small but discernible smile, a dark angry bruise over his jaw. His shirt was torn, lip split-

"The silence was unlike any other. Philip was red faced, but Thomas- he said nothing, but his lips twitched, as if he were fighting off a smile. Philip began reaming me out, already calling for security, but then Mr Wayne snatched the phone right outta his hand and tossed it onto the table behind him. Then, as we were rooted in shock and confused to high heavens, your dad rolled up his sleeves, dug into his trousers to pull out a small notebook and pencil, came to stand opposite to where I was, so that we both faced the protoype in front of us, and asked me _what I would do better_. I swear, I looked at him as if he'd gone crazy, but still, he waited patiently. So I cleared my throat and stammered out a few things, and your dad begins to scribble down at first, looking back up at me to nod every so often. He points out more stuff, I give my own ideas, and now its just us lobbing out one thing after the other, picking apart ideas, throwing questions in the air, so much so that at one point, your Pa passes by Philip, gives him the notebook and pencil and tells him to write it all down! My _God_ , Philip's face!" Lucius laughed quietly, shaking his head.

"I think it was only meant to be a short visit, but we spent nearly two hours like that, going round each project, lobbying, questioning - I pulled out a sheet of paper and sketched a few things, Thomas stood by my shoulder, pointing, drawing his own too, adding things in, and then- then it came to an end. Eventually he had to go, and so Thomas, sleeves still rolled, now with ink and bits on his shirt from all the mess we'd created, stuck out his hand to me, and I-I took it. He apologised for that day, said it wasn't right to have put me in a position like that, that he was sorry, not appreciating what it had taken me get here and the possible consequences that I would have conjured up, and from that day on, I-the respect for that _Mr Wayne_ \- that's when it started. To be able to recognise wrong, to admit to it- in front of everyone - I respected him for that. He turned to Philip and asked that I be made assistant project manager to the floor projects and changes we'd discussed, and that was that. From them on, Thomas came by more often, dropping in to discuss everything from cars to work, you Bruce, when you were being a right little shit, and that's how we became friends. We had our moments through the years, believe me, we've been at each others throats more times than you can say "boo", we've had disagreements and pockets of tension, but I have and will always think highly of him, very much, and in many respects. And now-" 

Lucius Fox had suddenly taken a darker tone, and both Tim and Bruce flinched in their chairs at the turn.

"To witness behaviour from the two of you, Bruce Wayne, Thomas's son, Timothy Drake-Wayne, _your_ son, Bruce, _Thomas's_ grandson - is absolutely _shameful_. This past week has been one thing, but today's incident was the absolute pinnacle of your bullshit, a _stain_ on his legacy, on the standing of this company, all the things that WE promotes, that the two of you - _of all people, my God_ \- to conduct yourselves in such an ugly manner - it is beyond all manner of comprehension, I _cannot_ believe it, truly." Lucius shouted, the room much smaller, and Tim felt himself sink into the chair, ashamed. Next to him, Bruce was doing the same.

"You, Bruce-" Lucius voice was vicious, and Bruce _flinched_ at the sound, head bowed even further. "A Father, founder, son, - I've known you since you were a little boy, barely past my hip. A child, teenager, adult - Alfred and I have watched you grow throughout the years, and believe me my boy, we are deeply proud of you, but more than anything, more than WE, business, certain _nocturnal activities_ \- the ability to care and love for children of your own, a _family_ of your own - that, Bruce, is your greatest and should be your _proudest_ achievement. For a person I care for so deeply, to behave as you have towards another person, your son, to make matters worse, such bullying, and now this, what has happened today, out of all the stupid, immature, foolish things you have done in over thirty years of knowing you, whether for personal or real, the events of this last week has been, by far, the worst and most incomprehensible thing you have ever done, and I have _never_ been so disappointed in you, _believe me_. No matter what, or who started it, for whatever reason, I expected _you_ Bruce, an adult, _Father, for God's own sake_ to have enough sense, decorum, and respect to keep things civil, respectful, out of the workplace, to _not_ retaliate, to your own _son_ no less, _Vice President of Wayne Enterprises, Bruce, your VP!_ \- but instead, what have we been left with? You, acting like a common imbecile, on the floor- I- I- I cannot, I honestly-" 

Lucius broke off here, hands on his hips, shaking his head furiously, taking a moment to compose himself. 

"Tim." 

Tim swallowed, eyes closing.

Lucius didn't mince his words, not in the slightest.

"You are the Vice President of Wayne Enterprises. Though young, we in this room, and the board overall, apart from a few others, feel your maturity, intellect, and analytical nature is well suited to the role. Though short, and despite challenges here and there, Tim, you have made great progress, and have earned yourself much respect in the business world. First of all, I must apologise for Bruce's behaviour towards you for the past week. Despite my serious warnings, Bruce failed to take them seriously, and no matter the reasoning behind it, the bottom line is, bullying is _unacceptable_ , in any way, shape or form, no matter what. We failed to put a stop to that, and that is my fault, to which I take full responsibility-"

"Mr Fox, it wasn't your fault-"

" _However_ \- today- I don't _care_ who said what or did this or that - by resorting to physical violence, in the work place especially, - the _board_ , Tim, towards your own _Father_ \- it is _disgraceful_ , and disappointing, and now, has lent some credibility to those who were initially and still are against your appointment as VP. Today, despite your endurance over the last week, which should _not_ have been the case, bullying should never just be tolerate no matter from whom, despite today being a one-off occasion - _and it will be because if you ever do this again, the board as you know it will cease to exist, me included_ \- I know it wasn't your fault, but nonetheless, you have shown the board some inability to work with difficult people, intense pressure, and this will affect your reputation, and by extension, the company. A child you are, but the moment you accepted the position of VP, you became an adult, and that means responsibilities and facing consequences. No matter what, in life, there will always be people you don't get along with, people who annoy you, and you must learn to deal with them, courteous and professional. I know you, Tim, right when Bruce first brought you to work and you ended up spending more than half the day by my side at R&D. I've worked with you, alongside you, and I know, Tim I _know_ you are better than this, _both_ of you. I know this week has been especially trying for you, and I can appreciate how stressed you must have been, which is why I can somewhat understand and possibly _excuse_ your outburst today. If, as a result, you feel unable to do your work, for whatever reason, then you can always come to me, and we can find you something that suits you. There is no shame in stepping back, whether that's part time, or in a different area entirely-"

" _No_! I'm-I'm _sorry_ , Mr Fox." Tim whispered, hating himself for letting himself be riled up so badly. 

It was unlike him, and it had shown.

Lucius sighed, sitting down, and his voice was a little somber when he next spoke.

"I've taken the liberty of reassuring the board that this was nothing more than a displaced family disagreement, and that nothing like this will _ever_ happen again. The security footage has been taken care of, all recording devices checked to ensure nothing has been captured, and the staff are aware of the severe penalties of disclosing all related WE work and those of a particularly sensitive nature, as per their contracts. Understand this-" Lucius looked up at them now, fixing them with a cool glare. "It is in our best interests - your family, the board, and WE as a whole, to be as united as possible, especially in the face of today's competition. WE - though one of the biggest and most successful, is not the _only_ conglomerate out there, and if you wish to see the continuing legacy of WE remain, then it is in all our bests interests to at _least_ appear strong and cooperative with one another. In house disagreements remain just that, _-in-house_. You don't air out dirty laundry in public, and the board members - if they wish to continue enjoying riches and wealth, understand this, and will keep quiet. Now-" Lucius paused, making eye contact with Alfred, before continuing. 

"I understand, Bruce, that you wanted Tim to resign as VP. As CEO and founder, it is well within your rights to make such a decision - you did not need to resort to such childish, immature antics to do so, and your behaviour, though written off as "eccentrism" by some of the board, in _my_ opinion, is highly unbecoming, for whom we _know you to be_."

Tim froze.

Bruce said nothing, not whilst Alfred was here, but his jaw gave it all away.

He was angry with _himself_.

"Before you say anything, however, understand this. After today's incident, now going ahead to fire Tim will no doubt present WE as unstable, raise questions of a mutiny of somesorts, and that will affect the perception of our shareholders greatly. Furthermore, your decision can be vetoed by the board. Yes, the boy's position is not accepted by some, age and level experience credible reasons, mind you, but I can assure you - his current track record is _far_ in his favour, especially in light of recent events, his patience and commitment to the WE despite tight deadlines and other stresses you placed on him. Tim is young but already well respected in several fields, and if he were to leave, many would eager to snap him the second his foot leaves this building. Should you insist, the board could very well side with you, but in doing so, understand that you will _lose_ an outstanding mind, but more than that - you will lose a _son_ , Bruce, and sitting here, I don't believe either of you would favour such an outcome."

Tim stilled.

Bruce looked away.

"I will leave you to ponder on that for a while. Until a decision is reached, in the meantime, it has been agreed that you two proceed to take the rest of today off, and tomorrow, you can return to work. Any more time away will certainly lend weight to rumours of internal disagreements and that is certainly not good. When you have reached a decision, please let me know- there are set protocols in place to follow. I'm such you can agree to remain at least courteous and professional towards one another for the time being."

Bruce said nothing.

Tim turned away.

It was quiet for a while, before Lucius brought things to a close.

"Gentlemen, today has been unfortunate, but all is not yet lost. If we can agree to put this behind us without further incident, I think we will be able to move forward with minimal to no repercussions." Lucius stood, nodding at Alfred, and the two were up, shaking hands. "Thank you for coming in on such short notice, Alfred. Always a pleasure, despite the circumstances."

Alfred smiled politely. "I appreciate the discretion, Lucius, we _all_ do. Kindly extend my apologies to the rest of the staff and the inconveniences we've caused you today, it would be much appreciated. I'll take it from here. Once again, _thank you, Lucius._. Heaven knows what we'd do without you."

Lucius nodded, walking them to the door, he and Alfred leading, Father and son a step behind, shuffling awkwardly. "Let me know if you need anything. The private elevator will take you to underground, you shouldn't have too much trouble leaving. Take care."

 

 

Down in the underground car park, all three members of the Wayne family were sat in the car.

Alfred put the key into the ignition lock, started the engine, and after a few seconds of it running, turned it off again.

"Never, in all my years, have I been so embarrassed and ashamed of the charges I keep in my care. _Never_."

The man restarted the car in absolute silence, and Tim stared outside the window, left eye throbbing, the hurt at having disappointed Alfred so greatly. To his left, Bruce did the same, the gulf between them felt bigger than ever before. It was a short ride to the manner, but Tim could not remember a time as uncomfortable as this, deathly quiet, and all he wanted to do was to go home, to _Jason's_ , but that was out of the question now, not with Alfred pointedly looking straight ahead, hands tight on the steering wheel. 

There was no getting out of this now.

"It is well past lunchtime, but if I can be perfectly honest, I think the two of you can do without lunch."

Two sets of ears stung with the rebuke.

"Dinner will be served promptly at seven o'clock." Alfred's voice cut like _glass_ , almost daring them to put up a protest, but for once, not he nor Bruce had the courage to do so.

"Yes, Alfred."

"Fine."

They had arrived at the Manor now, and Tim felt a churn of fear, knowing it wouldn't be long before _Damian_ arrived home from school, and then the prospect of facing that little fuckwit-

Before the car had even stopped moving, Bruce had gotten out, striding towards the door without a single backwards glance. 

Tim remained seated, watching him, and once Alfred had switched the engine off, there was silence for a long while.

"Master Timothy." Alfred's voice was softer this time. "What happened?"

Tim's voice hitched, and it took him a while to answer the older man. "I....I don't know, Alfred. I-one minute I was answering a question, the next thing you know, _"Brucie"_ was at the door, all in play, and I was just so worn out, so tired.... I...I shouldn't have, I know that, he got under my skin A and I just...I completely _lost_ it, all the pain-the anger A- and just-it all came to a head and I _lashed out_. And now....I'm not sure if things will ever be-"

" _Nonsense_." Alfred cut in. "Bruce has been deliberately evasive all week, and enough is enough. What happened today is _inexcusable_ , on both sides, and all of this must stop _now_. We are a family, and I will not have Father and son trying to destroy one another. Tim, I will have a few of your things brought here-"

" _No, no please Alfred, I can't stay here!_ Not after this! Its bad enough we have to come back tomorrow and face everyone, imagine having to leave every morning with him and back here again in the evening! _Oh God, no A, don't, please don't make me stay here!_ , God, and there's Damian too, _fuck_ -" Tim was pleading, eyes wide, not wanting to stay here any longer than necessary.

Alfred watched him in the rear-view mirror. " _Language_. This is your home, Master Timothy, I will not allow you to continue _running away_ from your problems-"

"No, right now it _isn't_ , and its been that way for a while now, you know it has! C'mon, A! You even said that I could stay at Jay's, that you were gonna talk to Bruce! Please Alfred, it'll be bad enough having to sit in meetings with him, but in his _house_ -"

"This is _your_ house **too** , Master Timothy, and unless you'd like for me to put my foot down, I suggest you change that line of thinking right now. I will _not_ tolerate it any longer." Alfred cut in, eyes narrowing, and Tim clamped his mouth shut. "I...will consider the arrangements after dinner. But for tonight, you _will_ stay at the Manor, have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Alfred." Alfred wouldn't be moved on this and they both knew it. "I...I'll go up to my room." Tim spoke quietly. 

"A wise decision indeed."

 

 

_A few hours later, shortly after dinner._

_Damian's room_.

"Yes, that is what happened Grayson, I can assure you. Drake did not rise up to the occasion, as usual, and Father displayed only half hearted interest in my ramblings. I embellished several details, and though Pennyworth clearly caught on, Father merely grunted." Damian sat on his bed, fiddling with the quilt cover. Both Drake and Father appeared to have quite the distaste for one another over diner earlier this evening.

"And this wasn't their usual awkward-"

" _Tt_ , what do you take me for, a moron? No Grayson, this time, something was different. Father has been avoiding Pennyworth all week, but he and Drake were both back when Pennyworth and I arrived from school, though neither came downstairs until dinner. They kept looking at each other angrily, Drake barely touched his plate. Pennyworth kept looking at them, I imagine to cease whatever was going on, but they continued nonetheless. Drake was the first to leave, as usual, and Father made no attempt to even look his way or call him back, no bidding him goodnight, not even a nod."

At the other end of the line, Dick frowned, contemplating. "Alfred give away any clues?"

Damian snorted unkindly. "It is as if you have never lived with the man. We all know how secretive Pennyworth can be if necessary. Maybe I can get it out of Drake, I'm sure-"

" _No_ , Damian, don't even think about it." Grayson's tone had suddenly become forceful. and Damian stilled for a moment, a little taken back at the vehement directed at him. Since when was Grayson _that_ concerned over Drake? "Bruce has been playing Batman over the last four days, dodging Alfred, Clark says he hasn't spoken to him, B isn't taking his calls, hasn't been to the Watch-tower, so its likely something went down in Bolivia, and neither of them are spilling. And we know its probably do to with Jason-"

Damian stiffened at the name.

"Look D, don't push this one, alright? Jason's....not a subject to start pushing about and demanding this and that, especially when it comes to your dad and Tim. They're not exactly on the same side when it comes to Jason's welfare, so let me have look into things. Alf mentioned that the two are currently at loggerheads." Grayson's tone was lower this time, but no less firm. A _warning_ then.

Damian thought it over. "Mother may know something."

"Probably." Grayson failed to keep the intense dislike from showing in his voice, and it made Damian wince slightly. "I don't want you contacting her though Damian, its not safe. God knows what she and Jay have been up to-"

"Grayson, she's my _Mother_. I'm sure if-"

" _No._ I don't trust her, especially not with _you_ , and until I know a little more about what's going on, promise me you'll stay out of it." Grayson's voice held an edge of steel, and Damian swallowed uneasily, face pink at the older man's protectiveness emitted over the phone.

"Fine." He eventually replied. "Not because-because you _asked_ , _Tt_ , but only because it is of greater benefit to collect as much information as possible-"

"Yeah, I'm not buying that, little D. Stay out of it, you hear? Text me tomorrow on how art class went, don't forget to send me pics. Love you _baby boo_." 

Damian scowled at the kissy noises Grayson made over the phone, cheeks reddening, before ending the call with a curse, though muttered lightly. 

Whatever it was, Father had been distant for most of the week, opting to go patrol alone. If not patrol, then it was WE, or "work" in his study, or bed.

Drake hadn't come to the Manor once, tonight the first and only exception.

And dinner over, full of sullen, angry silences, Damian concluded that _work_ had not gone well today, for whatever reason.

How peculiar.

 

 

_Alfred's private living room._

"Thank you both for coming."

Alfred sat in his armchair, facing his young charges, both of whom kept their gaze away from each other and on the floor. Alfred sighed softly.

No doubt Timothy would disappear to his room, and Bruce to the Cave, but what he had to say was _important_ , and now more than ever, they needed to _listen_.

""Since you two are clearly too similar for your own good, let me clear the air on your behalf: Yes Bruce, Master Timothy went behind you back to have Master Kent, Miss Prince, and Miss Hol agree to a deal you were not aware of, one you did not agree to, that you did not _like_ in the slightest, and one that effectively has Jason apart from you, again. Timothy, your Father is deeply hurt by your actions, your association with Miss al Ghul, staying away from the family, and part of that frustration is due to a lack of open, truthful communication between you both. Master Bruce, I believe you feel that you've lost one son for the second time, to a woman who has done arguably despicable things in the past, whatever her motives are, and the other son, the one by your side, whom you are most frustrated towards, having played a part in advocating Jason's separation from yourself and the family, and the current events have caused you to cast light on the state of the already distant relationship you both share.You are angry, upset, deeply hurt, and you have every right to be - your feelings _are_ valid. _Master Timothy_. Your close relationship with Master Jason has also resulted in contact with Miss al Ghul. Though she may indeed care for the boy, her past actions have caused us to become quite wary towards her, especially when it comes to Master Damian. Though your intentions towards Jason's well-being are indeed honorable, and I commend you for thinking so highly of your brother, by failing to open up to your Father, you have created the impression of distrust and secrecy, enough that it can appear _your efforts_ are somewhat antagonistic to the efforts _Master Bruce_ is making in reaching out to Master Jason, your brother."

Alfred broke off here, pinching the sides of his nose lightly.

"I am disappointed in both of you. Mr Fox I believe, has covered most of it, but for me, as a Father, a Grandfather, to receive such a disparaging report about my loved ones is quite the heartache. I am therefore ordering a stop to the passive aggression between the both of you right this instant. You are my sons, my family, and as the head of this household, I will not tolerate any attempt to divide this family, external or internal. Your place is _here_ Timothy, with us, as your three brothers, and I am hopeful Jason will one day be able to say the same. The moment any member of this family steps out of this house, you embody the very essence of the _Wayne_ name, good standing, well respected, morals and values that embolden you become fair, productive, thoughtful and considerate members of society, and if feel that is no longer the case, that one or neither of you are willing to do that, then you are free to identify yourself with another name instead, one more suited to your tastes. Until then, whether under this roof or elsewhere, you will love, cherish and respect one another as Father and son, brother to brother, and at work, partner to partner."

Alfred turned to Bruce. 

"Bruce, if you would like to continue living in this great house, having me as your Father, then you will _cease_ any and all mentions of Tim's dismissal as Vice President of Wayne Enterprises. You will _not_ hurt and potentially _drive out_ your own son like this as a way of recompense, I forbid it. No matter what, despite how you may feel, at the end of the day, Timothy is your _son_ , and I will not allow you, out of whatever you have the right to feel, to destroy the relationship you have with this young boy. If you wish to continue calling yourself "Father" to the child sitting at your side, then might I suggest taking the time to work through whatever problems you and he both have, in private." 

Bruce looked away.

Alfred turned to Tim. 

"Master Timothy, understand that this, Jason away, is difficult for Bruce because he _is_ Jason's father, as he is yours, Damian's and Richard's, and there is nothing quite like a parent's love towards their children and their needs. It is hard, it is challenging, and as much as you love Jason and want the best for him, I would advise being open and willing to share what you know, or ideas you have, _with_ your Father in the future, because parents have a right to ensure the well-being of their children. Our family business is between family only, not at work, not in public. No matter how much one has upset the other, when you are outside, you protect one another, _always_ , not lunge at them with fists."

Tim swallowed tightly, and nodded before looking away towards the door.

Alfred smiled softly to himself at the sight before him. Adopted or not, these two were most certainly _Father_ and _son_ , there was no mistaking that.

" No matter how hurt or angry each of you feel towards the other, two great things you have in common are that you both love each other, and you both love Jason. I do hope you both can remember that important fact, and if you can't, I will be _more than happy_ to remind you should it become necessary."

Alfred's finish was a dismissal, and the two men left the room quietly.

 

 

_Just after one in the morning, Batcave._

Bruce levelled a fist at the punch bag.

Another one.

Another.

He kept at it, moving his feet, eyes primed on his target, ignoring the sweat dampening his vision.

His arm ached with fatigue, shoulders strained with overuse but still - Bruce didn't let up.

He kept going, gritting his teeth to push through the pain, to _use_ it, in fact, pumel and power his frustration, at himself, at losing control, l-losing Jason, and the pain of it all, the very worst bit was that _Tim_ had orchestrated it, that-

Alfred had arrived, in his line of vision a little to the right, having declared tonight free from _patrol_ , no excuses, not after he'd been avoiding him the entire week - work, patrol, more work-, knowing how displeased Alfred was at him, at his behavior, and Bruce kept punching, harder, _faster_ , until it began to hurt, and then his muscles _screamed_ before spasming, and Bruce swore loudly, cursing, kicking at the bag, then held it, resting his forehead against the material, breathing deeply.

Dinner had been _awful_.

Very, very quiet.

Damian had watched him and Tim with fascinated interest initially, clearly wanting to see who would break first amidst the heated stares, but one firm look from Alfred had the boy re-focusing his attention onto his plate. The boy had talked a little about his day, enjoying the fact that his father and brother were trading silent glares, butBruce could only half muster a grunt, throat pained. A sarcastic comment leveled in Tim's direction, but the older boy didn't respond, a few more, still nothing, and Damian finally gave up once Tim declared himself "finished", barely a few mouthfuls, leaving stiffly. Bruce had been unable to finish more than half his plate, unwilling to look at the occupant seated furthest away from everyone else with anything other than anger, before heading to the Cave, intending to work, but he'd sat in silence for an hour in the darkness, unable to do anything except think.

Somewhere between passing out and arriving in Gotham, Clark had found him. _Diana was worried_ , Bruce had been ignoring her calls, _all_ their calls in fact. The boy scout had tried to apologise, to talk to him, but every time that bastard opened his mouth, Bruce had attacked him. Hissed and spat and punched him, and Clark had stood there, taking it, never once defending himself. Bruce remembered he'd broken down at one point, weeping, that Clark had tried to comfort him, but he'd lashed out furiously, screaming, that it was _his_ fault, they'd done this to him, agreeing with that bitch, the same one who'd kept his two boys from him for _years_ , that _how_? How could they _fucking go behind his back_ \- how could they _agree_ to-to even- and-and- Bruce pummelled and fought as hard as he could, tactics and training aside, clawed and hit, _street dirty_ , Jason had said so once, and _still_ -

that big idiot had taken _every_ hit, _every_ punch, _I'm so sorry Bruce_ , _I never meant to hurt you like this, I swear_ -

until the exhaustion, the stress was enough, that the rage cooled, settled in his bones, and Bruce had walked away calmly from his friend, ice and detached. Cleaned himself up, shaved, and booked the first flight into Gotham, intending to go straight to work to bury himself in reports and expenses, numbing the hole in his chest, and he'd done just that, greeting those in the hallways with a winning smile, a few pats on the back, light waves, until Bruce had made his way up to the executive board room, private access only, intent on catching up all he'd missed in his absence-

only to see _Tim_ , the one who'd been responsible, sitting down as if he hadn't a care in the world, unaffected, and Bruce had stood there rooted in shock, because for the first minute or so, Tim hadn't noticed him. Hadn't taken note of his presence mid-spiel, voice cool in perfect inflection, and it had taken every ounce of willpower to not drag the boy from his chair and toss him out, until of course, Tim had caught sight of him, deer caught in headlights, frozen, and for a long moment, though it pained him to admit it- Bruce had _enjoyed_ seeing the look of fear on Tim's face, that he still had such an effect on the boy, and he hated himself for it. What came over him, he didn't know it, but call it anger, a desire to punish the boy, Bruce wasn't sure, but the next few days saw him acting harshly towards the boy, impossible deadlines, piling the boy with mountains of paperwork and frivolous errands, and Tim had tried, he really had, but on each passing day, the boy broke little by little, skin becoming more haggard by the hour, teeth clenched, voice mounting with unbridled anger, and a white hot, shameful part of Bruce was a little _glad_ to be seeing that emotion, the pain that _he_ was currently feeling. And then today, after deliberately giving Tim the wrong time to today's meeting, walking in to see how exhausted the boy looked, and expecting Tim to give up, give in, - 

Tim had _soldiered on_ , as if unaffected, and it made Bruce- it-it _did_ something to him, seeing the boy so-so-

What he _hadn't_ accounted for, however, was just how _much_ he'd provoked Tim. Pushed him to his limit, his breaking point, and Bruce knew that it took a _lot_ to get a reaction out of Tim. Apparently enough was indeed _enough_ ; it had all come to a head, their personal lives spilling into the boardroom, and then before Bruce was even _aware_ of it, Tim had _punched_ him across the jaw. Shock, disbelief - then the rage had spread, and Bruce found himself moving, attacking, Tim who actually _fought_ back, spitting fire, tone venomous, and Bruce reacted-

"Master Bruce." That was Alfred now, and Bruce shut his eyes against the dense material, wanting to be left alone.

Still, Alfred didn't leave. In fact, the man placed something like a platter - _sandwiches, probably_ onto a nearby surface and waited.

Bruce remained still, hoping Alfred would get the message, but they both knew Alfred could be just as stubborn as _Batman_ sometimes when it came to his family.

"I have given you space and time to collect yourself together, but clearly this was the wrong approach to take." Alfred's tone was wry, to lighten the conversation, but his face fell on seeing how _tense_ Bruce was. 

"I can't." Bruce's jaw was _tight_. "Alfred, I can't, I can't do this right now. I...I know, alright, I know you're upset, I know you shouldn't have, but please, just...I _can't_ ," His voice cracked at the end, and he swallowed, once, a hitch in his breath, before a light, frail hand was placed on his back, and Bruce felt his insides give way, turning to bury himself deeply into a man he considered to be his _Father_ , clutching at the man's lapels as he cried, cried for the son he wanted so dearly, for the other he couldn't stand to look at, whose face brought up a mixture of hurt and _so much pain_.

"I'm so sorry, Alfred. I know you're disappointed, but-but _all I wanted was to have Jason back_ \- was that too much to ask? Is it so _wrong_ to try and reconnect with my son - especially at a time like this, when he's _hurt_? To protect my boy, to care for him - I've been denied doing so twice now and its-its killing me. They-they think I'm being selfish, thinking of Jay as some sort of toy - they say I didn't know what it was like because _I wasn't there_ , because I gave up on him, too much, too hard, - its true, its my _fault_ , I should have never have let Jason _go_. And now that he's hurt, and he needs help, when I want to help, and I-I'l do _anything_ \- now they won't let me! Oh God, I lost him, we lost him, Alfred, and now I have to lose him again, and I-I just miss him, so, so much." 

Bruce wept into the older man's arms, Alfred's own eyes becoming wet as he rubbed his boy's back comfortingly. 

"I just don't understand why Jason couldn't come here, _home_ \- why did Tim do this to me? Why Alfred - why did-I can't, this, a second chance, after so long and I-I've made so many mistakes Alfred, with Jay, and I've missed it, I missed him growing up, I missed teaching him how to drive and girls and-he's _all grown up now_ , too much, too fast, and I _missed_ that, _we_ missed that, and now he's gone, _again_ , I'm sorry-" Bruce stepped away from Alfred, wiping his face hastily, and Alfred let him go, his face sad. 

"My dear boy." Bruce held his face in his hands, unable to stop the tears streaming.

Alfred stepped forward, a few tears of his own breaking free. He placed his hands at the sides of Bruce's face, holding them there, and spoke gently to the man, whose cries were strained. 

"I am _sorry_ , my son. I know you love Master Jason. You always have, even in the midst of the fighting, and deep down, I suspect part of Jason's distance, indeed his leaving in the first place, was to do with love, and done _out_ of love. I understand, Bruce, that you want him here, home, that you want this chance to help him, to reconnect with him, and I am proud of you for that. I am, truly. But Master Jason needs help that only _experience_ can provide, and for now, that comes in the form of Miss Ghul. I am aware of how you must feel toward her, especially regarding Master Damian, but I must be honest with you, dear boy - there aren't enough books in the world, research even, that can rival what experience has to offer. As wary as I am to Miss Ghul and her intentions, I do believe she is best placed to helping Jason recover, simply because she has seen it before. I know, I know, she is largely the reason for such help in the first place, I understand that, but for now, Master Bruce, _please_ \- let her help Jason. Let her do whatever needs to be done to help him recover, and if part of that recovery involves your friends, Master Clark, Miss Prince especially, so be it. I know they care deeply for Jason, and if you love him as you say you do, then it is a _good_ thing that there are more people this time willing to help him, Bruce, it _is_. I know it hurts, not being unable to see Master Jason, but Bruce, one thing I've come to learn all this years is this - sometimes, loving someone requires that do what's hardest, what is necessary, and in this case, that means letting things be for now, in peace. Sacrificing what you want for what is _best_ , even thought it hurts. You cannot rush reconciliation, no matter how much you may want it. It took time for you to realise that you wanted to reach out to Jason again, that mistakes were made, and it will therefore take _time_ again for changes to be made. You _must_ also consider Jason's feelings on the matter too - no doubt this is hard and somewhat confusing for him. Does he want the same thing, Master Bruce? Have you asked him directly, what he wants?"

The Cave was silent.

"No. I haven't." Bruce's voice was mournful, remembering how close he was into actually doing so, when he messed things up, yet again. 

Alfred squeezed his hands tight.

"That is a good place to start. For now, however, Master Jason's priority is and should be on getting better, back to health, strong enough to overcome the Pit. That is what the boy should focus on. From the little I understand about the Pit, Jason will be in a vulnerable state, and though your intentions are good, Master Bruce, it cam be pressuring for someone in Jason's state of mind. Give the man space and time, let him recover and heal, and if Jason is willing, take it from there. If not, then continue to reach out to him, directly, otherwise through your friends, to let him know that when, _if_ he would like to reach out, you are ready and willing. It gives him control, and Jason will appreciate having the choice left to him. If you are _serious_ Bruce, about wanting to make things right, then you will understand the importance of patience, especially at a time like this. Now, as for your friends-"

Bruce stiffened, but Alfred remained where he was.

" _Their_ mistake was not informing you of what they planned to do in _private_ , upfront, and with that, explaining _the reasoning behind their decision_. Regardless, I believe their intentions are good, and I know you do too. Do not shut them out, Master Bruce. You are angry, hurt, and somewhat betrayed - I believe they are well aware of that, which is why they have been hopefully giving you space to process things, but in that process, do not shut them out. You have known each other for _years_ , and they have been a moral support through various testing times. Try not to let your anger get the better of you."

Bruce said nothing to that.

"As for Master Tim." Alfred sighed, wondering where to start. Even before Jason, both Bruce and Tim were growing further apart, mainly due to Damian and his relationship with Dick, and with that, Bruce's failure to cement both as his _sons_ , putting an end to the younger boy's attacks. 

"As Lucius has rightly said, punishing Tim by creating a difficult work environment for him is a hurtful, albeit cruel thing to do. No matter how much he has upset you, you are well aware of what VP means to Tim, how much he enjoys R&D, technology, his aspirations for business, areas he excels in, loves dearly, something he can call _his_ and no-one else's, and I...I must admit, I will feel crushed should you go through with it, to hurt the boy in such a way, to approximate to the way he has hurt _you_. It can be done of course, if you vehemently insist, but even so, I do not believe the process will be a smooth and easy one. Away from the fact that Tim has excelled greatly in such a position, doing so will further hinder the relationship between the both of you. Yes, things could have been done better, and that includes Tim's quiet involvement with Miss al Ghul, but in the end, Tim is your _son_ Bruce, and I will so hate to see another child estranged from his Father. The boy loves you dearly, and I know that you love him just as much, just as the other boys. Once again, do **not** let your hurt nor your personal grievances soil the fact that you two are family, you his Father, Timothy, your boy. I am not and will not tolerate losing another grandchild. Work through whatever it is between the two of you, take the time you need, but do not give up on the other, for I will not allow such foolishness to take root in my family."

Alfred took a break here, wanting Bruce to understood all he had said. The man was quiet, still, but he was indeed listening, and that was more than Alfred could ask for at this stage. He placed a kiss on Bruce's forehead, before touching his shoulder gently.

"Give it time, Master Bruce. Continue to let Jason know that you _are_ here, if he ever wants to reach out, that it doesn't matter how long it takes, so long as he is ready, and is _willing_ , of his own accord. Talk to your friends -or at the very least, don't ignore them- and _forgive_ Master Timothy. No matter what, you are his father, Jason's father, and as an adult, the child I raised from birth, I know you can do better than this, I have _seen_ it. Treasure your family, and hold close to you those you call friends. Not many can count on having both, especially when times are trying."

 

 

Alfred took his leave.


	54. You say and you lie, but I see, and I know.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's recovery programme begins, Bruce and Diana talk, and Tim receives a surprise visitor.

_Katafanga Island, deep in the South Pacific._

From the balcony above, Talia watched the scene, sipping her tea slowly.

It had been over a week since both she and Jason had arrived at the Island, fully equipped as per her instructions, and the few staff on site where those vetted in the strictest of confidence, courtesy of Ubu. Enough of Jason's strength had returned that the boy could at least move fairly independently without too much assistance, which was more than adequate to begin his training, and Talia had commenced his recovery programme almost immediately. 

As for the Pit?

The voices were out in full force, cruel and taunting, hallucinations of dead children, red, bloody lips, chalky white skin, and Jason's sleep had been ravaged with strained cries and breathless gasps against her chest, every day of this week. The taunting would last hours, bouts of locked muscles, the man turned child whose body trembled in her arms, sobbing, clinging onto her with every ounce of her might. Jason's eyes were usually shut, but once in a while, they would open, and Talia knew she'd never forget how _luminous_ and unseeing they were during the height of his torment, aware of her presence and yet alone in his madness, fingers that were prised in her shirt, begging not to be left alone, and Talia would kiss sweaty curled locks, murmuring soothingly, the _love_ she held for him, her boy, hands tucked in Jason's own, blanket across their forms, but still, despite everything-

the Pit continued.

The worst period was usually between the hours of midnight to four, five even, before the cruel mistress would finally release Jason for a while, and the boy would slump across her chest, exhausted, bags under his eyes, lost to the world for a few hours, before waking a little after noon, quiet and withdrawn. It was a true effort for him, Jason, when the nights had been particularly cruel, after waking finally, would lie in his blankets, snuggled against her, and Talia beside him, running a hand through his hair, sunlight streaming through the windows, telling him about her life, her past, the little adventures she kept hidden from all except him, and Jason who would remain silent except to grunt, a smirk if she were lucky, and on one occasion, turning to her, eyes wide with surprise, a small huff of laughter that escaped from his lips before the quiet returned. On better nights, Jason could manage to come downstairs to their breakfast dining room, shoulders heavy, and sit opposite her, eyes dull. Talia always kept a small smile for him, understanding, and the boy would try to smile back, just for her, but it showed in his face, the tiredness, a slight flicker of resentment, and Talia would reach over to take his hand in her own, squeezing once, before serving the boy various food items, cajoling him to eat with a _look_. Jason seemed to relax at the fussing, though he'd probably never admit it out loud, but despite the encouragement, his fatigue would only permit him a few mouthfuls before his stomach rebelled, half a pastry, a small cup of tea, sometimes only a handful of grapes.

After breakfast came training. Sleep would have been nice, Talia was sure, but Jason was never one to whom sleep came easy to - once he was awake, that was it for the day, and forcing him to sleep a little more would only confuse the boys circadian rhythms further, and Jason didn't need any more stress than that currently. The only way, therefore, was to keep Jason pre-occupied with activity, tasks, to flood his mind with targets for the day, things to achieve, objectives to meet - in doing so, the boy would develop resilience, a physical strength that would work wonders on his mental equivalent, and on this Island, warm and sunny, thick, dense foliage, mountainous heights, and great depths, there was indeed much to do. The voices, the hallucinations, they would begin to creep into the day as the Pit battled for control, and Jason needed _focus_ , focus and _strength_ , in every respect, a selfish _will_ , now more than ever, if he wanted to overcome such a force. Later, after vigorous activity, Jason's appetite would return, and it always brought a smile to Talia's face whenever she watched the boy eat, a large lunch, and even bigger dinner, his favourite.

Each day held a mixture of activities, in different order, to stretch Jason's mind, away from predictability, and so far, things had worked relatively well. The first Leaguer to start their session had been Shayera, last week, and Talia had watched with begrudging respect the way Shayera taught Jason, fierce and intelligent, never holding back as she brought Jason to his knees almost every time. Initially, Jason had been rather shy, and Talia could tell Shayera had been a little surprised. Most people reacted similarly - Jason presented himself as loud, friendly, cheeky, forward even, and whilst a lot of that was _true_ , it also served as a defence mechanism. At the heart of it all, Jason was still a child, forced into a life of hardship, and having Shayera see him in a vulnerable state was unnerving for him, Talia knew. But Shayera was able to see past the shyness, the lack of eye contact, and soon she had Jason smiling much more, laughing even, though a little red-faced, and after a while, the boy began to open up to her, despite being thoroughly beaten by the older woman. Though physically weak, the training was still there. It was more a lack of _confidence_ in his actions, the obvious hesitancy, long pauses where Jason doubted himself - _that_ was holding the boy back, just as Tim had mentioned during his proposal regarding Jason's welfare. They needed to break through to Jason psychologically, and gearing him up to a place of strength, of feeling physically able once more, would leave Jason believing that he could _do_ it, _overcome_ , and thus, they had started. Shayera had stayed for a late lunch, much to Jason's poorly concealed delight, and later, when the boy had eventually taken his leave to the healing room for the day's injuries, both Talia and Shayera had talked, discussing Jason's progress. Privately, Talia had to admit - the woman was a force to be reckoned with. Shayera had both skills and intellect, strength and ability, capacity and knowledge - were she not part of the Justice League, it would have been a great asset to have the woman as an ally of some sorts. 

Timothy too had visited last weekend, but despite the younger boy's efforts to joke with Jason, Talia could see that he was anxious. Anxious and a little on edge, despite he and his brother's bickering as they swam in the sea, resting only later to have dinner by the beachside. She had taken him aside, hoping to ease the boy - by her accounts, Bruce had yet to return to Gotham, and even though Timothy had reassured her that he would be _fine_ , his apprehension was clear to see. He certainly made up for it when it came to food, dinner especially, and Talia had watched the two boys with quiet marvel, plate after plate of food disappearing within minutes.

Timothy had taken his leave early Sunday evening, and Talia had watched Jason's frown deepen as the plane departed, before he had turned to her, questioning. She'd taken his hand in hers, wringing it gently, not to worry, but Jason didn't buy it, and if Talia were honest, neither did she. Bruce's last words and demeanor had been arguably cold towards his son the last time they'd seen each other, and as much as she would have liked to find out more, _Clark's_ warning, to back off, and leave Bruce be, came back into her mind. She'd underestimated the bigger man, how guilty he had felt for disappointing Bruce, going behind his back, and though Talia wasn't afraid of the Superman, a frankly ridiculous notion, she'd be a fool to not at least exercise a degree of caution when it came to Bruce, and in particular, the relationship between the two friends. Though the bruise across her neck had faded by now, well covered with foundation and away from Jason's knowledge, Talia knew she would not forget the hurt and _anger_ in Clark's eyes anytime soon.

"Ah, man! How d'you- you know what, never mind." The voice groaned, voice thick.

Talia's mind was brought back to the present by the young voice, and she looked down to see Jason sprawled onto back, mouth bloody at the side, letting out a groan as he held a palm to his face. Above him was a concerned Clark Kent, mortified by the looks of it, and the bigger man was reeling out a stream of apologies, trying not to hover over the boy but ultimately failing, coming to kneel on one knee by Jason's side, one hand close to Jason's shoulder. Diana was supposed to have taken the session this week, but her dignitary presence had been requested abroad, and Clark had taken her place instead. Though Jason had made his disappointment at Diana's postponement clear, a large parcel delivered yesterday from the Amazonian herself, containing a large assortment of books, along with other rare gifts, had lifted Jason's spirits immensely, and the two of them had spent hours on the phone talking, the boy's voice exited fluent Greek audible from outside, much to Talia's chagrin. She retreated into her quarters now, though close to the window, leaving Clark and Jason to some privacy. She knew Clark hadn't meant to hurt the boy, but still, a certain level of protectiveness had her debating to cut the session short. Talia knew Jason wouldn't like that, especially her witnessing him being bested as such, something about her money and training wasted on him. It came down to _pride_ , Jason's pride, and intervening know would only hurt matters more, so Talia let the two men be for the time being. She'd promised Jason not to spy on his sessions with the League members, but they were in her compound, with her _son_ , and that fact was enough to justify her spying.

"Jay, oh God, I'm _so_ sorry, I swear. Are you alright? Here, let me-" Clark's apologetic voice wavered through the air, the bigger man attempting to help Jason up, but Jason, embarrassed, scowled and slapped his hands away, the irritation bleeding into his voice.

"No, I'm fine, honestly, its no big deal." Jason twisted his torso away to spit out a mouthful of blood, wiping his cheek, and from where she stood, Talia could see how Jason's eyes momentarily fluttered shut, wincing in pain, tongue probing for loose teeth, and Clark still at his other side, wiping a nervous hand on his grass-stained shorts. 

"Jay, you're not, just let me help you-"

"I said I'm _fine_ , _damnit_! Just leave off, for fuck's sake-" Jason shut his eyes, breathing hard, and for a long, tense moment, all that could be heard were the leaves fluttering in the breeze. Jason sat forwards, bringing his knees closer to his chest, and he rested his chin there for a while. "Sorry. Its- it's been hard. Just grouchy, that's all. Good move though, I...I saw it coming, but for some reason, I dunno, I just...I kinda stalled." His skin was a dark oak brown, curled hair damp from the humidity, sweat at the corners of his temples, and his chest visibly heaved from the exertion.

Clark moved till he sat opposite Jason, cross-legged. Not close enough to touch him, but close enough that the two cast shadows on the other. Clark's skin was more tan, tinged pink with mild exertion - though weaker than normal, Jason was still strong, and as his full strength returned, would become even more of a challenge, even for a super-powered individual like Clark.

Like Father, like son, Talia mused. But Bruce didn't deserve that title.

"What do you mean, Jay? Like knowing _what_ to do, and _how_ to do it, but just... _not_ being able to do it?" Clark's voice was soft.

Jason looked at him, his eyes bright green against his skin, a handsome contrast. The boy huffed fondly, one foot nudging Clark's shin.

"Yeah, like that. Sometimes I find myself freezing on the spot, like its- the hit, its in slow motion, I can see where its going, predict where its gonna land, the next two, three moves, but my legs- they're like lead, rooted to the spot. I swear it feels like I'm kinda outside my body for a minute, just... _yelling_ at myself to move damnit but-but I just _stand_ there and its- And I can't keep- I've gotta get back to work, I _want_ to, but how can I, like this? In this state? Can't sleep, fighting my own damn mind and I-" Jason's face grimaced and he clenched his jaw, turning to the side. "Its frustrating. I feel like I'm letting people down, my friends, work, Talia. Like its all been a waste and I-I just can't shake that feeling off, you know?"

Clark nodded. Head bowed, he seemed trace out a few shapes on the ground before speaking, voice thoughtful. "I remember when I learned to fly. Better yet, was when I forgot _how_ to fly."

Jason looked back at him, unable to hide the surprise in his eyes. Clark smiled back before carrying on. "What, you thought it just _happened_ \- just one day, on the ground, and the next moment, in the air? No, Jay. Not quite." The man laughed a little, and Talia smiled as Jason smiled, Jason who shuffled closer by an inch, intrigued. 

Jason loved listening to stories.

"You mean...you didn't..you didn't have powers all along? Cause I thought.." Jason trailed off, eyes not leaving Clark, and Clark's face was full of amusement as he shook his head.

"I was pretty much a normal kid until I turned sixteen or so. Up until then, I thought I was like everyone else - I _felt_ normal, did what the other kids did, nothing seemed... _off_ to me, if that makes sense. Not long after my sixteen birthday, things began to change. I'd be looking at nothing in particular, and then the view would suddenly shift - I'd see in black and white, the internal structures, like a 3D floorplan come to life, or people turn to blobs, with all these funny colours - heat signatures, but I didn't know it at the time. It took several months for all these new...things began revealing themselves, I honestly thought I was going crazy, and then one night, after an argument with my Pa, I ran up to my room, stomping my feet, slamming doors along the way, and I was so mad, I didn't even realise that I was hovering off the floor entirely until I was at eye-level with the top of my door frame!" 

Jason laughed. "Oh man! I'd freak the fuck out!"

Clark chuckled. "You bet I did. For a couple of seconds, I honestly thought I was dreaming, then once I realised I was indeed hovering, that it was real? I lost it. Ma swears to this day she thought I was being attacked; apparently I scared the daylights outta her and if not for how scared I looked when they came up to my room, she swears she would have tanned my hide for the noise."

Jason's eyebrow rose. "Superman getting a spanking from his Ma? Who woulda thought."

Clark grinned. "Trust me, Superman or otherwise, Ma would have done it, even now. But eventually, we figured out that along with X-ray vision, heat vision, super strength, all those things - I could add _flying_ to the list. I was so excited, I gotta tell ya. Pa forbid me from using my powers to get ahead at school, unfair advantage he called it, I thought it unfair to use every gift I had, but anyway: practically every day I'd race home from school desperate to practice "flying" - ie anything more than hovering a few feet in the air. We practiced all sorts, you know how little kids extend their one fist in the air forwards-"

Jason did a child-like imitation of the gesture, sound effects included, and the two men burst into noisy laughter, Clark red faced. 

"Exactly, Jay. We tried everything, running and then launching myself into the air, off buildings and into dumpsters, off the barn - almost broke my neck after that one and only time, Ma was furious with Pa for letting me do that. The secret wasn't in the manoeuvres or the cape, not in the wind, nothing like that. It came from letting my mind clear, focusing on feeling light, weightless, kinda letting myself feel in tune with the current around me, if that makes sense. I spent quite a while practicing across the Artics - I went from hovering to short bursts of energy before crash landing, then as I got the hang of it, the distances became greater, and bigger, till I-till I could do it. _Fly_." Clark's voice was wistful.

"And then, one day, I stopped flying. Just..lost it, almost overnight."

Jason stared at Clark. "Just like that, seriously?"

" _Seriously._ It happened a couple of years back. We, the League mean, were fighting a villain of some kind, I took a hit pretty badly, and all I remember is waking up several hours the next day in the Watch-tower, dazed outta my mind, confused. I couldn't remember anything, but I just wanted to go _home_ , and despite your da-Bruce, despite Bruce trying to knock some common sense into me, Diana included, I discharged myself and went home. We weren't as close back then, just work-mates, nothing more. For the first few hours, I felt ruddy. Just...not myself. I couldn't put my finger on it, not at first, and that's because I wasn't using my powers."

Jason nodded at this, and Clark smiled softly. "The powers are Superman - its what I can do, Jay. Clark, however, is who I am. I think you're the first person I've met whose able to distinguish between the two without me first explaining it to them. Back in Gerebeta, you alluded to it - Superman, Red Hood, Clark Kent, Jason Todd. That you strip away the cape, the S, the powers, and you're left with _Clark_ , that _Clark_ is who I really am. Outside Superman, the League, all that he's associated with in terms of public authority- the powers don't come into it, not really, apart from every now and again. I walk, drive like everyone else. Take the train. Work. So when I came home that day, and for those few hours I felt off..I didn't think much of it at first. Put it down to just feeling under the weather. I didn't question _why_ , because I wasn't at _work_ , work being all S-related activities. It was only when I was helping my Pa clean out the barn that I realised something was wrong. We were in the midst of work, and I walked towards several feet of stacked hay that I'da normally lifted without even blinking, but I- I _couldn't_. Barely managed one stack, and my back was straining with the effort. I kept trying, it wasn't working. Pa put it down to me not resting, but something in me told me it was _more_ than that, so I tried out my other abilities. X-ray, heat - anything other than normal vision made my head _pound_ , awful headaches, like someone was trying to box my skull in and it made my pretty nauseous." Clark swallowed. "It...It was one of the first times I ever felt truly _helpless_ , like - anything could happen, and that's it, I'd-I'd be absolutely powerless to stop it from happening. And it wasn't just me - Lois, the woman I secretly loved, my parents, friends - heck, if Superman was needed, what was I gonna do? I mean, I prided myself on _not_ relying on the use of my powers, but to actually _not_ have them, _at all_? And not knowing whether it was just temporary or a side-effect or _permanent_?"

Jason remained silent, contemplating it all. He couldn't imagine _Superman_ feeling powerless a day in his life. If that were the case, in Clark's shoes - he'd rather had had nothing from the onset, than have it all, only to lose it, and not remember what _normal_ felt like.

"I went back to the watch-tower. Bruce and the others, they ran all sorts of tests on me - apparently I'd been exposed to a particularly potent strain of yellow kyrptonite and though it looked like it would wear off by itself, they didn't know when, or for how long."

"There was nothing they could do?" 

Clark shook his head. "No way to speed up the recovery process. Just had to wait it out. One by one, the powers manifested a little, most of it muddled, but as for flying? Nothing, and is was stressful. It didn't matter what I did or said, or how much I practiced, or with all the confidence in the _world_ \- I couldn't fly. If I pushed myself to the absolute _limit_ , I'm talking gritted teeth, sweating, clenching my fists, the whole lot - I could hover a few inches in the air, but that was it. I knew what to do, what it looked like, felt like, imprinted in my mind, but whenever it came to it - I..for some reason or other, I couldn't do it, couldn't fly. And I...I'd stand there, so damn frustrated, close to tearing my hair out. The League...they were understanding, I know, told me it would take time, not to worry, but they didn't _understand_ \- it was there but I couldn't grasp it, and I felt I was letting the whole team down. Benched on missions. Weirdly enough-" Clark paused for a moment, and Jason stared back at him, waiting.

"To be honest, Jay." Clark huffed slightly. "I shouldn't be- I should be encouraging you, not- ah, forget it. Anyway, as time went on, with no real improvement, I actually began to get _used_ to it. _Not_ flying. _Not_ being as strong as I was. I-" Clark locked his jaw, then tried again. "I began to see myself in this new life of mine, a life that didn't involve putting my loved ones in danger. Lois and I weren't together then, but I-with the lack of powers, I thought we could, you know...as _me_ \- I could finally take the plunge and ask her out. I was getting used to my phone being quiet for longer periods, not having to dash off to an emergency or three. Could sleep in at the weekends. See a movie, go for ice-cream, make plans and see them through for once. So even though I was initially frustrated, and angry, confused...as time went on, I began to see it as somewhat a blessing in disguise, really, I did. Until, one day, I began to fly again."

Jason didn't know what to say. Was the same true for him? Ready to give it up, the missions, work abroad? He loved his job, helping others, and had thought of nothing but returning to work once this shit was over, but...if it were possible, was a life _outside_ all this even possible? All the training Talia had spent on him, for him? All he'd put himself through, to be the best, the strongest, so that he could help others? Right now, Jason couldn't imagine anything else. This was his focus, this job, enabling to endure and withstand this shit, so that he could resume into doing what he loved most.

"When it came back to me, how to fly, I....I was shocked. Happy, but then I became kinda irritated, a little angry, because I didn't know what to do next. Didn't or wasn't sure, I couldn't tell. Thought I was happy with the new life but then... _Superman_ Jay, helping people - that was my purpose, and once I resumed work, I found out just how much I'd missed it, you know?" Clark sighed loudly. "What am I even saying? God, sometimes I don't even know what I'm talking about, its only everyone else who _think_ otherwise. Jay." Clark took his time to find the words.

"What I'm trying to say -and I know its nowhere near the same situation, but hear me out- is this: don't force it. You've mentioned you want to get back to work and I get that. Having something that grounds you, keeps you focused- its great and I'm not trying to dissuade you at all. But beating yourself up will _not_ help matters, believe me. It'll take time to get back into the swing of things. And I'll say this - its not...its not _wrong_ when on some days, you kinda don't _feel_ like doing one thing or the other, alright? Doesn't make you weak or any less committed, its normal, and it happens. I...I know the situation isn't planned, or what you want to be going through right now, but the first step in life, in dealing with disappointment and hurt, is _acceptance_. Just like you reminded me on Xan, the shit has happened, we can't turn back time. What happens next, however, depends on you. Time and patience are your best friends right now. The strength is there, the training, the skills, talent - its all there, but it'll take a little time and even more patience to get back into things. It's not something you'll want to rush, I'm not sure you _can_ even rush it. So if this giant boy scout can offer a little advice?"

Jay smiled. Clark rested one hand on the younger boy's knee and squeezed gently.

"Take every day as it comes. One step at a time. The things you get right, great. The things you mess up on, the trips, falls - its disappointing, sure, but take it on the chin, and resolve to do better. If you need a break, or want to do something else for a change, that too is fine. Whatever it is, wherever you want to go from here, remember that _Rome wasn't built in a day_. I'm not just talking about mastering skills, either."

The Pit. That was what Clark was talking about, and Jason swallowed, looking away.

"I...I can't explain it, C. The voices, they take all the insecurities and just _rip me apart_ , bit by bit. I..I can't sleep, its just one reel of shit after the other, and sometimes I just..I want it to just _end_ already. I..it took me so _long_ \- years C, _years_ before I could function again and now, now its back, now I've gotta deal with this crap, _again_ , I'm so, so fucking _fed up_ and the worst part it, there's more to come, I know it-" Jason rested his face against his knees, throat tight, and Clark moved closer, hands on Jason's arms, rubbing them slightly.

"Jay, listen to me. I know you've gone through this before, and I..I can't imagine how difficult it must be, going through it all again. But this time, I swear- you are _not_ alone. You don't have to shoulder any of it alone. We're here, all of us - whether you wanna cry, lash out, scream to the heavens, or sit in the corner and do absolutely nothing, I don't care - you do it, and each of us will sit right by you, you hear? We're not going anywhere."

Jason closed his eyes briefly, dew seeping into the pants of his black tunic. "It's gonna get real bad, C. You don't understand-"

Clark used one finger to lift Jason's face towards him, and looked him right in the eye. "I don't care. I don't care if you attack me to the ground and scream until your voice gets hoarse. Nothing will change, I swear. I'm not letting up and letting go. You have my word. I'll be right here, for however long and whenever, even when you don't want me to be."

Jason held his eye, then nodded slowly. "Alright. You'd better, fathead." His voice was young, small, but the tiny smile that followed made the childish insult all the more dear.

"Real mature." Clark smirked, and then paused, intently looking at Jason. He moved the one hand that rested on Jason's elbow towards the reddened part of Jason's face. "May I?"

Jason's eyes darted towards the hand, then nodded. He stiffened a little as Clark's palm made contact with the bruised part of his jaw, but allowed Clark to turn it to the sides.

"Nothing broken." Clark mused. He rested his hand there for a moment, smiling fondly. "Alright. What do you want to do now? Continue? Or call it a day? Whatever you want Jay, the choice is yours."

The two looked at each other.

"Continue." Jason decided, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks before disappearing. "I mean, only if you want, honestly, you don't have to-"

Clark threw him a _look_ , and stood. One palm outstretched towards the younger boy, Jason took it, and Clark hauled Jason to his feet, the two almost at eye level.

"I'm taller than you." Jason hoped Clark would buy it, but the bigger man laughed out loud, placing an arm fondly around the younger boy's shoulders, steering him back to their open clearing.

"You wish. Pick up your stick, shortie-"

 _Shor_ \- I'm like six foot three and a half! What are you on, mate?" Jason was incredulous.

"The hair doesn't count, Jay. Even if I were outright bald, I'd _still_ be taller than you and you know it. Accept it son, I can barely see you from up here-" Clark ignored Jason's dramatic gasp and threw him the stick they'd been training with.

"I honestly don't know how Bruce does it." Jason positioned himself to fight, knees apart, eyes mischievous.

Clark grinned. "Best out of three?"

"Go for it, old man."

 

 

 _London, after eight in the evening_.

Diana closed the door with a quiet sigh, leaning her head against the front door.

Her feet ached, and she kicked her shoes off in an unlady-like manner, quietly cursing foolish expectations the world of _men_ placed on women. Unrealistic and devoid of sense on the men's side, but what had surprised her more than anything was the fact that _women_ , more often than not, placed pressure on themselves and others, castin judgement, constantly comparing each other in weight, height, and many more frivolous exploits. It was confusing, and Diana was tired, flat out _tired_. She gingerly made her into the kitchen, large and spacious, to a fridge that was empty, ignoring the empty living room on her way to the first floor-

 _Wait_.

A hunched figure was there, sat stiffly on the white leather sofa. Diana paused where she stood, watching. 

Shoulders she'd draped herself across time and time again, the same set that had taken her to bed a number of times ever since Xan, and a few times before that, hushed, quiet tones, lips that nipped and explored, and for a moment, Diana felt a little flush heat her skin at the memories, before remembering a pair of cold blue eyes leaving her form, unanswered calls, and she thinned her mouth, striding into the living room. She flicked on the light, and stared down at the man on her couch, who winced at the light, a palm to his eyes, decked in a black turtleneck jumper.

"Can I help you?" Her voice held a little steel, but Diana didn't care.

Across from her, Bruce hide his flinch at the tone well enough, but she saw it nonetheless.

"I..." Bruce struggled to speak, and clasped his hands together.

And unclasped them.

He fiddled with his cufflinks, and Diana, feet aching, more exasperated than she cared to let on, move to the opposite side of the room, procuring a bottle of wine, and a large glass for herself. Bruce's eyes followed her all the way there, she knew, but Diana paid him no mind, settling down the glass and bottle with a _clink_ , ignoring the raised eyebrow thrown in her direction. If Bruce wanted a drink, well, he knew where the glasses were.

Bruce cleared his throat, and tried to exert some control over the situation, sitting upright. "I can explain."

Diana continued her endeavor, opening the bottle, pouring herself a glass, not even sparing a _hmm_. Glass half full, she sank in the armchair closest to Bruce, legs crossed, eyes watching him coolly as he glanced at her legs, then back at her. Bruce placed a hand there, coarse against her skin, and though Diana felt her insides flutter at touch, one she'd become intimately familiar with, she kept her outside marble rock, not breaking, even as Bruce massage the skin at the ankles, rubbing the joints.

"I'd like to go to bed soon, Bruce, so if you could..." Diana waved a lazy hand in his direction, to Bruce, who was giving her a look now, half amused, lips quirked at the corner, and eased his massage from her foot. She didn't let him leave entirely, however, pressing her foot into his palms - _stay_ , in other words, but she wouldn't take it easy on him. The man huffed, a fond look in his eyes, and Diana brought the wine glass to her lips, not allowing Bruce to see the smile she fought down.

"I..have been made _aware_ of how certain aspects of behaviour may have been perceived rather negatively." The man began, not quite looking at her.

"Is that right?" Diana lowered her voice, sultry, exactly the way Bruce loved when they were sprawled against each other. The man tensed, shifting, adjusting his position on the couch - _aroused_ then, and Diana let herself smile, one foot nestled behind his knee, then gliding down his calf. He stopped her midway, taking hold of her ankle, and Diana frowned to herself, trying to tug the foot away, but Bruce held on.

"That's right. I...I was caught up in my own feelings, what I wanted, and I didn't take into full account what..the full picture, Diana. I-" Bruce swallowed, then looked away momentarily. "I was desperate to reconnect with Jay, and I believed this time was the perfect time to do that. Help him and build up a...relationship of some sorts with him. I...wanted to reach out to him badly, but I..I'm afraid- I failed to consider other aspects of the situation."

"Such as?" Diana held nothing back.

Bruce tensed before answering. "Jason, for instance. I...I didn't get round to asking him what he wanted. Part of me knew he would most likely not agree, but I just thought, I was so caught up on _persuading_ him, just the idea of it all, how it would work out. I told myself I could do the research, how to manage Lazarus and the Pit, but the body of research is small, very small, and in Jason's case, I..I don't know _how_ exactly he's affected, and what to do for him, to help him. The fact that..that Talia knows and I don't, it-it kills me, Diana, that she has yet another thing over me, that she knows him more than I do, even if it _is_ to help him." Bruce's voice was solemn, and Diana moved closer, allowing her leg to rest fully on his lap.

"What you said to Timothy, Bruce - it was not right. You _know_ the boy was only trying to help." Diana's voice was firm.

"I...I know Tim was doing his best. I understand that. But I can't help feeling why it had to be _her_ , why _her_ , siding with the woman who'd started this mess in the first place. Why he didn't tell me all this while, why...." Bruce sighed, working his jaw. "You know, I didn't even think about how Damian and Dick would take it for Jason were to stay in the Manor, not really. Dick wouldn't be happy, that was obvious, but I figured he would remain in Bludhaven. Damian...I held onto the possibility that he might temper a little of his resentment due to Jason's connection to his Mother, curious to know more, but I..looking back now, for the life of me, I don't see how that could have worked. Damian's the jealous type, and Jason having attacked him in the past, with efforts seemingly aimed at hurting the family, now revealed to be in close contact _and_ on good terms with his Mother - its silly to have even thought that Damian would...but I guess that's what love does, it makes you silly, distorts your thinking."

It was Diana's turn to tense now. Was this what Bruce thought about them-

The man in question squeezed her calf gently, as if answering her question, _no_ , and Diana relaxed a little, but not as much as she did before.

"I...Alfred, he was upset. I..I was angry at Tim, at how _my own son_ , knowing how I felt about Jason, my son, his brother, could want to partake in any effort that put the two of us separated from the other again, and I..I reacted badly. At work. I - I kept pushing him, I was angry that he seemed so unbothered, unaffected, and the more he kept rising to meet my challenges, the more he kept cool, the more I wanted to hurt him, just a little, like the way he had hurt me. It's awful, I know that. To want to hurt your own kid, I get it, I've already had a lecture from Lucius and Alfred, and I hate myself for what I've done, hurting Tim and potentially driving him away, when I've already all but lost another son, and I've-I've gotta make it up to him, God knows where I'll start."

"You haven't lost Jason." Diana's voice was quiet.

Bruce shook his head a little, a dry, pained chuckle escaping from his throat. "I...honestly, I can't be sure anymore. I mean, he's made himself clear, hasn't he? I ..I was deluded, a deluded fool to think he'd ever want to-" The man pinched the sides of his nose, evidently frustrated, and Diana dropped the act now, the cool pretense, and moved towards Bruce, sitting by his side.

"Bruce." Diana whispered, one hand taking his own. "Bruce, I'm so sorry. I am, I-we all are, for what we did. We should have told you, right from the beginning, we shouldn't have gone about it the way we did. My love, I am every so sorry." Her eyes filled, but Bruce was still not looking at her, though he kept his hand in hers.

"You don't regret it, do you?"

"...No, Bruce, I don't. I-I know what what we said that day, by Jason's beside, I haven't forgotten. But as much as I wanted it to be so, to have him with us, I...Talia, I cannot stand her, you know what I feel about her, what she has done to hurt you, Damian, but for Jason's sake - I couldn't see any better option, I am truly sorry. As big as a part she has played in all this, Talia knows Jason. She knows him, knows the Pit, knows the effects the Pit has on him, our boy, and if, for now, for the time being, Jason has to stay with her, that she helps him in the best way possible for _him_ , for his sake, then so be it. A chance our Jay has to fight this thing and win, and I was willing to take that chance. Talia, whatever we feel about her, was the one to bring Jason back to life again. Even with the little I know, I am aware the Pit cannot be used on everyone, it does not necessarily restore life fully and in the way one expects, so for Jason to have come back to life successfully, even with all he now has to face? It is a miracle, Bruce. I know it hurts Bruce, I know I should have told you, I know, and I am sorry, so sorry." Diana held Bruce's hand to her lips, kissing it gently, allowing the tears to fall, and the man looked back at her, eyes sad.

"I miss him, Diana. I miss my son." Bruce's voice wavered, and Diana moved, bringing Bruce to rest in her arms, across her chest. 

"I know, my love. I miss him too."

They stayed like that for a while, curled together, before Diana spoke again.

"I was supposed to see Jason this week. But, as you know-"

"France?"

"France."

"Always the French." Bruce mused, and Diana swatted his arm lightly. "How...I haven't heard from him. Is he-"

"He says he's alright, but I believe he is putting on a brave front. Admirable, but a part of me is hurt that he feels the need to hide what he truly feels, from me. Shayera said it took him a while to warm up to her, that he was rather shy, a little withdrawn, most likely feeling embarrassed, which I can understand. I just-I wish he didn't need to consider hiding when it comes to feeling vulnerable." Diana was quiet, and Bruce touched her hand gently.

"I think I can take some of the blame on that end. Jay, he's -from what I remember, at least, he was a child with a big heart, a bigger smile, but overcompensated in a way to hide the shyness underneath. Not that there's anything _wrong_ with being shy, but Jay - he hid it well, a survival mechanism, to be strong and brave, fearless, no sign of weakness. I'm not sure about now, however I-I've-" Bruce cut off here, quietening.

"He's got a little of the same habits. When Jason's in a new environment, or with those he is unfamiliar with, then yes, he is more withdrawn than his usual self. But once he opens up, well..." Diana squeezed Bruce's hand softly, looking away, that Bruce so far hadn't spent time with Jason like she had, Shayera, Clark, all of them apart from him, and a part of her felt guilty that she had denied Bruce of such a chance.

"Do you forgive me? Us, what we..what we did?" Diana's voice was merely a whisper, hushed and strained.

Bruce didn't answer for a long, _long_ moment, but he didn't remove his hand from hers. "I...yes. Eventually, yes. Shayera, I understand why. Clark I...it will be strange between us, for a while. I understand why you did what you did, at least now, but it will take time...Diana, I love you, and I-no matter what, I want this, us,-" Bruce look her face his his palms, looking at her intently, before placing a soft kiss on her lips. "I love you. I forgive you, but I cannot lie, it will take time. Can you...Can you forgive me? I've been selfish, centered on my own feelings, and I know you of all people must understand, especially with the connection you and Jason share, and having to watch him go back with Talia. I'm sorry, Diana, I didn't think, I was caught up in my own feelings towards Jason." Bruce broke away, but one finger continued to stroke her cheek absent-mindedly.

Diana shook her head, a sad smile, and leaned forward, kissing Bruce more deeply. "You already have my forgiveness. But Clark."

Bruce stiffened, and Diana held onto his chin, not allowing him to pull away. "You two need to talk. He is your best friend, and I _know_ Clark's being beating himself up about hurting you like this. Talk to him, don't shut each other out. I know you are angry, but believe he did it for Jason too, not to hurt you, not to take your place. Remember Bruce - Jason helped Clark on Xan, he rescued him, spent time with him over there, then in Gerebeta. We have our suspicions, but Clark has never truly shed light on what he went through, which he has every right to. But in Jason he has found kinship, an understanding, and I believe the two have helped each other much more than we know. So please, Bruce. Do not be jealous. Do not be angry, or envious. Clark is not trying to take your place in Jason's life, he cares for the boy, as you do. The timing may not be right, as of now, but I do believe Clark would love to see both you and Jason reconnect. By pushing him away, you place Clark in a difficult situation - between you, his best friend, and Jason, still young, someone connected to you, who has helped him through a difficult time. Understand that by helping Jason, Clark is also helping _you_."

Bruce said nothing, and Diana let him stew in the silence.

"I could do with some food." Not long after, and a complete disruption from the topic, but Diana allowed the change, and she smiled lazily at Bruce, one hand slipping underneath his turtleneck, to skin that responded to hers, and the man brought her close, kissing her neck.

"I thought you said you were hungry." Diana teased, and Bruce _hmmed_ , still taking his time, before answering, the voice muffled.

"Order in. There's no way I'm leaving this couch." One hand had already slipped under her blouse, fiddling with the strap of her bra, and Diana swung herself to sit directly on to of the man's lap, straddling him, eyes fighting to stay open as a warm hand fiddled with her stockings below. She reached across couch, picking her phone, gasping as Bruce made slow, intense work of the skin, slick and wet, and tugged on his hair to _behave_ as she waited for the local Chinese takeaway to pick up the phone, but Bruce, eyes darker now and full of mischief, paid no heed to her warning, and continued undeterred, picking up speed as various pieces of clothing found themselves on the floor.

"He- _hello_?" Diana's skin was becoming more flushed at the second as Bruce's tongue teased her bare chest. "I'd-May I- _oh_ -" 

She was momentarily lost for words as a particular thrust entered her, full and deep, and Diana crushed her lips to Bruce's own, forgetting about the caller on the other end.

"Fried rice, egg-no, forget the fucking egg, get the chicken, _chicken_ , chicken rolls, and the duck. Don't forget the duck, _lemon duck_. Soup! We'll need some of that too. Do they have Thai pad?" Bruce murmured gruffly, mouth currently full.

Diana's breath caught in her throat, the phone almost slipping from her grasp. "Thai pad soup and lemon duck, isn't that _Timothy's_ favourite-"

"I'd rather _not_ talk about my son right now, if you don't mind." Bruce rolled the teat of her breast between his teeth, one hand running down the grove of Diana's lower back, and she whimpered breathlessly into his ear, a series of accented "hello"s going unanswered in the background.

"Sorry!" Diana blushed fiercely before continuing, hips beginning to rock. "Duck, _again_? Come- _Great Hera_ Bruce- on , oh- _oh_ , oh _God_ -"

" _I don't think "God" is on the menu, Princess._ "

" _ **Hello- Is anyone- you realise I can hear you? If you're not going to ord-**_ "

Bruce pulled at her lower lip, biting hard, smothering his laughter as Diana scrambled for the phone, stuttering out their order, red faced, apologising profusely, before ending the call.

"How long do we have before they get here?" Bruce was mid groan, his bottoms soiling, voice hot against her neck, and Diana, pressing herself onto him firmly, caught in the climax, held onto the back of his neck, lips buried in his hair.

"Half an hour, give or take." She was fast losing control of herself, breathless, surroundings giving way, and Bruce's grunt seemed to jolt her back to consciousness.

" _Good_." 

With a growl, Bruce lifted the two of them cleanly of the couch, hushed giggles muffled at his neck, and made their way upstairs rather nosily.

One hour later and two missed deliveries, Bruce and Diana sat clumsily in bed, food piled high, engrossed in an episode of _Desperate Housewives_.

 

 

_Danver_

"Alright, I'm coming! Sheesh!" Tim muttered to himself, flinging the blankets off the couch as he made his way to the front door, which still continued knocking. He thought people in Danver were more civil than this, but apparently _not_.

He dug out a series of notes from his wallet, and opened the door without looking. "Hey, next time, if you could just-"

"Hi, Tim."

Tim froze, snapping his head up. 

In front of him, _Dick_ smiled, a little hand waving at the side, black jacket, a loud blue shirt with lime yellow font scribbled across it, and Tim opened his mouth to say something, but for once, there wasn't much to say because he was _lost for words_ -

Dick, whom he hadn't spoken to for weeks now, not even in Bolivia, stared back at him, blue eyes bright, smiling.

The same Dick that was at his front door. _Jason's_ door. 

Dick was outside _Jason's_ house.

How the _fuck_ did Dick know this place, the address, Jay's- Tim certainly couldn't recall telling him. Bruce didn't know. The only people who did were Talia, Diana, Shayera, Clark, Alf-

 _Oh_. 

_Alfred_.

Dick must have pestered Alfred into giving up the goods, on the pretense that he "cared" and just wanted to make sure his little brother was doing alright after his grand finale with the Big, Bad, Bat.

 _Dick_ , whom Jason absolutely _despised_ , Jason who would flat out _kill_ him, kill him _dead_ , if he found out Dick Grayson knew where he lived, and Tim did the first thing that came to his mind:

He slammed the door _shut_. 

"Tim? Come on, open up! I just wanna talk, I swear."

Tim moved back slowly from the door, as if by doing so, Dick would forget seeing his shocked face staring back at him.

"Tim!"

No such luck.

" _Tim._ " Dick sighed from outside. "Look, Alfred told me what happened, alright? I just-it wasn't right, what Bruce did. All things aside, B was throwing a tantrum, and he was way outta line with how he treated you. I just wanna make sure you're okay, little brother. A said you've not been at the Manor since he talked with you and Bruce, and I..I haven't spoken to B yet, but I swear, I'm gonna-"

"No!" Tim had somehow overcome his momentary shock to wrench the door open, and he stood facing Dick, eyes hard. Dick intervening would just make things _worse_ between himself and Bruce, and Tim knew he had to shut down any pre-conceived "reconciliation efforts" _fast_."No! I-its fine, I'm fine, we're fine, its all good, thanks for stopping by, see you around? Kthanxbye-" Tim made to swing the door shut but this time, Dick had his foot stuck out, wedging the gap, and as hard as Tim pushed, Dick wouldn't budge.

"Timmy." Dick's voice was soft, knowing, as if he _understood_ , and Tim felt irritated by the soud.

"Move. your. foot." He struggled with the door, pushing, voice hardening, but still, Dick remained standing.

"Give me an hour-"

"Five minutes."

"Forty-five"

" _Five_ minutes."

"Tim! Please, let me in? I swear, I honestly want to check up on you, I've been so worried! You don't pick up my calls, you don't answer my texts and I'-" Tim paused at the frustration in Dick's tone. "I'm worried! I've been worried _sick_ , and I promised Alfred I wouldn't start anything, _I swear_."

Tim debated with himself, and in doing so, let his pressure against the door fall slack.

That was the wrong thing to do, and Dick knew it. Hell, they both did.

The _second_ Tim eased off the pressure, Dick fucking Grayson, eldest darling brother, _pushed_ back, and Tim found himself sprawled on the floor, Dick suddenly inside, door shut, and before he could even protest, to _get the fuck out_ , his brother was on top of him-

 _Hugging him_.

Pinning him down like a fucking octopus, his legs wrapped over his, wrapping him tight enough that there was no way out, and Tim fought back, pushing, punching, pinching even - yes, he was that desperate-, but Dick didn't waver, didn't give in, and eventually, Tim gave up, slumping in the older man's embrace, but refused to reciprocate back, looking stiffly away. Dick simply held him closer, kissing his head.

"Jason's gonna kill me when he finds out." Tim muttered, not half hiding his anger, and Dick huffed fondly behind him.

" _If_ he finds out. I'm not here about Jay-Jason. We..." Tim felt Dick against him, a hint of resentment in the action, and he stiffened slightly, but that only caused Dick to wrap his arms around him even tighter. "Tonight, its not about Jason. I'm here for _you_ Timbo, just you. I wanna know how _you're_ doing, what you need, anything. No-one, nothing else."

Tim played with his fingers. 

"You won't ask about B?"

Dick kissed his head in response. "Unless you bring it up, then _no_ , I swear it. I..kid, I miss you. I miss you _so_ much, and sometimes I'm so scared that I'll lose you forever and ever and then I..it scares the _fuck_ out of me when you won't talk, when you refuse to open up. I know we agreed, time, space, patience, I get that, but you've gotta give me something Timmy, I'm trying."

Tim said nothing for a few moments. "Fine. _Fine_."

Dick frowned. "What's fine? Fine I can stay, fine we'll talk, _you'll_ talk-"

Tim huffed. "You can stay. For a while. And...I dunno, I- look Dick, its been long and tiring week, and to be honest, I kinda wanted a quiet night in-"

"I get that. But if I don't do this, _force_ it - _you_ won't. Won't talk to me. Won't open up. So then I'll come along and mess it up, you'll get mad, thinking I'm either oblivious, ignorant, stupid or whatever and then withdraw even more, I'll hate myself for making things worse and give you the space you've asked for, and what ends up happening is that _we don't actually talk_. Nothing gets resolved, its a catch twenty two, and we'll forever keep going in circles. I don't know what you're feeling or how or _why_ because _you don't tell me._ We don't spend time together. Timmy, I'm-I'm trying here, I swear to you. I spent more than half my time in Bolivia figuring out ways to reach you, just to grab hold of you, but either you were busy with work or with...Jay, or just flat out avoiding us altogether. So Tim, give me something, alright? You-You _can't have your cake and eat it too_ , see what I'm saying?"

Tim nodded, swallowing. His throat felt tight all of a sudden, and call it guilt, tiredness, he relaxed finally, resting his head against his brother's chest. "I'm sorry." His voice was quiet, but Dick didn't respond, and Tim was glad that Dick was finally _learning_ , the art of patience. 

"I've been pretty...one-way, kinda focused and forgetting everything else. Sorry. Its just..." Tim sighed, then stopped, but a comforting nudge from Dick's chin had him starting up again. "I've been trying to protect Jay. Getting him the help he needs, cause I know he can do it. He's done it before, and I don't want all the progress he's made to go to waste."

Tim waited for a moment, to see if Dick would interrupt, but once again, Dick said nothing, opting to hear what he had to say. Tim raised an eyebrow to himself.

 _Impressive_.

"I know that in the pursuit of helping Jay, I've come across as having a one-track mind, hard-headed, stubborn. Bruce...he feels hurt, I get that, and I admit its true, I have hurt him, by keeping him out. I did because...because I thought he wouldn't understand, when it came to Jason. Now that Jay's gone I feel..." Tim gestured with one hand. "Tired. drained. Like I've been running myself ragged. I..You know, I thought about talking to you. Telling you a little of how I've been feeling, not shutting you out, as you said."

Dick stilled against him. "What stopped you?" His voice was quiet, and Tim closed his eyes, knowing how upset Dick was.

They both knew why. 

_Damian_.

He fiddled with the sleeve of Dick's jacket, aiming for control of some sorts, Dick responded by interlocking their fingers tightly. "I'm not sure. I think-I think part of me saw you as for _Damian_ only, if that makes sense. Like, I'm so used to seeing you as for Damian, Jay for me. The go-to person. I-I don't imagine Damian is entirely happy with the way things played out either. Jason knows his Mom, I know his Mom, we're connected and we didn't tell him. He had no idea. And to make matters worse, Talia hasn't exactly done the best job of explaining things on her end, making the kid come to the conclusion that either she didn't want him, or couldn't be arsed, or that she didn't care, but its-its more complicated than that. T-she wont tell me or Jay the whole truth, but she insists its to protect them, but from what, I have no idea."

Dick's tone was soft, thoughtful. "Do you believe her?"

Tim took his time in answering. "I believe she loves them. Cares about them, enough to do anything. But its not a matter of that, its where her objectives lie, and how much their align with ours. I don't believe their the same - not that she would do anything to _deliberately_ hurt them, us even, but if sacrifices need to be made, even at the expense of others...I believe T would do anything for those two. They're actually quite similar, I know you...you disagree, its fine, but you know." Tim shurgged.

After a few moments, Dick spoke again, voice muffled into Tim's hair. " I'll say it right out the Bat-hehe, see what I did there? Anway - I can't comment too much on Jason, Bruce even, because I'm not here to talk about them today. I don't know near enough to comment on Jay like you, I accept that. But first of all, let me say this: I'm you're brother _too._ Yours and Damian's. You two are _both_ my little brothers and its _my_ job to take care of both of you, not just the one. I love you two with all my heart, and I _Hate_ , I fucking _hate_ this idea that one prefers one brother more than the other, its not right. It's not _true_ -

Tim opened his mouth to argue, that it certainly _was_ true, but Dick cut him off swiftly, tone sharper this time. "You don't believe me, I respect your feelings on that, but I'm telling you now, it _isn't_. I know the issue can't and won't get resolved tonight, but what I can do, what can be tacked is this: what can I do for _you_ , my precious little brother? How can I help _you_ , Tim? I think you've gone out of your way to help others; its about time someone does the same for _you_. So tell me, little brother - what can I do for you?" A small kiss was pressed against Tim's scalp, and Tim was touched by the level of maturity Dick was displaying. Not gunning for Jason, not even Bruce, listening patiently, and not dismissing his feelings when it came to playing big brother and feeling cast aside.

Perhaps Dick had changed after all.

"Right now?"

Dick nodded against him.

Tim thought to himself. It would be nice to spend time with Dick, just the two of them, and catch up on a few of their favourite shows, even if it was in Jason's house. Jason wouldn't like it, should he ever find out, but if he knew it was because of him, _Tim_ , for his well-being, then he would probably understand, and give Dick the benefit of the doubt, at least, enough not to kill him. A chance to unwind, to relax, just two brothers, food, and decent television.

And there were at least two deliveries still to arrive.

And a whole series of _Ozark_ to catch up on. _Narcos_ even, if they had enough time, at least til he could stay awake.

"Food." Tim decided, squeezing his brother's hands. "I've ordered some, but I'll finish it all, no doubt. We'll order some more, and watch a little Netflix. How's that?"

Dick's face suddenly appeared in his vision, blue eyes that _sparkled_ , a soft, silly smile on the older man's face, _full_ of love, and Tim felt choked all of a sudden, overwhelmed, and twisted his torso to hug his brother as hard as he could, speaking into his shoulder. "I miss you."

The voice above him was thick, wet sounding. "I miss you too. Sounds like a good plan. Lead the way?" 

Tim nodded, but neither of them moved to break their embrace, and they stayed like that for a long while.

Eventually, it was Tim who moved first, Dick who let him go, reluctantly, but as he moved, stopped to press a warm kiss to Tim's forehead, and Tim couldn't help but lean in at the familiar gesture, his face pink at how Dick smiled at him. He punched his brother on the arm lightly, in an effort to minimise his embarrassment, only chuckling at the affronted scowl Dick gave him.

"Come on, lazy slug. Help me get the plates."

"Lazy? _Slug?!_ _You little shit_ -"

The sound of laughter followed them to the kitchen.


	55. Olive branch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana takes Jason's training session. Tim has a heart to heart with the rest of his family, and discovers something surprising in turn.

"Again, Jason."

From above him, the Amazonian stood tall and imposing, black hair dusting her shoulders, and blue eyes stared coolly at him.

Jason swallowed down the irritation, and after a moment to collect himself, pushed himself upwards, ignoring the dull ache at his side. They'd being going at it for more than two hours, and though as his legs felt wobbly from strain, his breathing forced and rapid, Diana had continued to push him, unrelenting, and Jason, mind half fighting against the taunting of the Pit, the doubts, was determined to get up every time, even though it hurt like _hell_. Talia was watching somewhere, he knew it, though she had mentioned hours ago something about business that needed taking care of. She'd promised him privacy, but this was _Talia al Ghul_ , and with someone like her, there were no real promises, not when it came to the welfare of those she deemed important. 

Diana still hadn't moved, mouth firm. Jason held back a sigh and once again moved back into his position, calculating his next move. Just like Clark, Shayera, and most certainly Talia on occasion, as well as one or two tutors, Diana wiped the floor with him, in spite his training, and Jason closed his eyes briefly, ears hot at the weakness, in front of _her_ , _both_ women, the biting commentary provided courtesy of Lazarus. Shaking his head, Jason stretched his muscles, opening his eyes to nod at Diana, _let's go_ , and after a momentary pause, the woman obeyed, circling him once before delivering a roundhouse of blows, a few cutting, one or two pure brute power, connecting with the dull hit of flesh, feet that were quick to doge his slower defence, before using part momentum to flip him into the air. It was pure instinct that saved him from completely crashing to the floor, landing face forwards, elbows braced, and Jason gritted his teeth at the muscles that screamed in protest, before lowering himself into the dirt, breathing heavily.

"Break, Jason." The voice above him was commanding, a touch sympathetic, but Jason turned his head away. A shift indicated the Amazonian warrior had moved closer to him, but Jason tensed, and any further movement was halted.

He didn't want Diana's sympathy. Not pity, not concern - he wanted to re-gain _control_ , the _very_ thing the Pit grappled to take away from him, and in frustration, in anger, Jason slammed a closed fist into the dirt, swearing, then again, and once more, before letting the pain flood his mind.

 _It wasn't fucking fair_.

An arm snaked under across his chest hauled him standing before he could blink, and Jason, pissed, resisted the motion, turning away, slapping at the hand, but Diana would not be undeterred. She held his arm tight, the grip encased in iron, and though Jason refused to meet her eyes, he had no choice but to stay, and listen to words that were of no use to him. As comforting as they were, his weakness still remained, a loss of confidence in his decision making, doubts that eroded his actions - what good was all the training in the world if he couldn't even defend himself against a couple of blows? It was damnright patheti-

"You must not-"

"Fuck off from knowing what I want." Jason spat, and tried to shrug Diana's hand away, but the grip tightened impossibly, and Jason failed to mask the hiss as he winced at the pain.

"I will pretend I did not hear that." The voice was low, a hint of danger, but that only made Jason even more angry, and he whipped his head to look at her, eyes luminous.

"Easy for _you_ to say. You're not the one having to deal with all this shit, what it means to feel powerless like this! How the fuck am I meant to- forget this, _let go of me_ -" Jason tried to pull his arm away but Diana stepped in close, daring him, and her eyes were darker than usual, a fury Jason knew was rare but was now directed at him, and instead of him to heed the warning, he dared to move in now, enough that his shoulder hovered over hers, and his tone was full of venom, venom they both knew was really directed at himself.

"Why are you even here, Di? The big bad Red Hood reduced to nothing-"

" _Stop it_." Diana's voice was like steel. "You do yourself a disservice, Jason. I know you are better than this. Fight it, do _not_ give up. Do not give into the self-loathing, I will not allow it."

Jason's mouth snapped shut. It felt as if his mind was trying to withstand a barrage of insults, cajoling, pressuring him to let it be, _stop trying so hard_ , and though he knew he had to be strong, the Pit was proving to be a bitch and then some. Jason stood for a moment, the only sound his heavy panting, trying to calm himself down, and eventually, as the air grew quiet, a soft palm on his cheek had his breath caught on his throat at the touch.

"Remember when you were younger." Diana's eyes were on his, prompting, warmth in her voice, and Jason couldn't help but lean in. The woman smiled, cupping his face, then moved to his hair, brushing the sweaty locks almost absent-mindedly. "You were similar, like this. After every fall, every blow, you would curse angrily, frustrated at yourself for not being better, stronger, faster. And yet, each time, you always made your way back up to stand, even when your nose was bloody, or when you held your sides in pain - still, you stood, ready to go again, and _again_ , ready to try once more, never giving up. You were short, too thin, relying mostly on learned survival instinct, but what made you special to me, αγάπη μου, was your _willingness_ to learn, to push yourself despite what shouldn't be, what couldn't, the elements that should not have been - but in that _willingness_ , you made it work in your favour. That same determination, Jason, is what will enable you to not only pass through this, but overcome, and conqueror such demons. The doubts, the fears, all of it. But you must hold yourself accountable, dear child. To go and push and strain far beyond, to move your eyes past your current state and focus ahead, forwards, on what you will be. The skill, the ability, knowledge - its all there, Jason. Even better is the fact that you _have_ beaten this before. You have gone through much worse, in a far weaker state, and yet you managed to overcome the odds. Yes, it took you years, years of disappointments, failures, but even with that, when you could have given up on life, still, you fought back, for control, to _live_ again, and look what happened - you achieved a peace that I'm quite sure you never thought possible. You are older, stronger, more experienced, and far more mature this time around. If you could do it all _then_ , then you can do it _now._ "

Diana paused, clearly wanting to make sure he had understood, and Jason nodded, the pressure behind his eyes heavy. She tutted quietly, and bowed his face to hers, placing a light kiss on his nose. "Jason, you can _do_ this. I promise you, you _can_. All of this-" She gestured to their training area, the tools scattered on the floor, before continuing. "-all of this is for _you_ , no-one else. Not even your work, or those who you help. This is to help _you_ Jason, first and foremost, and then once _that_ has been achieved, to go on and thrive in whatever you choose to do. So for now, do not focus on getting back to work, or whatever, _whom_ ever you feel you are letting down. _You_ , your wellbeing, your state of mind, your ability in yourself - _that_ is the first and only priority. We achieve this first, through steps, and then we think about the rest. Is that clear, το παιδί μου?" 

Jason bit his lip, vision a little blurry, and his voice came out in a whisper. "Ναι, μαμά." He willed himself not to cry in front of her, but his emotions betrayed him, and a tear dared to leak out from one corner. He made to wipe it away rather hastily, but Diana beat him to it with a soft, knowing smile. 

"Το πανέμορφο μου, λίγο ρομπόν." Diana held both his hands and thumbed over his knuckles, wringing them slightly. " I..Είμαι τόσο περήφανος για εσενα, my son." Her voice hitched, and it was Jason's turn to smile now, squeezing her hands. He darted forwards and kissed her on the cheek, then at the side of her temple, before Diana enveloped him in a hug, and Jason took the opportunity to inhale the warm peaches, rose and cream infused into the woman's skin. The stayed like that for a while, holding each other, before Jason moved, and Diana let him go, watching him disappear into the East wing quarter in contemplative silence.

 

 

_A little past four in the afternoon, West wing, second floor._

Diana came to rest on the railing of the balcony, closing her eyes at the breeze that filtered through the room, shifting the drape of the curtains. She had arrived to a small, well-secluded island somewhere South of the Pacific a few hours ago. A deep welcome from a man named Ubu, clearly one of Talia's main henchman, middle Eastern decent, big and tall, dressed in all black with a red sash around his waist, bands on his wrist, surveyed her with polite interest before bowing. _Unfortunately, Miss al Ghul is currently attending to important matters, but if you will follow me, I will show you around. The young Master will be with you shortly._ Ubu had said, tone almost amused, and Diana had bowed respectfully before following, curious. The compound itself was large, spacious, the air both warm and fresh, and Diana had to give it to Talia - the location afforded a privacy and peace that would bode well for Jason's current state. She had spotted Jason first - a little nervous, judging by the way the way the fidgeted, but on her calling out his name, watching his head immediately snap up at the sound, his mouth ajar, white shirt, black loose pants, dark skinned, more robust, _healthier_ , eyes that lit in _joy_ on seeing her, Jason who discarded all manner of stoic pretense and maturity by _running_ to her, away from the few attendants stood patiently to the side, watching amusedly, Diana had all but swept the tall boy into her arms, laughing, kissing him tearfully. Jason had himself teared up a little, though insisted it was the salt air that was wreaking havoc with his sinuses, before delighting in how he was _definitely_ taller than her, and Diana had to admit -he was-, kissing her forehead, and Jason, ignoring everything else, had took her by the hand to tour the more private parts of the compound, his quarters, the library, his voice full of excitement, before training had begun.

Now Diana let herself relax, stretching her neck. Jason's training had ended a short while ago, and the boy would spend the next hour or so down in the healing rooms, before a late lunch would be served. One of the staff had directed Diana to the sauna rooms, much to her surprise, since she'd expected to be asked to leave right after training. Instead, after a thorough massage and deep clean, a white flowy dress and sandals laid out to wear, Diana found herself in Talia's private quarters, reclining on the balcony next to the woman in question, who had said nothing but to offer her tea, something lemon and ginseng, and Diana had accepted the gesture with a nod and muted thanks. From where she stood, she could see the rest of the compound, palm trees surrounding the sandy beach at the far front, waves that quietly napped bedside the shore. Beside her, Talia's gaze was also overlooking the view, and for a while, the silence was rather enjoyable, despite the history between them. It was Talia who broke through the quiet, and though her voice was low, Diana could not detect any real animosity in the tone.

"He loves you."

No heat, no venom, and Diana looked at Talia with surprise before looking away, debating on how to answer. Jason had warned her, that he was also _Talia's_ , and though Talia had shown a real possessiveness towards the boy during Bolivia, out here, she seemed....assured, and Diana could see why. Jason was with her, safe, and with no-one to challenge her, it must have been rather comforting indeed. Diana stared out into the distance, but once again, Talia surprised her by speaking a little more.

"I...Jason had mentioned you. Back, when he was first with us, I never... and even in hospital, he..any mention of you had him.." the woman paused, as if debating how much to reveal, before a strained smile appeared on her face. 

"He speaks highly of you. Awe, even, and from what I've seen, and heard of today, I can partly understand why." Talia looked back at her now, green eyes tilted, and Diana understood then - clearly, her and Jason's reunion had made rounds, gossip, and no doubt Talia had probably spied somewhat on the two of them during training. Diana nodded, for it was true - she had been there _first_ , right before, when Jason was yet but a little boy, barely above her hip, alone in the world, and she'd loved him with all her heart. Talia may have entered the picture a few years later, but none would ever be able to deny Diana's place in Jason's heart, and they both knew it.

"I love him. I've always loved him." Diana eventually answered, watching out of the corner of her eye for Talia's reaction, a slight stiffening, before the mask, cool, unconcerned, was slipped back into place. She sipped on her tea thoughtfully. Talia clearly loved him - back on Gerebeta, Jason had alluded as to how much the woman meant to him, that he accepting her, with _Bruce_ , meant that she too had too accept him, with _Talia_. And then, seeing Talia's streak of fury at the hospital, the way she'd broken down on seeing Jason, declared dead on the table, holding him tightly, by his side - the love was there, even if the intentions behind it were a little dubious. Even his house in Danver had a room just for Talia- she'd peeked in. Diana held her cup in her hand for a moment before bringing it to her lips.

"He loves you as well. During our stay in Gerebeta, it became obvious that you were a part of his life. Part of our...reconnecting was accepting that certain people were now also part of the picture."

Talia swallowed, looking out at the distance. "I suppose that is fair. Jason is capable of making his own decisions. Not that I agree with all of them, but still."

Diana let the slight at her pass for the moment. "Still."

An air of tension, and then it went. 

"How long do you think before things begin to improve?" Diana had decided to change the subject. It would be too tempting otherwise to fight about who was more important to the boy and why, and Talia, an eyebrow raised at her, nodded before answering, understanding.

"A while. Physically, he is improving leaps and bounds, but mentally...it will take time for him to push through the barriers and reclaim what he knows once more. Unlike before, Jason is in a better place, speaking, and with continued support, I believe he will overcome this again, I know he can. He..he resents me, on some part, that he has to go through this again."

"Anyone would." Diana blew on her tea, not looking at Talia, but a quiet gritting of teeth indicated that the woman had received the sting as intended.

"I made a choice." Talia's voice was gritted. "I shouldn't have, knowing the risks to him, to...various concerns, but I did so anyway because Jason is one of very few whom I know has beaten the Pit and its madness with a large degree of success. Not every case is like his, nor is every life restored as functional. Understand that I could have easily adhered to his wishes, and if that had been the case, he would not be here today." Diana could hear the glare in Talia's voice, and she conceded. Differences aside, Talia had given Jason a second chance, and that fact was not so easily dismissed.

"Thank you." Diana spoke quietly. She hadn't considered the very _possibility_ of risks, if any, that Talia had taken on using something so controversial on Jason. This time, she looked at Talia, whose eyes flickered in surprise. "I...You chose life, when death had already been declared, and for that, you have my gratitude. Jason is...Jason is here today, with another chance, and that is down to you." 

The two women looked at each other.

Talia looked away, a short nod. After a while she spoke, and for the first time since meeting, Diana detected a sense of insecurity behind the neutral facade. "The first time Jason was exposed to the Pit, there hadn't been enough time. I..." The woman's eyes seemed to cloud, and Diana watched, listening intently. After a moment, Talia glanced at her, at the lack of interruption, and continued, albeit hesitantly. "The Pit was always meant to be the last resort. I-It always has been. It is not meant to be used as a tool, or weapon, not a re-start - it's power should only be used in the most dire of circumstances. It has the power to restore life, but such a...gift, if one could call it down, comes at a price. Sometimes...often, in fact, is the price of insanity, and that is to varying degrees. Everything from short term memory loss, to amnesia, to leaving the recipient in a comatose state - one cannot exactly predict the outcome. On a few occasions, the recipient is too far gone for Lazarus to have any effect. With Jason, I tried. I-" Talia swallowed, jaw tight, and Diana, out of pity, empathy even, moved to take her cup, refilling it and passing it back to the woman without saying a single word. Talia seemed lost for words at the gesture, and Diana ignored the lack of thanks in order to hear more, to which Talia obeyed, speaking slowly. 

"I _tried_ my hardest. All the research in the world, the best that money could buy - I did everything I could to restore him somewhat, but the brain damage was severe. How he even managed to wake up more than six months after his death, and with that, enough strength to claw himself out and...I don't understand. No-one does. I...I, honestly, the boy is a medical marvel, a true mystery." Talia shook her head, and Diana closed her eyes, pained. Jason's death remained a black hole in her heart. A brush of her arm told her that Talia, to, understood, and for a few seconds, the two women shared a deep silence. 

"He...he was making little progress. Very little. And-my fa- _Ra's_ , he grew impatient, not that he ever liked Jason in the first place." Talia's tone had taken a bitter turn, and Diana stilled, hairs on edge. As little as they knew about Talia, they, meaning the League, knew even _less_ about the mythical _Ra's al Ghul_. "One day, I received word that Ra's wanted Jason..." Talia swallowed, then tried again. "You must understand, there is a culture, a belief he holds, that people, resources, they're _tools_ , things to be used to achieve a greater purpose and I-I didn't want that, not for Jason, or even my youngest. And if something has lost its purpose, its use, then as with anything in life, it is to be discarded. Thrown away. Jason ...he was not serving the purpose for which Ra's had allowed him to stay, to remain, and despite all my...my requests, my pleas, the order came to have Jason taken care of, and I-I couldn't let that happen. I-there was no time, no time, and everything was at risk, me, everything, but I couldn't just give up on the boy, after...I couldn't." Talia's voice was tight. "So, knowing I was out of time, I...I threw Jason into the Pit, praying that it would work. That he would live. I...I had know real way of knowing, all manner of outcomes possible, the worst being it wouldn't work, but then a few seconds in and there he was, gasping, screaming, and it, it _had_ worked, but later, as I sent the boy away to escape, we would come to learn the price of such intervention." 

Talia cut off here, and Diana looked away, unable to speak lest she start screaming. Why Talia hadn't informed Bruce from the beginning, why it all had to remain secret, why Jason had suffered so, what Ra's had been planning to _do_ with Jason, and all Diana wanted to do was to _shake_ the woman at her side till she fell apart, into tiny al Ghul pieces, but she held her tongue and breathed, eyes closed to focus on dulling the hammering inside, strained and thunderous. 

"For whatever reason, it worked, but...the cost. The cost was great, and away from our efforts, it came down to Jason, and the will, the strength to live, and fight, that saw him grapple and struggle day after day. I..I have never seen anything like it, and no matter what, I will always be proud of that boy. All he has been through, what he is going through, and yet- to still think past himself to care for others..it is remarkable, truly." Talia's voice was shaky.

Diana's eyes were heavy with tears, and she opened them to look at the sky, tongue like lead in her mouth. Something light and dainty brushed her fingers, then a little more weight, and a distant part of Diana realised that it was Talia's _hand_ , against hers, but neither of them made any move to shed recognition on the stance, and they stayed like that for a little longer, sharing in their grief, before Jason's loud voice was suddenly heard at the far entrance to the reception of Talia's quarters, and the two of them broke apart hastily. Diana wiped her eyes surreptitiously and Talia cleared her throat as Jason entered the room, yammering loudly.

"Tals! Is it time for lun- _Diana_?!" Jason's incredulous voice was brought to a stop as he viewed the two of them on the balcony, and they smiled back at him weakly, a large space between them, the air strained. "I...I thought you would have left Di..." Jason's mouth was a slightly ajar as he looked to Talia for confirmation, confusion lining his handsome features, but Talia cut him off quickly, smoothing her hands down her dress, Diana bringing herself to her full height, not wanting Jason to detect anything out of the ordinary.

"Yes, it is. Come this way." Talia extended a hand to Jason, in an effort to distract him, and give Diana time to compose herself, but Jason didn't move, opting to look quickly between the two.

"What's going on-" His voice was betrayed a hint of nervousness as he took in the two of them, but Diana threw him a smile, lulling, and Talia's firm hand at his back was enough to turn his attention away. 

"It is of little importance. We were just discussing areas that require improvement-"

Jason groaned. "Oh God, I know I'm shit right now-"

"Hush, child. We have discussed this." Diana narrowed her eyes at Jason, and the boy blushed faintly, ears reddening.

"Yeah, alright, I get it. Patience, don't give up, yada yada, Clark said the same thing. Anyway! Can we eat now? I'm _starving_ , so so hungry-oh, lamb stew! Diana, can-" Jason looked to Talia, eyes a little pleading. "Is Diana staying for lunch?" 

Talia looked at Diana, and after a pause - "If Miss Prince wishes to."

Diana looked at Talia. "I-" but Jason cut her off, moving to steer her by the waist towards the lunching suite. " _Please please please please-_ " Already, the boy's attention was on the various plates set before them on the large table.

Talia threw her a look, a trace of amusement across her face, and though her mouth was firm, there was a tiny lifting at the corners. 

"If you wouldn't mind." Diana conceded carefully, knowing they were on shaky ground, and Talia nodded once, holding her gaze before her eyes flicked to Jason, who had by now left Diana's side to converse with Chef Badr al Din, the shorter man who seemed to delight in the interest taken in his cooking.

"It would make Jason happy." Talia finished. 

A moment of fixed silence, and then-

Diana nodded, and together, the two women entered the room, seating themselves in the cooler room, full of rich scented stews and honey roasted pastries.

Later, on her way home, Diana knew she'd remember Jason's badly concealed delight at seeing both herself and Talia at the same table as himself for a _long_ time.

 

 

_Thursday evening, WE STEM-EO (equal opportunity) charity gala, a little after seven pm, Wayne Manor._

Tim fiddled with his bow-tie.

"Just wish you'd shut the hell up." He muttered quietly to himself-

"Hmm?" Mr White, the large, tubby sectional head of one of WE's competitors, Sengstaken Engineering, turned to him, and Tim felt his neck flush, cursing himself for thinking his thoughts out loud, _again_. A few titters somewhere to his left, and Tim shook his head in mock apology, a fake cough of some sorts, just as Dick Grayson, playboy billion heir, megawatted his giant-ass smile from behind him, clapping his back lightly as he faced the group.

"It's the champagne, please excuse my younger brother! All that bubbly gets to that already giant head of his!" Dick, laughing, playfully mussed Tim's hair, ignoring how Tim stepped painfully on his foot to _cut it the fuck out_ , and he grinned, more like grimaced, before steering Tim away from the group to a small clearing on the far side of the room. Once the attention had drifted elsewhere, Tim shrugged Dick's arm from around his shoulders, dropping his smile, the young embarrassment, ignoring the way his chest pained at seeing a flicker of hurt across Dick's face before it disappeared, a false bravado plastered in its place.

"You alright-" Dick started, concern in those same blue eyes that had most of the room drooling after him, but Tim was too irritated to play it off any longer, and he cut his brother off sharply, adjusting his suit jacket.

" _Fine_. Just peachy." Tim dug into the inside of his blazer, fishing out his phone, turning away slightly, from Dick, who stared at him, whose eyes Tim missed flicking over to Bruce on the other side of the room, _talk to him_ , Bruce who looked pained on watching Tim, the guilt written into his frame. Both Father and son had been steadfastly avoiding each other for the last week now, Tim far more than Bruce, Bruce who tried to reach for him, venturing, but seemed to chicken out at the last minute, unsure of what to say.

Nothing. No missed calls.

Tim held back the gritted sigh and forced a plastic smile on his face, one that would at least get Dick off his back. Ever since his brother's visit at Jason's house, Dick had been hovering like a damned fly, Mother-henning, and Tim was close to losing it. As much as he appreciated Dick checking up on him - _about time, too_ -, the man-child had a way of becoming overbearing, and it was at times like these that Tim wished for Damian's more prickly nature, though the boy's begrudging tolerance for Dick's affection was far higher than a year ago. Tim sighed now, pinching his nose by the temples, and spoke quietly, knowing that Dick had probably picked up on his irritation by now. Driving his brother away for showing love, _great_. _That_ was gonna help fix their relationship, _absolutely_.

"Dick." Tim willed himself to remain calm, and he took his brother's hand, squeezing it lightly. "Thank you, for checking up on me. I get it, and I love you for it, but....give me some space, alright? I know you're trying, and I-I get the whole Mother-hen thing is just you, your character, but I'm asking you to just...give me a little space to breathe, alright? Nothing's gonna happen, I'm not gonna disappear and hide away, I-I won't hurt myself or anything-"

Dick flinched.

Tim swallowed. He had suspected, deep down, that part of Dick's recent over-protectiveness towards him was due to that little tidbit of information he'd let slip months ago, about _trying to kill himself_ , and how much Jason had helped him at the height of his suicidal ideation. This was Dick, attempting to step in as big brother, trying to emulate what Jason usually did, and though Tim loved him for the efforts made, he truly did, Dick was partly acting out of _guilt_ , guilt at not being there, at "failing", and Tim didn't want that, _no_. If felt as if he were _forcing_ Dick to do all these things, and it didn't sit right with him. Now, with Jason gone, his distance with Bruce, it was was for Tim to see why Dick was being... _Dick_ , trying to plaster over the cracks, and the longer this carried on, the more strained things would become.

Like walking on eggshells.

Tim moved closer, hugging his brother lightly with one arm, knowing Damian was probably watching from the gutter somewhere or other, the little demon fuming at his favourite big brother showing attention to anyone other than him. "Just...space." Tim left then, unable to look at Dick, Dick who tried to reach for him, stop him from leaving but whose hand he jerked away from, the _hurt_ on his brother's face, and Tim weaved through the crowds, the air stuffy, finally making his way outside. Outside was much cooler, and Tim finally unraveled his bow tie, flinging the instrument of death into the nearby bushes. Alfred's disapproving glare came into mind, and then it disappeared as quickly as it came - the older man would understand, surely. Swiping a glass of something tangy, fruit punch probably, Tim made his way down the stone patio, away from the polite smiles and obligatory ass-kissing, and strolled through the grounds, sipping away. Though he hated galas like the rest of his family, his favourite part always came towards the end, when all the rounds had been made, where he could disappear into relative quiet by himself, and that was usually through the Manor gardens, which would be specially decorated should the occasion arise, and tonight was no exception, lights embedded into the rose bushes. Despite the relative chill, the February cold was a welcome respite from all the body heat from inside, and Tim stood for a moment, ears attenuating to the crisp silence of frosted glass and-

A slight pressure, three o'clock, less than fifty yards away.

Not Dick, too light, and his brother would have at least enough sense in him to know when he needed to _back off_. At least, Tim hoped that he did.

The person remained stationary, calm, watchful, and Tim closed his tightly, wishing that he'd just excused his absence instead, because now he had to deal with-

"Tim?" 

Bruce's voice, though low and controlled, was not enough to conceal the _concern_ , and Tim felt his chest stutter. 

How long had it been, just the two of them? Just....Father and son, not business, not heir, not Batman and Rob-, no, _Red Robin_ , apologies, not with Jay in the middle and-

"Tim, I'm sorry."

Tim stilled. His eyes stung. 

Probably allergies.

"I-"

"Could you just-" Tim gritted his teeth and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Lets _not_. Not now, not here. Just.... _no_. I..I can't do this."

Bruce moved closer, and Tim wanted to move away, just to be petty he supposed, but for some reason, he didn't, and so remained standing, as Bruce moved closer, and closer, till the bigger man was right beside him, arm in jacket brushing his, but still, Tim didn't face him.

"I'm-I'm so sorry, son. I made a-"

"I'm son now, am I?" Tim chuckled bitterly, even as Bruce flinched. "Surprised you didn't try to take that away from me too."

Bruce suddenly whirled him around, eyes fierce, hands on his arms. "I- _Never_ , Tim. I could _never_ do that, and I'm sorry that I made you think that. That I could even do such a-" The man shook his head, and Tim watched Bruce grapple with himself, and as _much_ as he wanted to reach for his Father, to hug him tightly and never let go, Bruce had hurt him, badly. Hurt him enough to distance himself further from the family, if that were even possible by now. Blaming him, accusing him of _wanting_ to keep Jason away from him, not understanding that there was so much he didn't know, didn't understand, as if it were possible to just "pick" up from where he and Jason had left off years ago, and Tim stared at Bruce, Bruce who seemed stricken, guilt marring his features.

But still, Tim said nothing.

"Tim, I can't apologise enough. I reacted badly, I was so caught up in the idea of Jason coming back to the Manor that I-I pushed everyone aside, I didn't think, and out of _everyone_ , I've hurt you the most. I...I _hate_ myself, for what I've done, the stress I put you through, and I'm sorry Tim, I'm so, _so_ sorry. I..."

Bruce cut off to look at him, and Tim was taken back by the intensity in his Father's eyes, the same man who now placed his hands at top his shoulders, then by his sides, as if scared of him running away. "I.." Bruce tried to speak, but his jaw seemed to get in the way, the words stuck in his throat, and he shook his head several times, as if reprimanding himself.

"Tim." Bruce finally gasped out, eyes shiny, and he took Tim's hands in his own, squeezing them gently. "Tim, son, tell me what I can do to make this right. To make it up to you, anything, what-what can I do? Please son, tell me."

Tim swallowed, his throat tight, painful, and there was a heavy pressure at the back of his eye.

"Bruce." he managed, and the man in question brought a palm to his face, cupping it slightly, but Tim didn't lean it, the touch too familiar, the smell false comforting, and it was an effort to speak because his voice hitched. "Bruce, you hurt me." Tim forced himself to look up at his father, wide, pained eyes meeting his.

Both pairs of eyes held a film of water.

"I know." Bruce whispered.

Tim shook his head. "The things you said." His voice wavered, shook, and his hand trembled as he brought a hand to his eye, wiping his face.

"I know." the sound came out strangled.

"That day...when I told you, you....it was like you _hated_ me, like I-I no longer meant _anything_ to you." A tear rolled down his face.

"It's-it's not true son, I swear, it _isn't_ -" Bruce's eyes were watering now, but Tim continued, stepping back an inch.

"You looked as me as if I were a stranger. Like I...I ceased to be, ceased to be _yours_. I...I was trying to help Jay, as he's done for me in the past, so, so much you and the others don't know about, a-and Jason has, he helped me through all of it, even when he shouldn't have and didn't want to, he was there and he-he _helped_ me, 'cause that's what we do, Bruce. We're there for each other, _always_ , no matter what, no-" Tim stared up at his father, then moved in, and _pushed at him_ frustrated, before clenching the man's suit jacket in his fists, voice breaking.

"Red Robin wasn't...I never wanted to be that. Dick took Robin from me, he took it and gave it to that brat, your kid, he-he gave it to him without asking, without even explaining. Just...left me alone and that was that. The only thing I've had that was and is, if it still is, is Vice President, something I love, that I'm good at, and to hurt me, because you believed that I hurt _you_ , you...you tried to take VP away from me, knowing what it meant-h-how, B? Bruce? How _could you_?" Tim shook the jacket, ignoring Bruce who held him, the tears that came from above and worked their way into his hair, his own that dripped against the older man's shirt.

Brook shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Tim." The voice was sombre, but for Tim, it wasn't good enough.

"And then-" Tim cursed himself for the way his voice hitched, and he pushed against Bruce with all his might, stumbling backwards in the process, Bruce's eyes which were red, a little swollen. "Tim plea-"

"Then you bring up my _parents_ , Bruce. I-I did everything for-I tried _so_ hard, _so_ hard to be what they wanted, to do what I thought would make them happy but no matter how hard I tried, it-it was never good enough. Never _enough_. Never right. And in, in front of everyone, in front of people who I've spent the last couple of months trying to gain their respect and finally getting it, in front of them Bruce, you throw me under the bus, you-you remind them of the Drakes, you remind me that they-they never cared, never truly loved me, but lemme guess, you did, right? Well-no, no Bruce, just don't-"

Tim fought back against Bruce who was trying to reach for him now. "No. No you don't, you don't get to say "I'm sorry" and think that's that. Not this time around. It's always left to me, me Tim to be the bigger person, to be more mature, not to take things to heart, just like with Damian, and now you I suppose. That you didn't mean it, you were just angry -you know what, fuck off, and fuck you. This time, no, you'll need to do much more than that, much more, cause they way I look at it, I'd much rather go live with Jason than ever stay here, with you, even with Dick! That's right, I said it! He's only being here for me now because you were outta line, being an ass, but where was he before all this, huh?"

Tim, in his agitation, had failed to detect a _second_ pair of footsteps enter their clearing.

"Not around, I'll tell you. Poor little Timmy! And now, out of guilt, out of jealousy - cause whether Dick wants to admit it or not, part of his "stepping" in to look after me is because _Jay_ isn't around, Jay whose been a much better brother by _far_ \- out of fear of him messing up as a "big" brother, darling Dick Grayson - _now_ he wants to act all caring and shit, after spending all that time fussing over your demonic spawn! Turning up at Jason's house to see how I'm doing after the big showdown, uh-huh, yeah that's just _great_ , Jason who hates his fucking guts because Dick was too busy pissing you off and hating Jason to care about him, the same guy who tried to later put him in fucking Arkham! It's a wonder-look, I- you're just hypocrites, the pair of you, you two are just like each other and I-I- I, I should just go Bruce, I don't belong-I'I-I've tried and I can't, not anymore, no-"

"Tim, it's not like that! Please son, how can I make this right?" Bruce pleaded with him, begging, begging, wanting to reach him and moving closer, but Tim slapped his hands away, but Bruce didn't stop, didn't relent, and the man continued, desperation in his voice.

"Not that easy, not that simple. I-" Tim suddenly cut off, realising that there was indeed someone else with them, and he paused now, chest heaving, wiping his eyes, only to see _Dick_ standing there. 

Dick, and silently by his side, _Damian_ , who stared at him, face unreadable, but hadn't said a word, not even a _Tt_.

Tim stared at Dick.

Dick, whose eyes were _filled_ with tears, ever so _angry_ , fists clenched, and suddenly, Tim didn't know what to say. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of him, and Dick continued staring at him, eyes only for him, as if Damian was a shadow.

"Dick...I.." Tim began, chest hollow. He knew that Dick had been trying, _had_ been making the efforts. Dick wasn't supposed to-he _shouldn't_ have heard any of this, and they all knew it. 

"Is that what you really think, Tim?" Dick's voice was deadly soft.

Tim swallowed. "No...Dick, no, I-I was just mad. Just..I.." Tim scrambled for the words, but Dick cut him off, eyes cutting. 

He too was having trouble remaining calm.

"That I'm only caring now because I feel bad? Cause Jason isn't around to do it? Because Bruce went too far? Guilty, for not doing it sooner, for my past actions, because Jason's not here, my competitor out of sight for now?"

Dick advanced forward, just a little bit, and Tim's heart sank. 

"Dick, no, not now-" Bruce attempted to pull Dick back but the younger man shook Bruce off furiously.

"That I don't _love_ you, that _we_ don't love you- is that what you're saying, Tim? Some kind of unwanted obligation, a _burden_ we're stuck with-"

"Yes." Tim whispered, and then shut his eyes again. He hadn't meant to answer that question out loud _either._

What the hell was in the damn punch?

Tim didn't want to look at the expression on Dick's face, and he didn't have to, not with the jolt in the air, knowing that not only was Dick reeling, _Bruce_ was too.

The air was frighteningly silent. So very, very quiet, and Tim could hear the turbulent blood flow of blood rushing past his ears.

He didn't want to be here, in front of them, like this, shaking, a mess, his emotions all over the place. The three of them on one side, him on the other.

Tim opened his eyes, and the moment he did, he wished- he goddamn _wished_ he hadn't.

Bruce's face was wet, eyes forlorn and deeply lost. Dick's tears were streaming, his face red. And Damian-

" _You fool._ " The boy hissed, small fists clenched, and Tim stuttered, shocked, unsure, because this had been the first time they'd spoken since-

"You silly, naive, hare-brained _fool_." Damian's voice was full of venom, and Tim wanted to cut him off, to interrupt, but what Damian said next had _him_ reeling. 

"That you think - no, that you hold this ridiculous belief that no-one in this family _cares_ for you. _Loves_ you." Damian advanced forward, eyes on fire. "When all Grayson ever does is _talk_ about you. How much he loves you, and cares for you, how proud he is of you, so clever and loving, kind and thoughtful, and how much I could learn from you. How much he wants us to get along, and _why can't we._ How Father admires you all the time, the way he smiles at you over breakfast, and I see it, we do- of how _proud_ he is of you, or-or whenever you do grace us with your _sovereign presence_ , how much he stares at you from across the table because all he ever wants to _do_ is to talk to _you_ , _you_ Drake, but you-you hardly come by, and when you do, it is to sit far away, away from all of us, and whenever- _whenever you leave_ , Father- how _sad_ he looks to see you go, as if you just hate being here with us, how desperate he is to reach you when-" Damian broke off here, shaking his head, and there was a hitch in his voice.

Tim was _floored_ by what he was hearing, absolutely _stunned_ , and judging by the change in the air, so were Bruce and Dick.

"Pennyworth. You- you make Pennyworth _cry_." Damian's eyes were shiny, and he jabbed a small finger in Tim's direction. 

Tim felt his chest stutter to a stop.

Everything seemed to stop moving.

"You-you _do_. I've seen him, I saw him, once, and he-he looked so hurt, so very upset, and-and he has an entire album of your photographs, a whole book of all your certificates and awards and speeches and he-I've seen him look over them, smiling, and he-and you say _we. don't. care._ He-Pennyworth lays a plate for you every night, without fail, even though..." Damian swallowed. "Even though we all know how unlikely it is for you to drop by for dinner, and we all know, we do, but still, none of us have the heart to tell him otherwise, to stop, that you're not coming."

Tim opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

"And then there's me, Drake." Damian's eyes were _fierce_ , and they reminded him of not Talia, but _Jason_.

"I...I made a mistake. I came here, away from the only home I've ever known, alone, only to meet someone who clearly....clearly outshined me in every way possible. Who was _loved_ by everyone, so highly regarded, my superior, and I must admit, I...I hated it. Hated _you_ , and from my training, from what I was brought up to do, the "legacy", destiny, all of it, I tried my hardest to get rid of you, but no matter how hard I tried, you withstood the trials, the challenges I threw at you. I...was mistaken; it took a long while for me to understand that. But then, after all of Grayson's cajoling, his persuasion to make peace, to apologise, to find common ground - when I tried that, tried to show an interest in your work, tried to reach out... you treated me...as if I were _nothing_. A pest, a nuisance at best, and with everything Grayson had promised about you, that you would, you-...I was hurt. Disappointed and _hurt_."

Tim's eyes widened. "What the _fuck_ are you talking about?! You never once-"

 _Oh_.

Damian said nothing, but he didn't have to, for Tim was remembering now.

It hadn't been too long ago, at least a way before the Xan mission last year, when over the period of two weeks or so, Damian had been behaving rather...oddly towards him. Greeting him in the mornings without the usual disdain. Ensuring there was a put of coffee ready for him. Quietly enquiring about his day, what his plans were, and with each attempt, Tim either ignored him completely, or rebuffed him. Clearly this was all part of a ploy at hand, a game that result in him getting hurt, _again_ , and so Tim had kept his guard up high, suspicious, not allowing the boy to break through even for a moment. Spat in his face. Mocked him, even as Damian would hold his tongue, Damian who would oddly enough walk away instead of arguing back, or fighting. Damian who would try to apologise, only for Tim to swear at him, that _I don't have time to play whatever mind shitty game you're playing, so fuck off_ , before leaving for work. Damian who once set out a games console inviting him to play, only for Tim to walk out without a word, claiming to be too busy- he'd gone to Jason's that day, telling the older man, and Jason had made a face, smirking but not quite laughing, before changing the topic altogether, and Tim had forgotten all about the younger boy for the rest of the evening. For those two weeks, Damian went...out of his way, to at least sit on the same couch without comment. Even turned up to his penthouse once - Tim had slammed the door in his face. Bruce had brought him to work for a few hours one late morning, brought him to Tim's office, to R&D, Damian who had been polite in his little suit, a mini-Bruce, and Tim, seizing the opportunity of a lifetime, had proceeded to belittle him at every opportunity. The filing was all wrong. Orders mixed up. Sending him to bring coffees, organise pointless piles of paperwork. Kicking him out of the office, leaving him alone, dismissing his questions as infantile - a little payback for all the shit Damian had put him through. And after those two-ish weeks, Damian's nastiness had returned, but for some reason, his venom seemed even worse than before, more hateful, and Tim hadn't understood _why_.

"You remember now." Damian's voice was mocking, but quiet.

"I..." Tim honestly didn't know what to say. _Damian_ had been trying to make amends back then? Were things so bad, so dead-end that Tim had given up on ever trying to reach the younger boy - had it bad that _bad_? Worse than with Jason, Jason whom he'd done nothing to but- how had things become so _shit_?

"I...I thought you were...I thought were playing a game, a ploy, a trick of some sort. I...I had _no_ idea you were actually being genuine that time." Tim's palms were sweaty, and he shifted forwards, voice pained, but Damian moved back a step, hurt in his features. "I...You can't blame me for reacting so...not when all this time you've put me through hell, what-what was I supposed to do? Why _wouldn't_ I be suspicious?"

Damian looked away. "Grayson....he said that you would recognise the efforts and "meet me half way". That you would....try, and later, forgive, if that were possible. But clearly, he was wrong."

Tim closed his eyes. 

Keeping grudges, he was good at that. Keeping them, keeping the shit and hurt locked in, remembering, never forgetting. Forgiving somewhat, but never quite letting go.

"Damian I- its not a matter of-"

"I thought-" Damian tried again, stiff. "I thought... I was wrong, to have treated you as I initially did. I...I wanted to see the other sides of you that Grayson, Father, Pennyworth - all the people who know you, the League, the Drake they loved, a-and cherished. Drake who was funny, Drake who was nice, who had all the best technology, the "coolest", Drake whose music collection was apparently legendary." Damian swallowed, and Tim swore internally, but how the fuck was he- when all this time Damian had...

Tim looked up at the sky, frustrated.

Dick and Bruce still had yet to say a word. 

"Mother loves you." Damian's voice was small, so young, and Tim felt something strange on hearing the sound, a desire to somewhat guard the voice, even protect it. "Todd...even with all the history, he loves you, dearly. I... once-" Damian twisted his fingers, still looking away. "The bounty. It wasn't just for Grayson."

Bruce looked confused, eyes darting between all three boys.

Dick had looked away.

Damian looked at Tim now, then darted his eyes away, but Tim stared at the boy - the bounty Damian had secretly placed, the one Talia had had moves in place to cancel and protect Jason, Damian who didn't know about Jason and their shared history, Jason who couldn't remember Damian from _before_ , from his time with the League - the bounty was meant - _on his behalf_ , _Tim_ , too?

"Yes, we were enemies, and I hated you. But against an outsider, someone who was trying to actively destroy the only family who had taken me in without wanting anything from me? _Unthinkable._ I wouldn't stand for it, and the bounty...it was not only for Grayson, but for _you_ as well. Todd hurt you...he, he nearly killed you, and Father...Father almost went mad with rage, with grief that he-we had nearly lost you.... Grayson wanted Todd dead, wanted him so very- and I.. I regretted-" Damian suddenly shook himself, stiffly wiping one side of his face. 

"But, of course, no-one loves you. No-one at all, not in this family. Of course, Drake. That is why we're all out here, in this cold, trying to-to apologise, to right our wrongs, our mistakes. How inconsiderate." The spite was back in Damian's tone, sarcastic and cutting.

Tim stared. He stared at all of them, the fury in Damian's eyes, Dick who was looking to the side, Bruce whose eyes were fixed on him, and it-he-

"I...I need to go." His voice was strained and distant to his ears, and Tim moved now, backwards, away from Bruce who'd moved to stop him, motions jerky, before turning, and walked, faster, faster, until he'd cleared the gardens in under a minute, through guests who eyed him curiously, whispering, away from Alfred, whose gaze followed him from across the room, and into one of the stationed taxi's outside in the grounds, slamming the door shut, and sank into the seat, chest beating rapidly.

 _They loved him?_

Then-then-but, if was he, then why-

_Why did he feel so-_

 

 

_Saturday evening, Metropolis._

Lois was in the middle of arranging a few plates back into the cupboard when a knock from across the spacious floor had her turning towards the door.

"Clark honey, are you expecting anyone tonight?"

The voice came back muffled, as Clark was currently on the second floor of the apartment, sorting through old research cases. "No, you? Ohh, _there_ it is-"

Lois rolled her eyes and went to the door. Nothing on the intercom screen, odd. Sighing, she undid the locks, wiping her hands on her trousers and opened the door to see-

" _Bruce_? What on earth-"

Lois reached towards her hair, tucking a few strands, self-conscious as _the_ Bruce Wayne stood across from her, dapper in a well-fitted charcoal grey jumper, black trousers, and leather jacket. He smirked, hands deceptively slouched in his pockets. Even after all these years, the man still had the ability to make her feel out of place.

"And good evening to you too, Lois." There it was, that smug, irritating tone, and Lois huffed to herself, remembering why things hadn't worked out between them.

But then Bruce stared at her, really stared, and Lois felt her cheeks redden under his intense gaze. "What? Is there something on my-"

"You look _lovely_." The man blurted out, closing his eyes briefly as if in pain, the afterthought, before trying to redeem himself from the situation. "I mean-you, not that you _don't_ normally, its just- you look so _ra_ -"

It was at this exact moment that Clark chose to make himself useful, appearing just behind Lois, eyes wide behind his glasses. " _Bruce_? I..what are you doing here?"

It was strange, all of a sudden. The air had become tense, a little...uncomfortable even, as the two men stared at each other. Lois shifted; this was unusual. Sure, the two had their arguments, minor disagreements, Clark ranting about his stubborn, unyielding Bat, Bruce on the rare occasion he called, muttering about an irritating, happy-go-lucky Boy Scout, but this?

This was _different_.

For one thing, Bruce would have normally been shuffled inside by Clark himself, openly ignoring other man's polite bordering-on-awkward refusal, Bruce who would come in nonetheless, the two sitting to watch football.

A moment passed by, with neither man saying anything, not a move being made, and Lois, unable to stand the silence any longer, took it upon herself to break the ice.

"Why of _course_ Bruce, come in! What will you have? Coffee? Still black, one sugar? Or have you grown a heart and-"

The still air broke now, Clark smiling at her, though she could detect a little strain at the corners of his eyes, Bruce whose cheeks flushed pink, before the man cleared his throat, shifting, and spoke in a low voice. "No, thank you. I...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have intruded. Another time-"

Bruce turned to walk away now, not looking at either of them, but it was Clark's " _No!_ ", the hand the immediately reached out to Bruce, resting on his shoulder, that caused the three of them to pause again, and Lois knew now that whatever it was between the two men, it was enough that they felt odd around the other, not enough to discuss with her around. With a soft smile, Lois left the two men briefly, fishing out Clark's coat from the coat room, and pressed the item into her husband's arm, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"Go, honey." With a _look_ , and a warm pat to Bruce's arm, Lois left the two of them at the door, retreating back into the kitchen.

Back at the door, Clark removed his hand from his friend, back to side, one hand at his neck, not quite looking at the man. "Bruce, I-"

"Would you like to go for ice-cream?" Bruce suddenly cut in, blue eyes on him, and Clark faltered for a moment, unsure of where Bruce was taking this. Sure, they ate together often, dinners even, but after a fight? And with Bruce initiating?

"I...uhh-"

"Dick. He mentioned there being a new ice-cream parlour that opened recently downtown-"

"Oh, Billy Bobs!" Clark excitement was evident to both of them, and as Bruce stared at him, a small smirk appearing on his face, Clark blushed, nervously adjusting his glasses. "I mean, its _something_ along those lines, I'm not quite sure-"

Bruce gave him a _look_. "You've checked out the reviews, haven't you." The man's voice was flat, and it looked as if he was struggling not to laugh there and then.

"Yeah."

Bruce huffed, a real smile appearing on his face, and then stepped backwards by a step, titling his head at the hallway. "Then we'd better hope dearest Bob and his ice-cream lives up to your expectations, or else we'll never hear the end of it from you."

Clark chuckled as Bruce shook his head, and shutting the door behind him, the two of them left the building, walking side by side. They said very little on the way over, Bruce opting to take in the city, lights and shiny glass windows.

"Still not used to it, huh?" Clark cast a sideways glance at his friend, who _hmphed_ in return, eyes narrowing at a particularly colourful display in a shop window.

"Too bright." Bruce grumbled, a hint of amusement in the voice.

"Our apologies."

Bruce huffed, but Clark could just about detect a tiny upturn of the man's lips.

Once inside Billy Bobs's, seated in the booth furthest from the door, secluded, and orders taken, Bruce took his time in speaking, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. Opposite him, Clark mirrored the action, only with a mug of hot cocoa and marshmellows instead. Not as good as his Ma's, but then again, Ma's cooking was exceptional, on par with Alfred's, though he'd never say it aloud. He waited for Bruce to speak, seeing as it was _Bruce_ who turned up outside his doorstep, clearing wanting to talk.

"I..You were only trying to help." Bruce didn't look up.

Clark swallowed, looking outside the window for a moment, watching couples strolling, little puffs of air that clouded their faces before misting away.

"I never....I never meant to hurt you, Bruce, believe me. Not...not like that, not with _her_." Clark stuttered painfully.

A small beat of silence, and then-

Bruce nodded, opting to sip his drink. "I know, Clark. I..I was caught up in...I didn't take all the factors into proper consideration." 

"Can't blame yourself too much, Bruce. I'm sure any Father would have done the same, not that I'd know, but." Clark spoke quietly, missing the way Bruce looked at him for a second, an eyebrow raised, something that _clicked_ across his features, before his expression settled again.

"Hnn. Well, sometimes...doing the right thing isn't always pleasant. It's not always _nice_ , nor does it feel good, but when its the right thing to do....then there's no contest, not really." Bruce brought the cup to his lips, then put it down again.

"I'm glad Jay has you." His voice was barely a whisper.

Clark looked at him, then down at his hands. "I'm not trying to replace you in his life, Bruce. I...I care about him. He-back with Xan, Gerebeta, Jason - he was there for me, really helped me out, and he-" Clark worked his jaw, wondering how to phrase it all, and Bruce remained silent, waiting patiently. Clark blew on his cocoa absent-mindedly before speaking. "He didn't have to. It wasn't his place, he could have easily said _no_ or used the...events to his advantage, but he didn't. Jay-Jason chose to care, he put my needs, our needs, above his, his own safety, well-being, and I...for what he did for me, I-" Clark shook his head. "I'll never be able to thank him. Repay him."

Bruce nodded, understanding. "I only wish I hadn't taken the time spent with him for granted."

Clark said nothing to that, only to reach across and squeeze his friend's arm lightly.

"How-" Bruce tried once more. "How is he?"

"He's..From last week, he's doing well. Looks a lot better, on his own two feet without too much trouble. Diana says he's getting stronger, but both she and Shayera have picked up on the confidence issue. It's all still there, its just...standing up to his mind and not believing the lies."

Bruce swallowed, looking away. 

Clark rested his hand on Bruce's arm, prompting him to face him. "Bruce, Jason is strong. One of the strongest and most enduring people I know."

Like Father, like son, and Bruce tilted his head in shy acknowledgement, even as Clark smiled softly back at him. "He'll get through this, no doubt. He gets up every time, even when he's hurt, and I've seen him frustrated, angry even, at himself, his current state, but it doesn't matter how many times he lands, Jay - he gets up, without fail. That, more than anything else, is what makes me so sure that Jason will overcome this. It's just a matter of _time_."

Bruce's hand seemed to shake, and Clark squeezed his hand once. "I miss him, Clark. I...I made a mistake, _mistakes_ , and now that he's back, I..I just wish I could turn back time and... I'm doing it again, with Tim. Pushing him away, punishing him for what was my fault, my failures, and he...he feels he isn't loved. That we don't _care_ about him and I-I just want my _boys_ back, my _sons_ Clark. _All of them_." In the light, Bruce's eyes were shiny, and Clark opted not to comment, instead waiting for the man patiently.

Clark nodded gently, throat tight. "I know, Bruce. And I swear to you, where I can, I'll help you, with _all_ of them."

Bruce looked at Clark. 

"Give Jason space. Time and space, to heal. I know there are mixed feelings on his part, but I can see it, Bruce. He hasn't forgotten about you, and despite what he says, I...honestly, part of me believes that Jason never wants to. I can't promise anything, but what I can say is this: I'm here for you, and I'm here for Jason too. _Both_ of you, and I'd love to see you two eventually reconcile, I mean it."

Bruce tried to smile, but his eyes were too watery, and so he opted for nudging Clark's knee with his own, before sipping at his coffee. "Not as good as Alfred's." He murmured.

Clark snorted. "Nowhere _near_ Ma's."

"Here we are-" A cheery voice cut into their musing, and two large bowls of ice-cream were placed in front of either man, Bruce who took in the sight before mock-sighing, shaking his head. 

"I'll be a type two diabetic before the end of this sitting."

Clark laughed aloud. "Might as well order a couple of slices of pie, since we're going to kill ourselves with liquid sugar."

Bruce eyed him incredulously, then laughed too. "You and your damned pie."

"What? Pie is _pie_ Bruce! What could you _possibly_ have against _pie_?"

A grunt, _hnn_ , and then Bruce launched into a series of lectures, something about carbohydrates and water retention, and two hours later, spirits lifted, the two men called it a night, walking back to Clark's city apartment building.

"Clark." Bruce paused where his car was parked directly outside the main entrance. He always drove himself whenever he visited Metropolis.

"Thank you. For not-" Bruce gestured to himself. " Your friendship. I... _I don't deserve it._ "

Clark grinned, stepping forward to clap the man by the shoulder. " Whether you deserve it or not Bruce, you've got it, so suck it up and accept it already, its been years. Say hi to the boys for me."

A small wave, and Clark stood by the door, watching his friend leave.

Later that night, Lois, curled against his chest, spoke quietly. "You two sorted things out?"

Clark smiled in the darkness, kissing the back of Lois's hair. "Yeah, we have."

"He doesn't deserve you." Lois muttered, already drifting to sleep, and Clark held her to himself before answering a short moment later.

"And I him, Lo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot about the Greek translations, sorry! Was in my other edits but forgot to include them in the final submission:
> 
> το παιδί μου = 'my child'
> 
> Ναι, μαμά = 'yes, Mama'
> 
> Το πανέμορφο μου, λίγο ρομπόν = 'my beautiful, little robin'
> 
> Είμαι τόσο περήφανος για εσενα = 'I'm so proud of you'


	56. Rose coloured lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> الشقيق الثمين = dear/precious brother (Arabic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason takes matters into his own hands. Dick receives a visitor.

Jason pursed his lips.

Wow, Alfred _really_ hadn't been kidding about the kid.

As much as he wanted to react, he couldn't, not to _Tim_ , who very clearly needed an outlet of some sort, and yet-

 _wouldn't_ talk about it.

 _Refused_ to open up, about whatever it was that had him landing blows devoid of his usual snark, and though a couple of lucky ones _hurt_ like a motherfucker, Jason allowed it.

Tim was distracted, and he wanted to know _why_.

 _See? He hates you, poor boy. Look how angry you've made him, all the stress you've caused, all that you've put him through, and now Tim has to deal with_ -

Jason gritted his teeth and braced himself against the wooden stand, chest heaving. Out to the side, Tim's sullen apologies had leveled into utter silence, and Jason fought down a flare of anger.

_He's only here out of obligation; can't you see that you're just a burden-_

"I know-" Jason spoke slowly, palms flat against the table, before cutting off, moving his jaw to the side. The pressure behind his eyeballs had increased in intensity, his head was pounding, but they had to finish this, this last little bit, before simulations could begin. Already, a month had flown by, and though Jason was almost at peak strength as before, he knew that the battle lay in the mental aspects of his recovery. What use was being able to fight and shoot and attack and defend when your mind questioned every move, filled you with doubts, and taunted any slight hesitation on your part? Reminded you of your failures, those fallen standards? The simulations were the real battle ground - scenarios designed to put all his skills, both physical and mental, to the test, an emotional stretching, and Jason was anxious about starting. The Pit was bad now; it would be downright _hell_ when it came to these training exercises - whoever said _sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt m-_ , welp, they fucking _lied_ , the bastards.

Jason took a deep breath and started again.

"Why won't you talk to me?" His voice was quiet.

Tim said nothing for a moment, then spoke, alarmingly detached. "It's nothing Jay. Seriously, I'm fine, just some stress but you-"

"It's more than that and you know it. Whatever it is, let me-"

"I said _no!_ Quit bugging me already, just let it go for crying out loud!" 

Jason whirled round to see his younger brother staring away from him, tension across his frame, jaw tight. After a beat of silence, he responded.

"No."

Tim snapped his head back at him, something akin to anger in his eyes. " _No_?" The younger boy echoed, a hint of disbelief in the tone.

Jason stalked forward slowly, gaze intent on Tim. "That's right. _No_ , I can't do that."

"Right, so when it comes to you, its all _respect my wishes and back the fuck off_ , but as for _me_ -"

Jason interrupted coolly. "This is the third time that I'm seeing you like this. The hospital, for one - no, you didn't get away with that, but good effort though. The second was during your first visit here; something was eating you up and you tried to play it off- again, _good effort_ -"

Tim glared at him, posture defensive. "So instead of you to focus on yourself and get _better_ -"

"And now, this." Jason gestured to Tim, who had a sour look on his face. "You're taking out whatever it is on me, which, by the way, I'm more than cool with. Don't hold back on my account - but you keeping it all bottled in and locked up won't do you any favours, _trust me_. As _the_ former resident angst bitch, I know what I'm talking about-"

" _Leave. it. alone_ , Jay. Don't push me." Tim clenched his teeth, stepping forwards, and Jason decided to make it easy for him, invading right into his personal space, and stared him down, arms crossed against a broad, dark chest. 

"Or _what_ , Tim? " His voice was quiet, but they both knew the element of danger weaved underneath. A _dare_. "What are you gonna do that you haven't already-"

A moment of silence, and then Tim spoke, angry, expression locked off from going any further. "This was a mistake. Have the attendants ready my departure-" 

The boy shook his head and turned round, ready to walk off, but Jason stopped him with a hand to the shoulder. "Never took you for a _coward_ replacement."

All movement seemed to halt at the statement.

The air went still.

Neither of them had heard that particular nickname for a _long_ time, and it was an _ugly_ thing to hear after, well, _everything_.

Jason waited, knowing the risks he was taking here, but enough was enough. Tim needed to unleash a whole lotta pent up rage like _yesterday_. His eyes flicked briefly to above, to a balcony on the far side of the compound, where he knew Talia was watching, hoping she would understand what was about to happen next.

"I know what you're doing." Tim's voice was strangled. "You're baiting me out, and it's not going to work, Jay."

"A coward and a _liar_ , then. A new low for the baby bird." Jason's drawl was lazy, yet taunting, and he watched Tim's back go rigid, fists clenching. 

" _Don't_ -"

"Lets play the guessing game, shall we? Hmm, let's see now. Oh! First guess: Daddy's not being very nice to you, we'll start with that." Jason stalked the boy slowly, voice predatory and unkind.

Tim's face had morphed into marble.

"Ah, we have a winner! So, Daddy issues - what else is new, huh? But there's more, there always is - how about the Golden goose? Still not paid any attention to you over the spawn of hell?"

" _Cut it out_ -" Tim looked close to losing it, and Jason knew how cruel he was being, like this, something they'd put behind them ages past, but for Tim's well-being - and if he were honest, the boy had been on edge the moment he stepped foot onto the island- Jason was going to crack the motherfucking egg.

"Right, so we've got meanie B and a neglectful dickheaded man-child. Can't forget about that little shit that's taken your place, can we-"

A flying punch out of nowhere connected with Jason's lower jaw, and he forced himself to follow through with the momentum, ignoring the tiny _crack_ that whispered in his ear, staggering, and that seemed to do it for Tim, who-

 _pounced_ on him, hitting and shouting incoherently, face red, and Jason _let_ him, taking all the hits, the solid _thump_ as his flesh winced in protest, something warm and thick leaking from the side of his nose, Tim who was so _angry_ , furious with himself, who seemed to unleash this torrent of-of frustration, unbridled hurt, before fatigue seemed to overwhelm the younger boy, and the hits slowed, the motions more sluggish, till Tim slumped over to the side finally, eyes red, knees brought up to his chest, and Jason laid there, looking up at the sky.

"You bastard." The voice was muffled.

Jason didn't turn to look at the owner of the sound, but he did smile. "Had to do what needed to be done, kiddo." The fondness was back in his tone.

Tim snorted. "Really? And that meant pushing my buttons like a damn prick?"

"If it meant opening you up a little, then absolutely, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. You...you've been carrying a lot of weight around, and if you weren't gonna _talk_ about it, then what better way to drag it out than by fighting?"

A little foot struck his shoulder. "You provoked me, deliberately. That's an assholish thing to do, whatever the reason." The voice was young, haughty, and so very childish.

Jason grinned, looking at his brother now, whose blue eyes were on his, apologetic, and with a slow, pained wave, he reached across to drag the younger boy by his calf towards himself. Tim yelped, mildly protesting at the violation of his person, the unfairness of it all, but he moved nonetheless, till Jason had one arm around his waist, close to himself, and the two remained like that for a while, the early afternoon sun high in the sky.

"It's not good to keep things to yourself for too long." Jason started, voice quiet. "I...I made mistakes, and part of that was due to isolating everything to do with _me_. Not letting anyone in, even though the Pit wreaked havoc with my mind, distorting memories and shit. I'll be damned if I let anything of the sort affect _you_ , الشقيق الثمين."

Tim smiled softly to himself, cheeks flushed. "It's...it's just hard to describe, really. Almost as if all I _thought_ I knew, or what I believed....wasn't exactly the whole picture, if you get my drift. Like I've been seeing things from one side, my point of view, without really taking into consideration that its not just _me_ , if you know what I mean."

Jason nodded. "I do, baby bird. Remember how insistent I was that Bru-Batman had just forgotten about me? Replaced me like that, as an afterthought? Wasn't exactly true, but I...I kept seeing it only from my side of things- it was only with time and taking a coupla steps back that I began to realise that it wasn't that _simple_ , straightforward, or all I believed it to be. Like jagged pieces of a mirror; trying to piece them back together is something else.... not the same as the original, doesn't quite fit as before, and you can't dismiss it."

"Yeah." Tim's voice was a whisper. "Something like that. And now...now I don't know how to feel. What to say. I mean, I can't just dismiss all my own feelings and thoughts, but the truth is now a lot more...complex. Different, and I'm not sure how to approach things from here on out."

Jason _hmmed_ , the sound low, and Tim curled inwards, the two now lying on the ground. "First thing to do is acknowledging the change. Not that you're wrong; your feelings are valid. It's just...acknowledging that they're not the _only_ ones in the equation."

Tim said nothing, and Jason brought a kiss on top of the boys' head, running a hand through his hair absent-mindedly. "Second, and this is the tricky bit cause it's kinda muddled really. Secondly, its all about time. Wishy washy, I know, but it took time for you and or/others involved to realise the situation, it'll take...a while, to see things differently, and even longer to see change. Until then, time, space, patience. All that guru well-meaning sappy shizz. In the meantime, however, you need an outlet. Whether its someone to talk to, or a hobby, a change of environment - whatever it is, you need a break. You've got all your League friends and whatnot, music projects, photography, all those little trips you like taking. You've got me, whenever, for however long you want, whatever necessary, I'll always be here, or reachable no matter what. All these outlets kid - _use them_. Believe me when I say this: keeping all the hurt, pain, confusion _inside_ will kill you faster than anything else. Drive you mad. You get what I'm saying?"

Tim looked up at him now, blue eyes round. "It's hard."

Jason hugged the boy close to himself. "Course its hard! It's weird and feels strange as hell. It's slow, frustrating, and you'll go through plenty of times where you feel like packing it in and giving up altogether. But....if this is something you consider important to you, then it'll be worth the effort. As...as much as I'd love for you to tell me what's on your mind, I can't force you, and seeing how you reacted-"

Tim stiffened, but didn't move away. 

"I'm hoping that you'll understand. You'll see in a minute." Jason finished, and Tim stared at him, wondering, but Jason closed off now, and hauled the two of them up standing.

"Jay, what are you talking abou-" Tim's asked, confused, but Jason threw an arm over his shoulders, taking him inside, nodding stoically to the attendants as they passed by.

"Seriously, what's going on Jay. What will I understand?"

The boy looked anxious now, nervous even, voice high, shoulders beginning to stiffen, biting his lower lip, but Jason ignored him, dragging him along, until they came to a small room on the Southern compound, a table filled with food on the left side of the room, and a small lounge on the other end, a chaise hosting a dark haired, broad shouldered man, who stood up on seeing them, eyes wide. Tim stuttered to a stop, staring at the visitor, mouth ajar, then at Jason, whose expression was unreadable.

"Jay, what the _hell_ do you think you're playing at-"

Jason only nudged Tim forward, locking eyes with the visitor, struggling to keep his voice level, before turning to his brother once more. "Don't-"

He closed his eyes for a moment, then spoke slowly, grounding out the words. "Don't make the same mistakes I did."

" _Jay_ -"

"Thank you, Jason." The voice of old timber, deep and lulling, held a slight tremor, as if afraid of disturbing the peace, and Jason interrupted before the man could continue, tone harsh.

" _Not_ for you."

The air went silent. 

Jason pinched his nose and counted to five, breathing deeply.

Bruce advanced forward and then stopped, eyes flickering between both boys, before finally resting on Tim, and Jason fought to keep himself calm, that though their relationship was borderline if not completely unsalvageable, too far gone to make sense now, too fucking _late_ , this-this right here, forcing Father and this great kid, Tim, _son_ , to talk, away from the familiar, was the right thing to do. For _Tim_ , even though Bruce being here did something to Jason's chest, made it tight and flutter and dredge up ugly truths, painful memories and broken promises.

"Don't fuck it up, Bruce."

Pressing a kiss to Tim's temple, Jason took his leave.

 

 

 _Several hours earlier_.

Bruce was at his desk when he got the call.

 _Unknown number_.

He frowned, eyes searching for the source of the sound, before realising it was his phone, and for a few moments, he stared at the object, foreign. Ever since Tim's abrupt departure last week, the Manor had felt...cold. _Empty_ , as if the halls just _knew_ something profound had taken place. Even Damian had been quieter of late, opting to obey Pennyworth without fuss, with very little back chat on the coms during patrol. Bedtime without so much as a snarl, merely a nod, accompanying a quiet "Goodnight Father." Alfred had chosen to remain silent, but his disapproval remained palpable throughout the house.

Dick hadn't called. Not once.

 _Brrriiiiing_.

Shifting a pile of notes to one side, Bruce answered the call with a sigh, trying to stave off the small pressure behind his eye. It was probably Clark, Diana, he hadn't bothered to check first-

" _Hey._ "

Bruce froze.

He knew that voice. Young and yet mature at the same time, deep like his, but a little warmer, and on the other end, the person was silent, waiting.

 _Jason_.

 _Jason was calling him_ , and the realisation sunk on him slowly, like a weight threatening to engulf him.

His voice came out strangled when he finally answered. "Jay-Jason?"

A beat of silence, a pained sigh, and then, blessedly, Jason responded. "Yeah, Bruce. Its me."

Bruce could imagine the younger man rolling his eyes, but the shock of it all -Jason- had him almost lost for words, and it was a struggle to speak without his voice breaking.

"How-" His tongue felt heavy and unknown in his mouth, but Bruce forced himself to say something, _anything_ , in case Jason decided it was a mistake to call and he'd lo-lose him, _again_. "How are you?"

Something tense seemed to transmit between the two of them, Jason's response measured and careful. "Fine. Alright. Getting there, I suppose."

"Good-that's good, great Jason. I'm glad to hear it."

Another beat of silence.

When had it become so difficult to talk to his son? All of them?

"I..." Bruce faltered. He didn't want to ask _why_ Jason was calling, lest it offend the boy. Such a question _had_ , in the past, back when they were still _trying_ , trying to tolerate and withstand the other, but it was always one little slip of the tongue, unintentional, that would stir up old hurts and result in lashing out, after which the two would distance themselves for a long, tense while.

"Listen. Yeah. Uh-" Jason huffed out a laugh, but it was strained, and Bruce closed his eyes at how uncomfortable Jason was certainly feeling.

Jason's laugh, as a boy, and as a young teen, was a joyous sound, involving all of him - eyes creased, smile bright. Even back from the de.....even then, when he came _back_ , the rare occasions that Bruce would hear the man laugh was something quite special indeed. Booming. Loud. Carefree. The large torso that seemed to expand, then contract, skin that would flush darkly, and the boy's presence would _fill_ the room, wherever he was.

And during those rare, very rare times, not once had _he_ ever made Jason laugh.

In fact, as soon as Jason caught sight of him, the conversations, light quips and joking- Jason would stop on seeing him, the corner of his mouth locking off to the side, a harsh inhale and breath sharp, frame tense, posture turning defensive. As if he had to justify his presence around members of the family, and Bruce couldn't help blaming himself now, why he hadn't sought to _understand_ Jason instead of stopping him so.

Imagine being able to hear that sound again, Bruce thought to himself, and he opened his mouth to speak, to perhaps find a way of reaching the boy.

"Jaso-"

"I'm not calling about me." The tone left no room for debate.

Bruce clamped his mouth shut. "I only-"

" _Tim._. Its-this is for _him_ not me." Jason paused, then started again. "Whatever's gone on, its affecting him badly, enough that he's keeping it all bottled up and shit, and I-I'm not about to stand back and let that happen. Not to him. So.-"

Bruce could hear Jason swallow over the phone. 

" _You_ are going to make this right. I don't care what you have to do, whether you've gotta beg on both knees, or buy the kid a damn coffee farm or three, an island, whatever - _you_ , Bruce, are gonna talk to your son, apologise, say _I'm so sorry Tim, I was being a selfish, manipulative asshole, please forgive me_ , and make it up to him a hundred fold. I'm not-I'm not gonna allow that kid to feel unwanted and unloved anymore, I've just about had it with you lot. I swear-" Jason growled now, the voice low and deadly, and the sound made Bruce's hairs stand on edge.

" _Make this right_. As much as I'd love for Tim to tell me what you've done to hurt him so I can beat the _fuck_ outta you for it, that'll only make him more upset, and I'd rather die than hurt him. So. This is what you're gonna do."

"I never meant to-"

" _Save it_."

On the other end, the breaths heard were laboured, and Bruce realised that Jason was trying hard not to lose control over the phone, clearly very angry. He quietened, closing his eyes, and rose from his chair to look outside outside, pressing his forehead against the glass pane.

"I'm sorry. Please, I....continue, Jay. I'm listening."

Another beat of silence - surprise perhaps? Jason spoke after a while, voice level.

"I'm sending coordinates to your phone. We'll be close to finishing training by the time you arrive. Get here and talk to ya kid. And, for the good of all things pure and holy, _be patient_. Fucking _listen_. Tim, he won't open up at first. He'll try to shut down your attempts, but wait it out, and if he sees that you're serious about wanting to make amends, he'll show a little mercy and throw you a bone. No promises though."

Bruce nodded, throat tight. "Thank you-"

"Honestly, you don't deserve it." Jason's voice was cool, uncaring, and it _stung_. "Not Tim, not his forgiveness, just _not_ him. God knows how he's managed to come out so great with you guys around, but its _Tim_ , and his big-ass heart will never surprise me, have half a mind to take him away forever-"

" _No!_ " Bruce spoke automatically, _fear_ in his voice at the prospect, then taking a deep breath, tried again.

"How...how about Talia?" Bruce managed out, through a surge of pain and anger that bubbled in his throat, and this time, it was Jason's turn to pause, seemingly noting Bruce's struggle thousands of miles away. "Is she aware of your suggestion-"

"Leave that with me. You just get here and make things right, Bruce."

A click, and then the line went dead.

Bruce held the phone for a few moments, still warm, as if Jason would ring once more, but he knew better. 

Swallowing down his guilt, Bruce made his way slowly across the room to the bar, pouring himself a small glass of whisky. His hands shook as took a sip, but it would do good to calm his nerves, and Jason was right - Tim deserved _better_ , much better.

Just then, Alfred entered the room, an eyebrow raised at the beverage in his hand. "A little too early for you, Master Bruce, is it not?" 

Bruce tried to smile, but the effort was a strain, and he averted his eyes. "Jason just called."

"Ah." 

Alfred's eyes seemed to soften.

"He's sending across coordinates of which I assume is the location of the Island."

"How unusual, sir."

"Very. You...wouldn't happen to know why that is, would you?"

"Don't be silly, Master Bruce. An old man like me has no time for pretense and silly games." The voice was a touch condescending, distasteful even, but Bruce detected an air of amusement in the tone. 

He turned towards the older man, studying him for a moment, and though Alfred gave nothing away, stoic and prim, at the corner of his mouth was a _twitch_ , and Bruce smiled to himself. It was no coincidence that his morning meetings at WE had been rescheduled, and paperwork sent over from the office to be reviewed at home.

"Thank you, Alfred." Bruce kept his voice soft, eternally grateful for the opportunity, and Alfred titled his head at him knowingly, brown eyes twinkling, before turning, only pausing with his hand at the door.

"I trust that you will bring Master Timothy home, whatever necessary."

"Of course." There was a lump in Bruce's throat at the name.

"As for Master Jason." Alfred paused, and then seemed to gather himself, standing even straighter, if that were at all possible. "I have a small dish prepared for him. One of his favourites. If...if you could pass it along with my regards, I would be most grateful, sir."

Bruce found it difficult to speak. "I won't let you down."

Alfred rested his hand at the doorknob. "Very good, Master Bruce. I have faith that you will do as you say, for both of my grandsons."

Alfred closed the door, and Bruce listened to the old man's footsteps echo in the hallway before facing the window once again.

It wasn't just _Tim_ who deserved better.

 

 

_Late afternoon/early evening, Katafanga Island._

"I'll give you guys a minute." Tim wiped his red eyes with a sleeve as Jason hugged him goodbye, before suddenly moving towards the Batjet on the far side of the shoreline, eyes flickering between the two men.

"Wait no, Tim-" But Tim's spindedly legs had now left them, and Jason gritted his teeth at the boy's retreating back.

He forced himself to _calm down_ , aware of Bruce, who stood near him, anxious yet unwilling to move.

"Thank you Jay-Jason, for...allowing me to come here. For Tim." 

Jason stuffed his hands in his pockets and gazed out into the waters, navy black against the late sky. "Tell Alfred thanks for the casserole, twas great, as usual."

In a few hours, the Pit would be putting him through hell, and Jason closed his eyes now, ignoring the pain in his chest.

"I will. I...you look well, honestly. Much better than before." The tone was hopeful, almost desperate to start conversation, and Jason dug his toe into the sand, tracing out shapes as he dragged it along. This was a mistake, one Jason knew his sneaky brother had deliberately created - Tim, leaving the two of them alone, barely hiding his smirk. Jason cursed the boy in his mind, rebuking himself a second later.

"Diana says you're making great progress with your training. Clark too."

Still, Jason said nothing, jaw tight, but that didn't deter Bruce too much before he tried once more, reaching out a hand, and at the last minute, withdrawing, as if realisaing his mistake.

"Shayera mentioned something about a Thanagarian move you've been implementing well. Tha-that you've gotten into the habit of flipping her over, I believe."

Jason decided to play along, just this once. It was the hope in the man's voice, making him feel uneasy, strained, and he tried to offer a smile of some kind, something to make the air more bearable, as suffocating as it was, he couldn't. "Yeah." Jason's voice was flat. "I..its pissing her off. Great fun, though."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason could see Bruce nodding, little closer than before, and he stiffened, halting the other man in his tracks, Bruce who'd picked up on his discomfort. "I just wanted to say that-"

"You're not here for me."

"I understand, but if you could just-"

"Why, Bruce?" Jason turned to look at the man in question, green eyes cutting. "Why should I listen? When it was time to listen, where were you? Why now - why weren't you ready back _then_?"

Bruce opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I...I'm sorry. I wasn't-I should have tried to understand but I didn't, and I wish, Jay I _wish_ -"

Jason put his palm up, wanting silence, head beginning to throb, and Bruce, strangely enough, obeyed.

It was weird, seeing Bruce all tongue tied and pained like this, and though Jason should have enjoyed the display, it only left his chest hollow.

"Not now." Jason squeezed his eyes shut hard, resisting the urge to pinch his nose at the sides, recognising the tell-tell signs of an incoming headache. Headaches always came before the voices, and it wouldn't be long till the first whispers began, encroaching on the peripheries of his mind.

"Is there anything I can do?" The voice was soft, concerned, and Jason was taken aback by the care, glancing up to meet a pair of thoughtful blue eyes.

It had been a long time since he'd seen such a look from Bruce, and his stomach felt jumpy. No, going down memory lane now was too dangerous and the heartache-

Jason shook his head. "No." His voice was rough, and he mentally willed himself to take a little harshness out, knowing Bruce's concern was somewhat genuine, even if it was too late. "It's....I'll manage. Thanks for asking."

Bruce nodded, but his expression remained unconvinced. "I suppose - it's best that I-" The man gestured towards the other side of the shore, towards the waiting jet.

"Yeah. Course. Right." Jason swallowed down whatever it was that had him feeling so _bitter_ , and the two men began to walk towards the plane, the waves quietly lapping the silence between them. The awkwardness was downright _painful_ , and Jason, unable to continue the next few steps without wanting to scream to the heavens, blurted out -

"Diana!" Jason's face turned red as Bruce looked at him, confused, and he stumbled over his words. "I-I mean, uh, no, she's not here- _fuck._ I-How are things between you guys?" He made sure to keep his attention on the walk ahead of them, Bruce who was staring at him, clearly surprised that they were about broach such a topic that had proved too provoking in recent past.

"Good. Things are well." Bruce managed to complete, but his eye seemed to...glint, as if amused, and the sight caught Jason off guard.

"Do the rest of you guys know about-" He made the mistake of looking at Bruce now, Bruce who caught his eye, and his blush deepened. "You know what, forget I asked-"

"No, its-I'm glad you asked-" Bruce was also having trouble finding the words, and Jason's insides were screaming _abort, abort the fucking mission, abandon small talk for love of God!_ "Yes, they...are aware of our relationship and have so far been very supportive."

"Good." Jason nodded, scratching his neck.

Bruce nodded, and Jason looked to the side, begging the heavens above to delivery him from this misery, and he tapped his feet. Perhaps a whale could swim up from the ocean and swallow him whole, or the ground open up and embrace him to the depths, but alas, no luck.

Another bout of silence, and then Bruce spoke, voice low, and what he said had Jason a little lost for words, if he were honest. "It never used to be this hard, did it?"

Jason didn't know what to say.

Bruce's smile was soft, sad. "The struggle of finding something to say. Something that was safe, easy. Approachable. Now its...its like walking on eggshells." The big man sighed, and Jason stared, just _stared_ , because that's exactly what it was - there was a void that would probably remain there for a long time, a distance, measured and strained, and for the first time, Bruce was acknowledging the _reality_ of their situation, and it made Jason's head spin.

"I came...I had it all planned out, Jay. Everything - in my head, I'd say this, and you...you would probably say that, but then somehow things would work out, and we'd start small at first, small and uncomfortable. Arguments, fights, but then- as it happens in the movies- we'd reach a breakthrough. A turning point. Something would _give_ , and then - then we'd really start, new, different, a palpable change. And we- we'd both _feel_ it. Recognise that it wasn't what it was, but it was _something_ , and we'd go from there, build on it. I.." Bruce shook his head, and now Jason stopped completely, waiting to hear the man out.

"But real life isn't the movies."

The sound was far away, adorned with a crown of bitterness, and something in Jason's stomach _churned_.

He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

"I thought I knew, thought it all made sense, logical sense, but I was wrong, Jay. I'm sorry, for-" Bruce gestured to the space between them, before looking directly into Jason's eyes. 

"I'm sorry for the gulf. I'd like a chance to... but the fact still remains that this is real, it exists, and nothing here has happened by accident. We-I, _I_ made choices, whatever the reasoning, and this is the end result, which I...I am truly regretful for." The man shook his head, and Jason detected a sheen, a shiny film of water in the gaze, and his throat burned. For a moment, all that could be heard were the distant bird calls in the background.

Jason's jaw felt heavy.

He looked to the distance - Talia had now appeared, talking to Tim, one hand on his shoulder. 

"We should get back."

With a turn, Jason walked on ahead, leaving Bruce far at his back.

 

 

Talia watched Jason's quick form approach them, expression closed, and Bruce a way behind him.

Clearly, Jason was uncomfortable at Bruce's presence here, and she couldn't blame him. The younger man had persuaded her on permitting Bruce access to the Island - _for Tim_ , Jason had insisted, and though Talia did not like the idea, Bruce being around, near Jason, she eventually relented, knowing how much Jason cared for Tim, Tim who was upset, distant, and unwilling to talk much.

Jason came to stand by her side, his arm brushing hers. _Confused, upset and tired, a little angry also_ \- his eyes usually gave him away, and Talia smiled gently at him, reaching to squeeze his arm in understanding before letting go, and Jason retreated into the compound.

Bruce, now having reached her by the side of the Batjet, was glued to Jason's disappearing form to inside before turning to her, distrust across his face.

"Thank you."

Bruce didn't clarify what exactly he was thankful for, and Talia didn't ask.

His thanks was almost meaningless anyway, but Talia nodded nonetheless, jaw set, and Bruce looked at her once more, guarded, before walking away.

Standing back, she watched both Father and son leave, a small smile reserved for Timothy, who offered a shy wave, and Talia returned one in equal measure, softening at the blush that appeared on the boy's cheeks. Once in the sky, Talia made her way inside to her quarters, to Jason who was on the balcony, stiff.

"I am proud of you, Jason."

Jason turned to her, frame still rigid, but the flush of his cheeks said it all, and Talia linked one arm with his, staring out into the seas below.

"It is not easy, for the ones you love. It never is."

Jason had a curious expression on his face, eyebrow a little raised, and Talia, tutting, reached up to push the offending item back to its proper place.

Jason chuckled quietly for a moment, before his expression grew sombre. "You...you ever regret some of the choices you made, T? Like, if you had a second chance, you'd do certain things differently?"

Talia mulled over the question for a while. "Some of them, yes. I would be lying otherwise." She finally answered, and cupped Jason's cheek as she completed her response. "There are two, however, that I will _never_ regret. _Never_ , and I couldn't be more proud of them." Her voice was quiet but fierce, ever so certain, and Jason locked eyes with hers, searching, understanding, and then accepting.

Jason squeezed her hand, and then once more, before the two of them settled in silence, watching the night sky.

 

 

_Bludhaven, Friday evening._

Dick yawned loudly.

Everywhere hurt.

His back hurt.

His feet were swollen, just a little bit, the result of being on his feet for the large part of his shift.

Eyes felt heavy and sore and _so damn itchy_.

His hair was still damp, but Dick didn't have the strength to stretch for a towel, not whilst the pillow was so goddamn soft, his feet all warm and curled in, and Dick yawned again, wincing at the audible _creak_ of his neck. He'd been on call for almost twenty eight hours, and now his eyes were closing, succumbing to the darkness, when something loud and fiddly jolted him awake again, and he cursed ungainly, hissing.

"For fuck's sake." Dick swore to himself, throwing back the covers as he grumbled.

The sound was coming from the window.

Damian? Sneaking off on patrol, _again_? Dick promised himself not to cover for the kid again, but this was _Damian_ , his baby brother, all round cheeks and haughty eyes, so _cute_. Damian had a key to his place, and yet insisted on stealth and darkness, like Batman, and it made Dick's eyes roll.

With a yawn, he shuffled towards the window, eyes bleary. "Little D, I don't know how many times I have to tell you-"

The figure didn't move.

Dick froze.

Thin, well, lean now. Grey sweats, Dark hoodie. And those eyes, eyes he'd cried over fervently, terrified of losing-

" _Tim_?" Dick whispered, half disbelieving.

"What's with the locks, Dick?" The voice tried to be light-hearted, snarky, but it came out wrong, strangled, too forced, and Dick's chest clutched painfully. He moved almost desperately towards the window, cursing stupid locks and fail safes, finally undoing the latch, and _Tim_ , blessed Tim, was now standing inside his apartment, hair falling from his bun, hands all twisty and fidgety.

"I-" Dick suddenly remembered last week's revelation, the truth, and the hurt came flooding back, embarrassment as his failures mixed with shame, his giant shortcomings magnified in the light of the Manor gardens, but before he could react, plaster on a false smile to hide it all, mask how deeply Tim's words had affected him, the boy in question moved and _hugged_ him, tight across the chest, and Dick's brain, it-it just-

short-circuited.

Tim, Timmy of the land down Timbers, was _hugging_ him, and for a few, long moments, Dick stood there, lost for words, until his mind whispered at him to hug back, hug and hold and _never let go_ , and so-

Dick did just that.

Held his brother close to his chest, and rested his chin atop his hair.

But the strangest thing wasn't his state of undress, halfway decent, nor the fact that they were pretty motionless in near pitch black darkness, not his chest that kept stuttering, re-starting, not Tim who was deathly silent, bony hands digging into his back, not Dick who counted every of Tim's breaths to his own, warm and alive, precious little brother - 

it was that the silence was _right_.

Not quite forgiving, mind you, but certainly.... _reminding_ , that amidst the hurt, the confusion, all that pent up uncertainty - the _love_ was still there, even if it did feel otherwise - and for the first time, Dick _understood_ why Tim could be so frustrated at him, Jason too, when he'd been around - that that his propensity for talk and action and movement made him blind to unappreciating the little things, small gifts that could be silence, contemplation, and Dick buried his nose in Tim's hair, baby shampoo dusting his senses.

"Bed." Tim's voice was muffled, so young, and Dick smiled at the sound.

He'd missed the owner so, _so_ much.

Letting go, Dick watched as Tim made his way over to his bed, tucking himself in comfortably, and less than a minute later, the boy was fast asleep, features delicate and hair trailing across his face. As quiet as can be, Dick moved over to the empty side of the bed, bringing the boy as close as he possibly could, and Tim latched on, curling into his chest like a baby koala.

"I'm so sorry, Tim. I've failed you, in so many ways and I...I can't believe how much I've hurt you." Dick whispered, eyes heavy from something other than tiredness altogether.

The boy in question cracked an eye open, and then the other, and in the darkness, two sets of blue eyes gazed back at the other.

"You haven't failed me." Tim answered slowly, and now he propped himself up on the pillow with an elbow. He stretched out a finger and poked his brother hard on the chest. "We've been distant, and bad at communicating, but never, _ever_ , in your life, say that again. I don't think its even _in_ you to do such a thing. Even at our most....separate, I've always known you cared. Might not have _felt_ that way many times, but deep down, I always knew."

Dick's eyelids were hot, and he turned his face into the pillow for a moment, voice pained. "I've been so- _I'm scared that I'm gonna lose you_ , Timmy. That one day, I'll wake up, and you're no longer there. That I-I won't ever see you again, or-or-and _that terrifies me_ , it does."

Tim stilled, listening to Dick, who seemed to be pouring it all out now, breath hitching. "I see the mistakes, I see you drifting and feeling like an outsider, and it feels like whatever I do, no matter how-how hard I try and piece it back together, it-it all falls apart Tim and I _can't_ , I _can't_ lose you, so please, baby brother, _please_ tell me what it is to stop all this from happening, to stop me losing you-"

In response, Tim wrapped himself across Dick's chest, allowing the older man to cradle him. "I swear, on my life Dick, you're not gonna lose me. I _promise_."

Dick still cried, and Tim simply held the man, as if all the holding on in the world was enough to transmit the love he held for his brother.

"I'm sorry you had to hear those things." Tim spoke after a while, voice pained. "I...I didn't mean to hurt you, not like that."

"But it was true, wasn't it?" Dick's voice was low, dejected, and Tim took hold of his hand, squeezing it. "Dick, look at me."

Dick inhaled shakily, attempting to wipe his face, but the movement was clumsy, fine tremors across his frame, and so Tim reached up and took care of the matter himself, promoting a small, shy smile from his brother. "I won't lie to you - _yes_ I meant those things."

Dick nodded, but the hurt was all over his face. "But you didn't want me to know about it."

"That's right."

Dick turned away, but Tim wouldn't let him. "I'm not finished. Yes, it was true, I do feel that way. Yes, you were never supposed to know, because I knew it would hurt you, you'd get upset, and I'd hate myself for it. _But_ \- Tim paused now, prompting Dick to look at him. "if we're gonna tackle our little situation, then the first step is owning up to this shit. Laying the cards out on the table. When you came round to Jason's, you mentioned how much I keep to myself, keep it all in, not talking, and you feel as though you can't reach me, neither can you try and figure out what's wrong because I don't tell you. That's something I'm gonna have to work on. What else?"

Dick looked hesitant, but Tim narrowed his eyes. "We'll sleep after. _What. else?_ "

A long pause, with Dick searching his eyes, and then the older man looked away, up towards the ceiling. "It....seeing you with Jason. How close you guys are. It makes me-" Dick clenched the bedsheet with both fists, but Tim remained quiet, watching. "I dunno." The older man's jaw was tight. "Its a mixture of jealously, that he's so close with you and I'm not, that he knows you better than I do. Frustration, because he's connected to you in a way that I'm _not_ , or that I used to be but am not right now. Anger, because _why him_ , _Jason_ , of all people. Hurt, because for you to have sought out a...stranger, enemy, at one point, meant that we'd royally fucked up in making you feel safe and loved, _wanted_ , and that's on all of us. And...a little regretful, that I didnt put as much effort into Jason and our relationship as I have with ours. That perhaps if I'd just....seen him as a younger brother too, not focused so much on out-screaming Bruce, Jason in the middle, -m-maybe things would have been _different_. Maybe he wouldn't have felt so...you know, if only he'd felt like he'd belonged right from the get go, accepted and big-brother approved."

Tim said nothing, digesting the information slowly, and then spoke a moment later.

"Would you - if you had the chance to reach out, to...try and start from somewhere with Jay, would you be willing to do it?"

A pause.

"I-"

Another pause.

"I'm not sure." Dick answered at last. "I...There's a lot of bad blood between us. A lot. Mistakes on both parts, mine especially. I wouldn't even know where to begin, but if there was a chance - not based on previous attempts, but from where he is now?" Dick's voice was strained. "Honestly, I'm...I'm _not_ for it, not really. From the little I've seen Jason appears to have done really well away, apart, and despite everything, all the mess, that he was once part of this family - for that sake, then I am at least somewhat relieved that he's doing okay. Well, and stable, by the looks of it, and I...I don't wish to disturb any of that."

It was a good answer. Very measured, very careful, but on the whole, a good response, and Tim let the air grow quiet for a few minutes, listening to the _thump_ of a heart against his own.

He delivered a nudge to Dick's arm encouraged the man to continue, and his brother did. 

"Damian's another issue on its own. I...When he first arrived, I know what he was like. Remembered the distrust, how on edge he was, the mini-assassin he'd been trained to be. I..I just wanted him to feel _loved_ , the way I love you, the way Bruce loves you. I wanted the kid to feel that, that his presence wasn't a burden, an obligation, not any of that. That we didn't have any expectations of him, from him, just that he _find_ and _be_ himself. I wanted to be his big brother, you too, but never-" Dick swallowed. "Never did I think things would turn out so differently. At first, I thought the antagonism towards you was just Damian trying to find his place in the family, his footing, maybe a little intimidated at how comfortable and set and loved you were and _are_. But the...the attacks, they worsened. Didn't stop, even after all the explaining, that you were both mine, my little brothers, Bruce's sons and I-...part of me realised, I think, that something needed to be done, but I was just so _afraid_ , afraid of losing Damian. Afraid that he see it- us saying _no_ and putting our feet down- as a rejection of him for him, favoritism in your favour, and that we'd lose him, _again_ , and I...I told myself, if I could just _reach_ him, for you to tolerate just a little longer, then it would be okay. I-I assumed you'd understand; you would see what I was trying to do, that Damian's antogonism came from a place of feeling interior, threatened, and wouldn't hold it against him too much." 

"But - that was the problem. It always has been, I've thought about it a lot, in retrospect. I assumed. Never asked. Never clarified. Just believed it without any real talk or discussion behind it all, the why, the impact, and as a result, didn't fully realise how much you'd been affected until a while ago. And the-the worse things became, the more desperate I was to fix it, to hold you close, keep you by me and not get away, and I-I resorted to default - the smiles, plastering over the cracks, pretending, if you wanna call it that - that everything was fine, alright, fixable, a minor blip in the road, but it wasn't _true_ , and the longer I tried to deceive myself, the more I could see you slipping away, distancing yourself, and I-I became worse, desperate, so...couldn't sleep, nightmares of you leaving, being left alone, and I." Tears had begun to leak from Dick's eyes, but this time, Tim made no move to wipe them away.

Dick was properly opening up to him, and it _hurt_. Hurt that as valid as his own feelings were, well, so were Dick's.

And if only they'd practiced the art of communication, then it was likely things wouldn't have escalated so badly, a family whose edges frayed precariously.

Tim found that he couldn't speak for a long time, words lost on his tongue. "You persuaded Damian to make amends."

A tiny huff could be heard from above him. "Yeah. After months of trying, the kid realised how mistaken he'd been and I was over the _moon_ when D finally admitted that he'd behaved unkindly. But I...again, I assumed. Din't think. Damian went in believing you'd just...forget, about the last several months, after near daily fighting and all that. I..I didn't make it clear that its not just one effort and that's it - he went in with that mindset, and I-Tim, honestly, I don't blame you for reacting the way you did. Any sane person would, after what you endured."

Tim looked away. 

Talking about Damian was proving to be a lot harder than he'd thought, and Dick seemed to understand, running a gentle hand through his hair.

"Can I make you promise?" Dick spoke quietly after a while, the voice young yet determined, and Tim stilled against him, curious.

"Sure."

Dick's huff was amused at his apparent confusion but the man continued nonetheless. "I...No matter how bad it gets, we never give up on each other. Call it frustration, hurt, pride, whatever - I can't lose you Tim, not now, not _ever_ \- I'd rather-I'd rather _d_.... _We don't give up on each other, never ever._ "

Tim read the second meaning: Dick had given up on Jason, Jason who never really knew Dick, who had considered him a stranger, even as a young boy. Bruce, who'd given up on Jason, too much and too late, and the truth was _bitter_.

Dick didn't want the same thing to happen between himself and Tim, and Tim closed his eyes, both deeply touched at his brother's heartfelt desire to never let bad blood soil their relationship permanently, and an unfairness on Jason's behalf, Jason who might have benefited from a _family_ , an older brother like _Dick_ who would and _should_ have doted on him, protected him.

It wasn't fucking _fair_.

"I promise. I p- _I swear_ , Dick."

A kiss to his head was all that was said in response, and the two of them fell asleep curled against the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note (I'll make a separate Author's note in the chapter's themselves, just giving you a little heads up):
> 
> After the next chapter or two, I'm gonna take a short break, since I have my finals in May and want to use my Saturdays (my writing days) to do some work. By the middle of May, I'll be finished, and I'll take a one week/two week break to catch up on sleep and decent rest! This break will also coincide with the story too, with Jason in a new setting, no longer on the Island with Talia! Guess! (: 
> 
> Just letting you guys know, I will of course continue with the story, hate leaving things unfinished! I plan for the whole saga to be completely finished by the beginning of August, I'll have _plenty_ of time after exams (ie between May and August) to update more frequently, about three chapters a week minimum, sometimes a little more.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	57. Die to fear, my boy, and live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's time at the Island comes to an end. Alfred takes matters into his own hands. A strange turn of events sees Jason in a new environment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English to Arabic translations:
> 
> أفضل = better
> 
> عربيك هو أتروسيوس = Your Arabic is atrocious.
> 
> المعلم الصغير = young Master.
> 
> لا اريد= I will not.
> 
> للقيام بذلك يعني أنني قد تخلى = To do so means I have given up
> 
> ابني. أنا فخور بك. = My son. I am very proud of you.
> 
> أعز قلب منجم = dearest heart of mine.
> 
> ولدي = my boy.

"Left, swing out leg, block, turn by thirty, follow through." Jason mentally willed himself, ignoring the taunting at the back of his mind.

His shirt was soaked through, his arm throbbed, and his eyes were red, sore, but Jason couldn't focus on those things now. Not the deep laceration on the back of his left shoulder, or thigh pulses that pulsed with strain.

He had to reach and rescue to target.

Target _N._

The same one he'd failed to meet the last four simulations, but today was going to be different. He could _feel_ it.

Jason ducked, bringing his arm back, and swung at his opponent, who crumpled with the force of the blow. A glint of metal at the corner of his eye before something sharp dug into his skin, searing and hot, and Jason swallowed a scream, opting to grit his teeth instead. One step to the right, twist, flip, follow through, and another assailant in black was sprawled on the floor, unconscious. But there was no time to rest, not with another three at his peripheries, two up ahead, and Jason focused now, jaw clenched, bracing his abdomen against blows, before delivering a few on his own, the _rage_ that bubbled underneath, the timer, _03:54_ , the target which seemed impossibly far away in the mist of his stressors-

_03:20_

Jason cursed loudly. Ignoring the tension in his muscles, he propped himself up on a ledge, running at full speed, launching off the cliff with _whoosh_ , sweat and metallic iron dusting his senses, but the rope was cut, and Jason found himself plummeting to the ground, fast, _faster_ , and the panic- it _caught_ in his throat, gasping, struggling, until in his dotted haze, Jason reached out blindly, a _ledge_ , but his foot got caught in a web of vines instead, tangled and deceitful, and Jason _slammed_ back against the underside of the cliff, upside down, an audible crack, and he _screamed_.

_02:44_

Jason took a moment to close his eyes.

 _N_ was no more than a few hundred metres ahead.

The pain was intense, a pounding against his head, calves that screamed in protest as they tensed to support heavy musculature. Already, he was becoming lightheaded, and there were still fucking people after him, these pricks who just wouldn't leave him the _fuck_ alone-

"Jay, you can do this. You're nearly there." 

Across the comms, Shayera's tone was low, urging, and Jason nodded, the action heavy, forcing back the frustration as he forced himself to _think_ , to calm down, ignore that Pit _bitch_ , the screams of young children in his ears, big eyes that watered, faces that lost hope as he failed-

"Two minutes." Talia betrayed no emotion in her voice, cold, and Jason shook himself awake, not to drift into sleep from the blood loss.

He patted his pockets, slipping out the curved blade Talia had gifted him a few years back, the same one Ducra had given to her when she'd completed the hell that was the _All-Caste_. With a grunt, Jason began to saw through the vines, ignoring how his hand slipped now and again with nerves, adrenaline, the drops of blood that soaked with the torn leather across his palms. Finally free, Jason allowed himself to free fall for a few seconds, snagging onto a stray piece of rope and used the fall to rotate himself upright. An assailant barely visible behind a rock leapt at him, but Jason used two feet to plant himself momentarily on the man's shoulders, and pushed off to send him back on a level plain.

_01:38_

Jason narrowed his eyes and ran now, arms moving mechanically-

_01:07_

-cutting and ducking, bandanna now black with sweat and blood. A strike here, a fist and choke there, _good_ , headlock and over the shoulder-

_00:46_

Up ahead, Jason could _see_ the shack, the golden "N" plaque nailed to a totem pole that stood a little in front of the house, and for the first time in days, Jason smiled now, heart somewhat light, because he was there, nearly, so close he could taste it, previous failures aside-

_00:29_

-and in the moment, relief that his efforts were finally, _finally_ paying off, Jason failed to notice the shadows moving a little to the right-

_00:17_

-a black mass that took form, that _hurled_ himself at him, and as Jason reached the clearing of the shack, a patch of green, he found himself connecting with something heavy, solid, a _thump_ that knocked all breath from him, and Jason-

_00:11_

_flew_ threw the air, unable to fight against the momentum, landing with a crash-

_00:04_

a grounding into the mounds, dirt that emgulfed his face, suffocating, a small beeping that filled the air, his comms, and Jason, so _close_ , _almost_ , breakthrough tangible, face floor to the ground, exhausted, ribs on fire-

unleashed all manner of hell, skin flushed with rage, eyes luminous and unnatural, skin that crawled with shame, frustration, and Jason cursed to the heavens, voice raw and broken, all as Ubu sat next to him, not quite touching, but saying nothing either. Eyes on him, on his pitiful form, mouth firm, a silent rock, comms that too were silent, as if in mourning, till Jason eventually gave up from the fatigue, weary in his bones, and he shut his eyes, wanting nothing more than to disappear, wishing that he'd never been brought back in the first place, like this.

Jason coughed a little and rubbed his throat. It felt sore, for some reason. Some honey would do him some good. Maybe Di could bring over some Aetima stew later-

"أفضل". 

Jason jolted a little, surprised, but didn't turn his head to the bigger man.

"I failed." Jason let his head sink against the soft mounds, tired.

A beat of silence, and then Ubu spoke again, voice commanding. "You did, المعلم الصغير. Look."

Jason screwed his eyes for a moment, then obeyed. Turning his head slowly, Jason made to look at Ubu, only to find that the henchman _wasn't_ looking at him, but at the shack to the far side, whose sideprofile appeared thoughtful, considering, and Jason realised that he was supposed to look also.

So he did.

Propped himself up, against ribs that moved painfully, not that Ubu even gave him a second glance, but he did, and Jason, breathing heavily, sat up, shirt stained heavily, to see a red marker in the shape of a footprint, less than a metre from the totem pole, the one which held Target "N". His footprint, an indication of just how close he'd been, and Jason took in the scene, the air quiet.

" _Almost._ " Ubu's voice was firm, and yet held a touch of concern, and Jason huffed. He attempted to fold his arms across his chest, half ready to throw a tantrum, but the action only aggravated his injuries further, and Jason hissed in pain, cursing.

"عربيك هو أتروسيوس." Ubu smirked, and Jason held his tongue in retaliation, knowing that Ubu was showing the ounce of humanity he normally kept locked away in that huge fucking chest of his, seen only on the rarest of occasion. Usually the man either paid him no attention whatsoever, or outright scoffed at him, face mocking, even in Talia's presence. That Ubu was still here, not berating, yet not outright encouraging, was something indeed, and Jason forced down his irritation, recognising what Ubu was doing, what he didn't need to do, nor was expected from him, but did so anyway.

"Yeah, well, you try speaking a whole load of languages, big guy. Cut me some slack already." Jason knew his voice sounded childish but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. To his side, the dark profile grunted, and Jason realised with a startle that the sound was fond, at least for Ubu anyway, and he turned away, fighting down a laugh. 

It would never matter to Ubu that he'd grown, taller and stronger than he ever was - Ubu would always continue to see him as that tiny, malnourished, orphaned little shit who came to the League catatonic, unable to fend for himself, and even with that, stubborn and unyielding, even in the heat of his brutal training regime. Whether this irritated Ubu or proved a source of amusement, Jason couldn't tell, but the man was one of the very few Talia actually trusted, so that had to count for something. No doubt the man knew a hell of a lot, no matter the silent, dumb bodyguard he played to others, and Jason smiled to himself now, remembering the few times he'd tried to get on the man's nerves outside training, riling him up, following him, taunting, anatognsing, trying to get a reaction of any kind, but Ubu never played along, either stoic and marble rock, unfazed by his tantrums, or when a joke had been particularly creative, offering a less severe frown that the one usually reserved specially for Jason.

" _No._ " Ubu turned to look at him now, brown eyes sharp, and Jason found his gaze unsettling.

"لا اريد." Ubu paused, gaze boring into his own. "It means you are not worthy of all my Master has done for you, and all she considers you to be. Until she gives the order, then you shall continue, and should you fail, _continue_."

Jason swallowed, voice low, throat scratchy. "But this is the fifth time....I'm letting her down. _Me_ down. I-every time. I-"

Ubu stared at him, then looked away, voice cool. "I have not wasted all these years and efforts on something I believe to be hopeless. If you cannot see beyond momentary shortcomings, then you have proved us wrong, and Master will be gravely disappointed. Until then-" Ubu suddenly stood, Jason unable to hide his flinch at the speed and silence of the movement, Ubu whose voice had returned back to its normal self, deep and unaffected, and the large man's shadow loomed over him.

"Get up. Wash your face, and prepare yourself for the next simulation."

Jason looked away, face hot at the rebuke. Tears stung at his eyes, his throat felt tight, and he looked down at himself, at the bloodied hands.

Above him, Ubu stood, watching, but made no effort to comfort him.

Jason opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again, Ubu's words sinking in.

Since they're weren't giving upon him, Jason therefore had no right to give up on _himself_ , and the realisation caused him to stand, legs strained, a little unsteady, but still, Jason stood, Ubu waiting, and finally braced his shoulders, looking up at Ubu, far taller than himself, Ubu who hadn't looked away, mouth firm, before a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder.

Jason's eyes widened, but words failed him, and so he remained there, Ubu's hand on his shoulder. 

"Ra's said you were a lost cause. Do not prove him right, طفل."

A soft squeeze, and then Ubu was gone, feet soundless in the clearing.

 

 

A while later, as they watched Jason progress through the simulation, Shayera with a sandwich in hand, reading from the screen on far side of the room, Talia sipping her tea, Ubu came to stand by the woman's side.

"I always knew you liked him." Talia blew on her tea, the cup brought to her lips, hiding the small smirk.

Ubu grunted, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the boy. "You are mistaken, Master. I find him irritating and childish. A nuisance back then and even now."

Talia chuckled quietly."He ate your pastries this morning, didn't he?"

Ubu let a pained expression cross his face briefly before settling into neutral distaste. "The boy fails to respect boundaries."

"He wants a reaction out of you, Ubu. Jason always has - even...from the beginning, he would follow you, clearly curious. All the other tutors let their displeasure known but not _you_ , Ubu. No matter what he did, you never gave him the satisfaction."

Ubu held back a satisfied smile, only shifting in posture, but they both knew what it meant.

Fondness for the boy, at least a distant one, anyway. 

After all, Ubu had been the only one save Talia who was trusted to look after Jason, aware of his whereabouts. Who was there in the background, guarding the private quarters outside as Jason was tormented through nightmares, terrors that whispered to him in the mind, hateful and taunting. Who kept tabs on Jason's escapades and missions from afar, reporting back to Talia. Who included Tim on such oversight, now and again on his solitary patrols as Red Robin. 

Ubu was an important fixture in Jason's life, whether both wanted to admit it or otherwise, and the fact brought a knowing smile to Talia's face, resting a light hand on Ubu's arm.

"Thank you, loyal friend."

Ubu bowed his head, opting to keep quiet silent, but the softening at the corners of his eyes indicated he understood, and the two of them remained in companionable silence for a long while, commenting on Jason's progress every now and again, Jason who seemed somewhat strengthened by Ubu's stoic encouragement.

 _My son_ , Talia thought to herself, eyes bright with pride, as Jason's whooping filled the comms an hour later.

 

 

_Gotham South._

Alfred glanced in the mirror of his young charge before looking at the road again.

"Is everything alright, Master Damian?"

The child in question looked at him once staring outside the window. "I am fine thank you, Pennyworth."

Firm but quiet, devoid with the usual haughty undercurrent, and Alfred nodded once before sighing, albeit silent.

It had been a few weeks since Master Timothy's last visit to the Manor, a tense, fraught exchange, and Alfred had watched the young boy leave in a hurry, agitated, a distraught look across his face. The rest of his charges re-entered the party separately; Bruce first, pale, somber looking, excusing himself to the main house, followed by Richard and Damian a few minutes later, Richard whose eyes were awfully red, swollen, clearly from crying, Damian who looked equally furious and frustrated in parts, growling at anyone who dared glance in their way, stuck firmly to his elder brother's side. Richard had looked at him then, sad, broken-hearted, and Alfred knew it was his cue, time to round up their guests and shepherd them home, polite dismissals ready on his tongue. Alfred could barely orchestrate the closing down of the gala fast enough; directing waiters, cleaners and other service staff, all whilst Richard sat in the corner, small, eyes on the floor, hands clasped. Damian had disappeared, no doubt to his room, under the covers, curled into Titus. It was only after the catering team had left, room tidied, empty, that Alfred approached the young Master, Richard who didn't even look up as he approached, Alfred who came to a stop in front of the man, reaching a hand to place on his shoulder but the man over took him, leaping up to hug him with all his might, and Richard had burst into tears, absolutely dissolving in his embrace, holding him as tight as he could, voice strained as he wept over Timothy, a brother he loved more than possible, than himself, who was here but not quite, present but so far, so unreachable, and Alfred had simply held Richard, listening quietly, that somehow, Tim didn't love his brother, didn't feel loved by the rest of them, felt he was a burden, an obligation of some sort, and Alfred's chest had felt hollow on hearing the admission. Dick had left the Manor that night saddened far greater than words could express, head low, movements slow.

Bruce hadn't come down for the rest of that evening, and neither had Damian. 

Breakfast the next morning saw the youngest boy at the table, a quiet, forlorn voice, half the plate untouched before leaving the table, air silent.

Bruce had left for work without so much as a stir, and despite Alfred's best efforts, the man refused to open up to him.

That week had continued in the same manner. Dinners were a quiet affair, eaten almost mechanically, and Alfred knew then, by the fourth evening, that something needed to be done, and Alfred had sat in his private study, thinking. Master Bruce and Timothy were very similar; both analytical, shying away from feelings. Getting them to talk therefore would require something an unusual, away from what they found familiar - environment, routine, and Alfred found himself calling Jason that night, his second eldest, the voice that cried on hearing him, tears of his own dripping onto his sheets, listening to the boy talk about all he'd been up to. Jason came to the topic of Timothy eventually - the boy had apparently been less vocal than usual, conversations rather flat between them, and Jason wanted to know _why_ , what, and better yet, _who_ had upset his little brother.

So Alfred told him everything.

 _Everything_ , including Bruce's reaction on hearing Jason was to go with Talia, back in Bolivia. 

What Bruce had said to Timothy, their altercation at WE, the gala, _all_ of it.

The tension, unspoken in heavy silences, and Jason had listened over the phone in near deathly silence, not interrupting once.

At the end, Alfred had spoken then, advising Jason not to react towards Bruce, a man - no, _Father_ who'd taken the news of his son's departure badly, who'd reacted to another son _very_ badly, who was _struggling_ , lashing out, who felt deeply remorseful now in retrospect, whose feelings were valid, mind you, who was trying to hold himself and his family together but feeling inept, unable, close to breaking down, Tim who was far more distant than ever, and for the first time in all the years Alfred had known Jason-

the man hadn't uttered a single retort.

Not a scoff, or laugh, a snigger or mocking tone, nothing cruel or spiteful. Yes, the anger was there, anger at Timothy's treatment, but Jason had shown a level of understanding far beyond his years, why Bruce had reacted as such, Timothy's point of view, and Alfred had told the man, there and then, that he was _proud_ of him, his maturity, that he could sit and listen without reacting, even with all the complexity that was Bruce and their _history_ , and Alfred could practically hear the blushed _smile_ in Jason's voice over the phone. They had come up with a plan - Tim going to the Island, Bruce paying them a visit, a chance for himself and his son to talk, away from Gotham, capes and responsibilities, to be _themselves_. Dick was another matter entirely; Jason excused himself from helping, that he'd made it clear that his relationship with Tim was to be separate from Richard's own with their younger brother and vice versa, to which Alfred accepted without fuss, nodding in understanding. Dick and Tim would not require that much of an intervention, if necessary - the two loved each other dearly, even if their relationship was strained at present, and Alfred knew that the two boys would talk in private sooner or later.

Damian was even more of a difficult subject to broach, and Alfred, now aware that Jason had somewhat knew the boy as a child during his League years, a time Jason found very difficult to discuss, apart from the barest minimum, along with the tension the two boys shared, ultimately ending in Jason shooting Damian in the chest, decided not to approach the topic. Neither Tim nor Damian would take direct intervention well; forcing Tim to stay at the Manor would be cruel for the boy, knowing the awkwardness he expressed whenever he was around the family, and Damian Alfred knew would throw out barbs sooner or later, anatognsing Tim in the process. Outside the family, Alfred had to admit - there was the little the boys shared in terms of hobbies. Tim preferred photography, music, whilst Damian favoured art, classic literature, and animals. Neither was WE anything to consider - already, Damian's claim to the empire was clearly at odds with Tim as Vice President, Tim who was the likeliest to take over WE out of all the boys, despite Damian's assertions.

But Damian _did_ have the capacity for growth - the capacity to show maturity, understanding, tolerance, even with all the insisting and beliefs that he was the sole, true heir - Damian had accepted Richard as his brother, openly favoured, and Alfred believed that with a little... _encouragement_ , put it that way, Damian and Tim could share a tolerance for the other, begrudgingly, at least not to harm the other, and such attacks hadn't been implemented in quite a while. Damian had tried to make amends, a few months back, a bridging of some sort, and Richard and himself had watched Tim rebuff every of Damian's attempts to reach out, Tim whose tone was full of venom, suspicious and guarded, who'd apparently given Damian a hell of a time at WE that one and only visit, and it broke Alfred's heart on seeing the... _hatred_ on Tim's face, fleeting before masking into a neutral expression whenever Damian was in the same vicinity, Damian whose eyes flickered with hurt as Tim rejected each and every one of his advances, attempts to make peace, to find common ground, eyes that seemed to sting alive with the insults before cooling somewhat, watching Tim walk away time and time again.

No. The two were brothers, a _family_ , _his_ family, and Alfred was no longer going to sit back and allow those he loved most to fall apart. 

Out of respect for Bruce, and his position, Alfred had remained back, watching Damian's integration into the family, Dick's attempts at welcoming him. He had, of course, taken note of Damian's antagonism towards Tim, insecure and feeling as an outsider, Tim who had reacted badly towards an unknown who disliked him so, and all the while, Alfred had held back, held his tongue, waiting for Bruce to step up, to put his foot down, to make it known that both boys were his, his _sons_ , here to stay forever, but Bruce had failed in this endeavor, likely a willingness not make Damian any more uncomfortable than he already was, assuming Tim's good nature would allow him to withstand the attacks without holding a grudge, tolerating, leaving the task to Dick, who had clearly found himself in the same position as Bruce. If only Dick had shown the same zeal towards the two as for _Jason_ , then things might have turned out differently, if only-

"Pennyworth, how much longer? I am rather uncomfortable in this stupid seat."

Alfred was drawn out of his thoughts by the young voice, and he raised an eyebrow, glancing in the rear view mirror to Damian, who was most certainly irritated, mouth tense, arms folded across his chest, and Alfred fought to keep a smile from appearing on his face. The boy was short for his age, as his Father had been, and the law required children below a certain minimum height to use _booster_ seats in vehicles, a fact that was apparently a "slight of the gravest magnitude" to young Master Damian, who'd reacted with white-hot fury at the news, Tim who'd laughed himself silly to tears on seeing the instrument that was to be his pride and joy of entertainment. Richard had tried to console Damian but to no avail, a smile at the corners, Bruce who'd kept his face carefully neutral but Alfred had seen the full blown smile behind his large coffee mug, "World's Greatest Papa bear!", courtesy of a ten-year old Richard.

A few muttered curses, Arabic most lightly, and Alfred coughed to get the boy's attention. Damian blushed, but the curses drew to a halt.

"We are here, Master Damian."

The boy was already reaching across to free himself, but a severe _look_ thrown in his direction had him abandoning the movement, opting to glare outside instead. 

"At least allow me the honor of parking the car. The law is the _law_ , after all."

"It's a _stupid_ law, designed to humiliate and subdue unwitting children of limited intelligence, and I shall have no part in it." The child grumbled.

"As long as you remain under my roof and in my care, then I'm afraid you shall have _every_ part in it, regardless of intelligence. Or would you rather your Father be sent to prison for negligence?"

"Batman, sent to prison? Don't be _absurd_ Pennyworth-"

Alfred's eye twitched, and Damian looked away, muttering angrily, his debate put on hold.

For now, anyway.

A few moments later, car now parked, Damian was already halfway towards the entrance of the field, satchel strewn across his shoulders, and Alfred let him go, watching. He'd given the boy explicit instructions on both arrival and departure time from the Orojo exhibit and Lekpa Art and literature festival (Oro-Pa), a means of space, a break from the tension in the Manor. The festival was an extremely popular one, tickets nearly always sold out within minutes, and Alfred had stayed up late with Damian several weeks earlier, ready to purchase tickets as soon as midnight struck. Richard was supposed to have accompanied Damian on the trip, but a change to work commitments at the last minute meant that Richard could no longer go as planned. Since Bruce had work, Damian had asked him to come, stoic, but the hope in his eyes was told Alfred how much the boy wanted this, to go, and he couldn't disappoint the boy.

It was interesting, then, that this popular festival, Oro-Pa, also happened to be one of _Timothy's_ favourites, Tim who'd so far attended for the past three years in a row, without fail. If only the two boys talked to the other, they would have found a common interest, something they could discuss away from family standing and vigilantism, and Alfred smiled to himself as Damian sped ahead, looking out for Tim, who would either be alone or with one or two others who shared similar interests. An all day event, it was best to arrive at the very start, to see all that could be seen, ready for the evening performance, which was usually spectacular, garnering many "likes" or so on social media - that's what Master Timothy said, anyway, and Alfred wanted to see it all for himself. So he hung back, taking his time through various exhibits, displays, readings, admiring, noting things down, when after two hours, Alfred spotted his third grandson, Timothy, near the front of one piece of photography, a flock of eagles mid-flight, and Timothy was there, studying the details, when from the opposite side of the room, _Damian_ appeared, nose buried in his sketchbook, and now Alfred settled against a back wall, watching to see what would happen next, drink in hand.

 

 

Damian was noting down a few topics of interest as he walked, ignoring the bumblings of patrons who walked past, too self-absorbed to pay attention to their surroundings. Satisfied with the pieces he was to research later, Damian looked up, tucking his sketchbook under the crook of his arm, and made his way slowly round the exhibit, studying fine lines, blurred shading, until he came to one startling piece, a photo of a flock of eagles mid flight, wings sharp and proud, their flight streamed as a white underpass across a grey skyline, and Damian took in the scene, the beauty that could be so plain at the same time, and wanting to know more, moved a little to the left, where the podium and plaque lay. In doing so, he caught sight of the person nearest to him, baseball cap on, shoulder length hair, checkered shirt, a logo or some other on the T-shirt, jeans and sneakers. Similar to many of the other young people in here, those who believed they looked "cool" with odd hats and strangely assorted outfits put together, lingo nonsensical as they _oohed_ and _ahhed_ over intersectionality and post-war feminism juxtaposed with socio-economic changes of the late 19th century, or whatever, Damian tuned them out. He would have ignored the person except there was something oddly _familiar_ about him, his stance, the way his eyebrows furrowed as he took a photo through his camera, and Damian looked closely now, the man- _no_ , teen, putting down the camera, and then-

 _Drake_ came into focus, tongue out to the side as he flicked through the camera, eyes narrowed in concentration, and Damian _froze_ , rock still, breathing slow, that this was _Drake_ \- of all people, Drake! Here! In this exhibit! Next to _him_! and Damian turned his head minutely, hoping he hadn't been spotted, eyes darting towards the entrance, when D- _Drake_ -

 _Looked. up_ -

and _caught his eye_.

For a long, _too long_ moment, it seemed as if all life had halted to a stop.

Damian watched Drake's eyes widen, the confusion, then realisation as it _dawned_ on him, his lips parting, mouth ajar, skin flushing, the step back he took in surprise, the voice high - " _Damian?_ ", shocked, and Damian, masking his own surprise, struggled to keep his voice under control, swallowing.

"Drake."

Neither said anything, only to stare at the other.

Asking meant admitting the other cared, and neither was about to damage their pride for such a thing.

Drake looked thin. Well, not _that_ thin, as before, when a gust of wind could have blown him away. He looked a little fuller in the cheek area, veins not so prominent at his hands and wrist, thin but a little more, _lean_ , that was it. Relaxed, clearly caught off guard, judging by the outfit. Very surprised, unexpected, and the longer they stood there, Damian saw how Tim's once...shock had now turned into _discomfort_ , palpable, eyes darting away, then at him, then to the side, the floor, the throat that seemed tight, constricted, fingers beginning to lock, unlock, twist, that flush at the next-

Drake was _nervous_.

Unsure.

Away from the suit, sharp and fitted, the cool, biting voice, eyes sarcastic and cutting-

Damian once again found himself looking at this Timothy Drake, another layer of the onion, whatever the expression was -afraid, just as he saw in the hospital that day with Ja- _Hood_ , another layer, another side, and for some reason, it bothered him. Bothered him that Drake could be so...like _this_ , when he'd seen the man, with _Hood_. Another side completely, carefree, eyes bright and laughing, sarcastic, quips back and forth, and yet, not long ago, Damian would have celebrated in being the cause of such a change, such _uncertainty_ , _fear_ , even, but now, looking at Drake, like this, the joy... _wasn't_ there. Not after the last time the boy had been at the Manor, how distressed he seemed, as if fighting against himself, believing that he was unloved, unwanted, a burden, so _sure_ too, the _Yes_ that had interrupted Grayson's line of questioning, firm and unwavering, and the way Drake had shut his eyes afterwards, as if berating himself for admitting what he felt. Father who looked _terrified_ , trying to reach for Drake, Grayson who looked dejected. Drake's eyes, big and watering, voice and pitch all over the place, trembling - on the edge of a nervous breakdown, that was it, and Damian had been unable to get that image out from his mind for the rest of that night. It had troubled him greatly, though he loathed to admit it, and after a while, Damian had realised just _why_ that was - it was because at that precise moment, with Drake agitated and on edge, the older boy reminded Damian very much of Ja- _Hood_ , the _Hood_ , who behaved the same when caught unaware, half mumbling half shouting, arguing with himself, his thoughts, who seemingly waned to go right but couldn't help turning left, and the contrast fitted as one.

"We'll I-I'll be off-" Drake suddenly blurted out, and Damian imaged he could hear a little panic in the tone.

The older boy shook himself to life, eyes darting back and forth, swallowing, beginning to swing his camera round his neck, and whether it was a slip of the tongue, a...reach, something, of some sorts, Damian would never know, but what he blurted out next had the _both_ of them surprised, and Tim clearly reeling.

"Who is the photographer?"

The air went still.

Damian had no idea why he'd asked that - his answer would clearly be detailed on the plaque by his right, along with where the photo was taken, why, and what it could possibly represent. Why, therefore, he had asked _Drake_ such a question - Damian had no idea.

But it was out now, and now that it was, it seemed as though the response next would determine the weight of the next move, who or what would break, and so Damian waited, waited as Tim seemed so _lost_ for words, internally scrambling, eyes that seemed to search his, until a-

"I...I don't know, actually."

That was unexpected. 

Damian was a little taken aback by the response, and so he nodded, the action slow. Even Tim seemed...shaken, as if wondering why he himself didn't know.

"Shoul- we can find out." Damian swallowed, and eyes finally leaving Drake, moved towards the plaque, but his attention was nowhere near on the information, neatly written, but on _Drake_ , who stared at him wide-eyed, then the plaque, then darting once towards the exits, before Damian made the decision before him, reading the name out aloud.

"Eric Defoe. 1998. Near the Namibian border."

"...Huh." The voice was strangely flat, and Damian darted his eyes to Drake, whose were on him, and they looked at each other, waiting, wondering.

Damian kept reading. Why he didn't- he should have _left_ already, walked in the opposite direction. Made a remark or three, scoffed, and left the pitiful boy to his own devices, ignoring the other for the rest of the day. He _should_ have, after the way Drake treated him, Drake who clearly had no intentions of-of wanting to make amends, Drake who had spat in his face, made fun of his efforts, and Damian felt his chest harden now, voice growing bitter, cold, something like steel in his throat, and he straightened now, remembering who this was - Drake, _sheep in wolf's clothing_ , his minded helpfully supplied, and he shifted, positioning himself, a dirty look across his face-

"Na-Namibian border, tha-that's unusual."

It was Damian's turn to stop, and _stare_ , heat and rage caught in his chest, fists already clenched, as Drake moved to him, close enough to stand side by side, that Damian could smell the baby shampoo, light cologne, could read the name badge on the top left corner of his shirt, _Timothy Drake_ \- no Wayne? - probably less distracting that way - and his brain, his brain seemed to have trouble coming up with something, moving, because Damian _stood_ there, looking at the red and green checked pattern, long, thin fingers that traced the plaque and her inscription, eyes that skimmed over the text, then the photograph, then at him, before reading again.

"Unusual?" Damian found himself eventually saying, and he swallowed, once, twice, and then again, mouth dry, but Drake seemed to tune out that fact, speaking more calmly now, tone almost... _friendly_ , and the sound was unnatural to him, because Damian had never heard such a thing directed to him from Drake, something bordering on _warm_ , and his chest felt tight.

"Yeah. It's weird, you see. I kinda-" Drake seemed to grow more interest, and moved in, enough that he stooped a little over Damian's head to read more of the text, and Damian made out a thin, charcoal grey chain around the man's neck, a a symbol, word - Damian couldn't make it out, not with the thing swinging back and forth like a pendulum, disappearing into the older boy's shirt. Drake had broken off from talking, and Damian knew that he was being watched, but why Drake had failed to comment - another mystery.

"There's more, from this guy. Photos and paintings. You cou-would you like to see them?" The voice was soft, a touch uncertain, and Damian found himself once more looking at this person, Drake, whom Father loved, Grayson cherished, Alfred's eyes spoke with pride, the same person with whom he'd fought, despised, made life hellish, and Damian looked away, a burning pressure at the back of his eye.

 _Olive Branch_. Something Grayson had explained, a term used to describe a state of reaching peace, neutrality, an "offer of reconciliation."

Drake waited patiently.

Did he want peace? Did Drake, truly? Was such a concept even possible between two warring persons, "brothers" but only in name, by law - 

could they? Tolerate, perhaps, but more- _more_ than that?

Did either of them even _want_ such a thing? When he had Grayson, and Drake _Hood_? And with the animosity between the two older men?

Damian looked at the exits. Three of them, the room not as crowded, clear paths to each.

All he had to do was to turn, and walk away. Turn his back, adjust his hold on the sketchbook, and walk away. Pretend that he'd never seen Drake, not here, and they'd ignore each other for the rest of the day, as if the other didn't exist.

 _Just walk away_.

It was easy, straightforward, required no effort, and that was that. 

Damian turned.

Adjusted his sketchbook.

Opened his mouth, waiting for the cruel dismissal to rise from his tongue.

And then he hesitated.

Damian tried again, to move, willing himself - _look, there is the door, just walk, you do not even have to say anything. Just move forwards, al Ghul. Wayne. Wayne, leave the impostor. Do not give in to his deceit, the lies, he will use you for your inheritance, Drake is the enemy, a-and_ -

Damian looked ahead, at the doors, people who came in with friends, laughing, pointing, cheery faces, and-

in the far side of the room, near the very corner-

stood _Pennyworth_.

Watching him, his eyes planted firmly on his, and Damian felt his breath catch in his throat. 

Did Drake know that- 

Possibly? - Had they _planned_ this? Pennyworth - did he-

 _Possibly_. The man was known for such a thing, interventions executed flawlessly.

Yet, Pennyworth hadn't moved from his position. His eyes were _still_ on him - not once had they flicked over his head to Drake, whose gaze bore holes into his back.

Drake was still silent behind him.

It was now or never, Damian realised, as he stood there, locked. That he and Drake could continue as they were, distant, foreign, never to share the same room. But then something came into Damian's mind, time spent with Pennyworth one day in the kitchen. The man was baking a cake, Damian was sat at the counter, homework in front of him, tea at the side. Pennyworth had mentioned something about a young pair of calloused hands who would have _loved_ this, Damian had almost let out a retort, but on seeing the man's eyes so shiny, lost in the memories, he'd paused. _Grayson_ had walked in, bounding to him, ready to humiliate him with his unbearable hugging, but on seeing Pennyworth, himself at the counter, the cake mix - the older man had stuttered to a sudden stop, eyes sad, and Damian had watched his elder brother's eyes flick to Pennyworth, then the bowl, then the corner of the kitchen, the small rack of aprons hanging, the little green one that Damian had seen many a time but never bothered to ask whose it _was_ , and it was only for a moment, but Grayson had this _look_ on his face. Pain, regret, remorse - it spread across his face, then his eyes, eyes which darted to Pennyworth before looking away, before Grayson had masked it all, plastering a big smile on his face, teeth gleaming, and the moment was over. Neither had Pennyworth said anything, and Damian had shrugged before turning to his work, rolling his eyes at the long arms that held him tightly across the chest, but now, as the memory came back to Damian, as he stood here, caught between leaving entirely and just...Damian realised the meaning behind Grayson's strange look, the shared look with Pennyworth.

 _If only_.

If only Grayson had treated Ja- _Hoo_ \- no, _Jason_ , the same as he did with himself, with Drake. With half the care, the concern, the _love_.

That maybe-maybe he-the man wouldn't have- but it was too late for them now. Not when a mixture of pain and hate, then regret, a touch remorse, would cross his brother's face whenever Jason's name was brought up, not Pennyworth who would turn away. That the two's relationship was non-existent, beyond repair, that no-one had seemingly stepped in to _make the effort_ , to _intervene_ -

Just like _now_ , with he an-and _Drake_.

Pennyworth, who didn't want to lose two more grandsons, who didn't want to see such a gulf, an impenetrable gap between two brothers, distant and growing further away until recognition became strange, difficult, and barest tolerance to dislike, then hatred, before worst of all, abject apathy and mutual indifference.

It was haunting, seeing Pennyworth looking at him like this, how the old man could see the same events replaying before his eyes, only with a younger generation instead, and for the first time ever, in all his training and what he knew, had been taught, drilled, set on him - Damian-

"Try and keep up, Drake. I don't have all day."

That was all he said, and turning his back on the exits, on his mind which screamed logic and reason, that he was being a _fool_ , foolish and immature, naive, that the _wolf will kill you, devour your flesh to pieces and wear as his own_ \- 

Damian strode forwards, cheeks flushed, leaving Drake at his beck, and missed the confused look the older boy threw to an empty clearing on the far side of the room.

 

 

 _A month later_.

Talia surveyed the staff once more before turning to Ubu. A short nod, and then she turned her attention to Jason, tall and strong, whose expression was a little sad at having to leave. Jason had completed almost three months in total of solid, intense training, in the midst of breakdowns and tearful outbursts, comforted and encouraged by people Talia would have otherwise laughed in their faces, people who surprised her by their thoughtfulness, calmness when Jason was in the throes of his madness, who helped keep her boy safe. Clark who held Jason through his cries, the tears as his body would shake before violently retching, Clark who would get on his knees and mop up the mess, wipe away the stains, Jason who tried to shy away, embarrassed but Clark who refused to let him withdraw, who told him stories about himself, his life, who made Jason _laugh_ , that mischievous chuckle that danced in the halls, that both Talia and Ubu had stopped to listen to once during a late evening meeting, smiling at each other knowingly. Diana who would clean him, every time without fail, who stretched muscles and listened as Jason admitted the hurts, the taunting of the voices, the man who became child as he led her by the hand through the gardens, alive, who would stare at them openly during dinner, the three of them, admiring, before blushing when caught, muttering about beautiful women he couldn't have, much to their amusement, Shayera who would treat him every now and again by taking him flying, and the whole island could hear Jason's whooping in the air as the birdwoman soared through mountain tops. All three League members had surpassed her expectations, and Talia, loathed to admit it, knew that without their help, Jason would not have recovered as much nor as soon as he now had.

And now, the time had come to let Jason go.

Neither wanted him to leave, Talia especially, but with her status, her responsibilities, and the watchful eye of Ra's, whom still harboured a great deal towards Jason and what he felt was a "waste" of the Pit's resources, following Jason's stubbornness and refusal to obey League orders, Jason's safety and well-being was of utmost importance. In addition, there was also the boy's work to consider. Talia, still not completely satisfied but knowing their time had run out, knew she had to let Jason go. Jason, who _itched_ to return to normalcy, but she managed to convince otherwise, to take another break, at least for a few weeks whilst he re-adjusted to living alone and dealing with the Pit in his civillian life. Jason was displeased but agreed in the end, to her silent relief, but Talia's worry remained.

Worry, that Jason wanted too much to fast, that though his skills were back normal, strength fully returned, and the Pit lessened - 

it wasn't all gone, that Jason was lulling himself into a state of false confidence, and it would take one - just one opportunity for Pit to retaliate against him even more than before, mocking his progress, unstable and not entirely predictable. Nightmares that could settle for a period of time, and then with the barest of triggers, appear once more, Jason who seemed to have forgotten how much he'd struggled with the Pit on his return to Gotham. Yes, that was largely due to his severe brain injuries and large Pit exposure, but still - the possibility was _there_ , and that was what Talia was worried about. 

But Jason wanted this. To live again, his house, to be in control, and past experience taught them that there was nothing more empowering than the ability to stand on one's own two _feet_ , and so Talia held back her concern, swallowed down maternal instinct, because of Jason, her son, and it would make him happy. Happy that he'd survived - relieved mostly, and what he wanted - that self-control, his own decisions - that was in Danver, not this Island, hidden away in secrecy.

"Ubu." Jason's loud voice drew Talia out of her musing, and she turned her attention to the scene, to Jason who stood in front of the henchman, a grin on his face, mischievous, and Ubu who looked rather unimpressed, face stoic. "No last words for ya boy, Sasquatch? Not even good luck, all the best, you've been great?"

Ubu's voice was flat. "You are a nuisance and an irritant. Please leave."

Jason laughed aloud, slapping Ubu's chest with one hand, missing the eye-roll the big man gave him, but Talia could see a tiny smirk at the corner of the man's mouth.

"You know what - it's something, and that's good enough." His laughter quietened. "Thank you, Ubu. I...I couldn't have done it without you. And not just this time around, either."

The three of them knew what he meant, and Ubu, catching Jason's eye, gave a short nod. "I have my orders from the Master."

Jason said nothing to that, but the softness of Ubu's tone indicated it was much more than that.

Ubu _cared_ , whether he liked it or not, and though he would certainly never admit it, not unless Jason's ego was to explode with _I knew it_ , Ubu respected the younger man. There were few who could survive such a past, the Pit, the Pit _again_ , and be determined to live.

"Right. Till...yeah, till next time I suppose." Jason's voice was tight, and he stepped back, turning towards Talia who stood by one of the jet's, amused. After a beat's hesitation, the younger man turned back towards Ubu and _threw_ his arm's around the big man's chest, as far as he could reach, and Ubu, who so easily could have flicked him off, remained standing, face masked, arms by his side. Talia saw how Ubu's eyes softened, and she smiled to herself, chest warm. Jason made her way back to her, face flushed, and now into the jet, they made their way to Danver, Jason quietly staring out of the cockpit window.

 

 

 _Danver, the next day, just after ten pm_.

Jason clung to Talia as hard as he could, inhaling the warm jasmine of her hair. "I don't want you to go." His voice was young, soft, and Jason closed his eyes, admonishing the welling. It was time for Talia to go, and though they both knew why, it was hard, as was every time they had to leave one another.

"ابني. أنا فخور بك." Talia's voice was gentle, and she brought his head up to look at him, eyes that were round and green and shiny. With a smile, the woman bent his head, kissing him on the forehead, and Jason chocked back the tears, not quite able to let go. He needed to, of course, if he wanted his life back again, to continue and not let the Pit _win_ , and Talia looked at him now, smoothing his air, and finally rested a warm palm against his cheek, to which he leaned in.

"Live, my child. Live and make me proud, أعز قلب منجم." Jason nodded, tears spilling, and held her hands.

"When.." He swallowed, the lump getting in the way. "It won't be for a while, will it?"

Talia wiped away the salty water. "At least until I've taken care of some business. Use the time to settle in properly, get used to things again."

Jason nodded, the action painful. 

"Remember, I'm only a phone call away. Whenever, it doesn't matter, Jason. Remember, ولدي, you are not alone. _Never_."

"I understand."

Talia nodded, searching Jason's eyes once more before stepping back. "Timothy." The same fondness remained in her voice, and the younger boy obeyed, stepping into her embrace. 

"Take care of your brother for me. And you, طفل ذكي , take very good care of yourself. You know I'll be watching." Talia murmured gently into his ear.

Tim chuckled and squeezed her tight. "I will. _Both_ of them."

It was Talia's turn to swallow. Tim was such a beautiful boy, and his heart made him all the more precious. She rested a palm on his cheek, stroking gently, before placing a light kiss on his nose, chuckling as he blushed. Stepping back to survey the two boys, Talia nodded them farewell, and made her way into the sleek, black sedan, quietly disappearing into the night.

Jason watched her go.

 

 

_Day six of Jason's return, three fifteen am._

Tim tried again.

 _God_ , he'd dropped in tonight unexpectedly. After staying at Jason's for two days, Tim had had to return to Gotham, a backlog of work needing his attention, and being only a ten minute drive from his apartment to WE was preferable to the forty minute commute from Danver. Jason had _insisted_ he go, that he'd be fine, absolutely fine, -just a tickly cough, probably allergies, the man had joked- and Tim had eventually relented, Jason who seemed so sure, positive, and though Tim felt a little uneasy, he'd taken the older man at his word. It was his house, after all.

Tim didn't know why, but something in him told him to check on Jason. A nagging voice, a blossom of worry that Tim couldn't quite shake, despite Jason's false sarcasm over the phone, and after tossing and turning fora few hours, he'd made the decision to check on his brother, not calling in advance.

Thank God he listened, 'cause what was in front of him was something else.

Jay looked _awful_.

Dark bags under his eyes, shaking, sweating, panicking, big, _big_ scared eyes, and yet Jason kept insisting that he was _fine_.

A fucking lie, that's what that was, but Tim, teeth gritted, kept the thought to himself.

"Jay, listen alright, yo-you've gotta listen to me, focus on the sound of my voice." His voice betrayed how scared he felt, and across from him, huddled into a tight ball, a pair of watery green eyes blinked furiously at him, _drenched_ in sweat.

"I-I-I can't Tim, I can't, I'm I'm _scared_ -" Jason stuttered out, voice broken, another rivet of tears streaming down, and Tim's heart broke at the sight.

"Alright alright, lemme think, okay, water Jay, drink, please, you've gotta drink, lemme-" Tim stood up, one hand running through his wild hair, frazzled, and Jason clawed at him to stay, shaking, incoherent, but Tim darted away, thundering down the stairs as fast as he could, running and skidding into the kitchen, filling up a glass cup, before rushing upstairs, heart pounding. "Drink, Jay, c'mon, please bro, just a little-"

But Jason, in the midst of fear and confusion lashed out, knocking the glass out of his hand, before shrinking back into the wall, streaming out apologies, curses, and Tim tried to reach him again, struggling to keep calm, his voice soft, but Jason shrank back further, crying.

"Talia- I need help, I'm calling T-" Tim's eyes darted for his phone but Jason began to protest, begging not to call her.

" _NO no no no no,_ Tim, please, I'm alright-" Jason chocked out, breathing rapid. "I'm fine, I'm just-I swear, I'm alright, don't call her, I'-she can't see me like this, she'll be upset and then-then I won't be able to-she'll have me stay with her and already its too risky-"

Tim ignored his brother, reaching Talia's number, but a sudden movement, a _thud_ , and Jason had knocked the phone out of his hand, shouting, and Tim held up his hands in surrender, trying to calm his brother down. "Jay, listen to me." Tim ground out, aiming to keep his tone level, but he was _scared_ , damnit - he'd never seen Jason quite like this, a mixture of Pit and severe panic, anxiety to the _max_. In the past, Jason had usually kept such attacks from him on purpose, only allowing him to come close after five, six days of withdrawal, sleep deprived, and though they'd fought in the past, seen the man's breakdowns, this- _this_?

This was Jason's body fighting the Pit, nightmares galore, what Jay had tried to keep from him by staying at the Island, and Tim knew that Jason couldn't go on like this. Lips dry, sweating, vomiting - he was dehydrated for sure, heart rate through the roof, and if Jay wasn't careful-

"Jay." Tim crouched in front of his brother, knees to his chest, who pushed weakly from him, as if trying to protect him from the angry monster that he currently was, and Tim forced down his anger at the realisation. "We need help, and fast. You've only just recovered. If not Talia, then its gotta be someone else. Di- no, Diana and Shay are off world on a mission. Br-"

" _NO_." Jason's eyes were suddenly fixed on him, a luminous green, and the deep growl emitted from his throat had Tim's hairs standing on edge.

"Just to look after you, keep you safe-"

 _ **NO**_!" Jason _screeched_ , breathing even faster now, shallow, and Tim knew who to call now, because Jason looked close to be passing out from the hyperventilation. 

Dialling, Tim waited, waited, until-

"Hello?" The voice was groggy, and Tim's chest leapt at the sound.

"Clark? Thank God - listen, I'm so sorry, I know its early, but it's an emergency, I didn't know who else to call who could get here quick enough- I'm at Jay's and he-he's having a full blown panic attack I think, I'I'm not sure, something's s'not right and-and coupled with the Pit- its too much for me to handle an-and he gets worse if you mention Bru-B and he's-"

"He's becoming unstable. On my way Tim, hold tight." The voice was suddenly clear, and the line dropped dead.

Tim crouched down to his brother, who was shaking now, eyes darting to and fro, before resting on him, and then repeating the action again. "Jay, help's coming. Clark's on his way, don't worry."

"Tim I can't-get outta here-I can't, I'm gonna hurt you- Tim go, _go_ "Jason's voice was strained, raw, and Tim winced at the sound.

"Not gonna happen, just hold on a little lo-"

A _whoosh_ , and then suddenly, _Clark_ was in the bedroom, with him, hair tousled, eyes wide with concern, and Tim moved back to make space, Jason who struggled to breathe, scared, and Clark advanced slowly, voice soft.

"Jay, its me. Just Clark kiddo."

Jason's eyes roamed the room jerkily before resting on him, unnaturally bright, and Tim felt a chill run down his spine.

Clark addressed him without looking. "Tim, run the shower on cool. Jay's temperature is too high, as is his heart rate, and if this continues, he'll go into shock, then arrest. Shower, then clean clothes, a jug of water. Hurry, please."

Tim didn't need to be told twice, and he dashed out of the room, doing just that.

Clark focused on getting through to Jason. Moving, he reached out and gently took hold of Jason's hands, Jason who latched onto them desperately, squeezing hard, and Clark knew that had it been anyone else, they'd have been left with tiny fragments of bone for hands at the end. "Jay, son, I need you to calm down."

"C-Clark?" Jason was shaking, and Clark pulled him in close, the chest that was hot, _raging_ hot and he frowned to himself. Talia had mentioned something about Pit enhancement - increased strength, faster reflexes, resistance, all of that-, and a higher metabolism than average, along with Jason's athletic status, would pay appropriate homage. But this high? To _him_ , too?

It wasn't right.

"Jay, I think you've got an infection somewhere." 

Jason mumbled something incoherently before tipping to the side to retch liquid, and now Clark pulled back in alarm, because new onset confusion, ie delirum, with a temperature, fast heart rate, increased respiratory rate, vomiting?

Definitely unwell, and Jason needed treatment, _now_.

The only problem, as Clark had come to understand, was Jason's security status. They'd used an alias back in Bolivia, and Jason, though he'd patiently endured being in hospital, _hated_ it, the sounds, the smells, and it had added a layer of agitation into his already stressed state. With the Pit in his system, and judging by the man's strength as well as- _fuck_ , Clark ran a ran through his hair now and looked around-

The room looked as if a tornado had ravaged it. Walls with finger nails clawed into them, bloody, paint missing. Sheets torn, scattered across the floor, books everywhere, pages strewn about, glass tinkling, small pools of vomit, nightstand in wooden pieces-

Jason would pose a danger to himself and staff alike, and Clark couldn't take that risk.

"Jay, Jay-" Clark patted the man's cheek firmly, and Jason opened his eyes drowsily. "Any recent headaches? Neck stiffness? Chest pain? Cough? Tummy pain, hurts when you pee-"

"Mb-bleurgh- c-cough." Jason kept opening and closing his eyes, and Clark swore now, barely keeping the fury from his tone. "How long - _Jay_ , how long?"

"Coid-coupla days. Weeks m-mmaybe, but it got re-reli-really bad 'few days's-'sago. Chest hurts." The voice was unfocused, and Clark switched his attention to Tim now, swearing silently, why the _fuck_ hadn't Jay said something-

"Tim. Change of plan - can you get Dr Thompkins on the line? I think Jay's got a chest infection, he'll need antibiotics as soon as possible, and in this state, a hospital is too risky, to himself and to others. She knows him, right?"

Tim nodded, dialing away, and Clark turned to Jason, eyes soft. "Jay, I'm gonna pick you up now, alright? I need to cool your temperature down, slow your heart too - I think you've got a raging infection that needs treating."

Jason mumbled something in response, and Clark brought the man close to himself, kissing sweaty locks. "Relax buddy, just relax Jay, its alright, ssh, I'm here, its okay, I promise, I'm right here." He chanted gently, carrying the man quickly to the bathroom, Tim directing him, lowering the man into the large tub, Jason who thrashed, screaming, who fought against him, denting tiles, but Clark held him down, ignoring the strained cries, cupping the cold water with his hand as the shower beat down on Jason. The man's screams began to quieten slowly, slowly, skin cooling, and heart rate too slowly, still high, breathing still too fast, and Clark held the man to himself, pressing a kiss to his head.

"Dr Leslie's can see us if if we're at her clinic in the next fifteen minutes." Tim came into the bathroom, swallowing as he took in his older brother, eyes closed, brown skin ashen grey.

"Tim." Clark sharpened his voice, knowing he couldn't have two panicking boys on his hand, and Tim thrived on targets, direction, and focus. "Towels. Clothes. "

Tim faltered for a moment before obeying, and together, they helped dry Jason, Jason who put up no resistance, heavy and lull, and once in dry clothes, Clark turned to face Tim. 

"I'll need to fly Jason straight across. Can you-"

"I'll drive, you go on ahead."

"Good boy." Clark adjusted his hold on Jason. The shower had done some momentary good, Jason a little calmer now, but he still drifted in and out of awareness, speech slurred and incoherent, and his heart rate was picking up again.

"Hold on son." Clark tucked Jason's head under his chin, and with a brief smile to Tim, flew out of the window, straight to Gotham.

 

 

_Dr Leslie's private clinic, a little past four am._

Clark shut as eyes as Bruce burst through the door. 

"Alfred's prepping the medbay, what happened?" The man's voice was a growl, and Clark fought down his irritation, knowing his friend was worried for his son. Outside, Tim was on the phone, probably to Talia, and Clark realised that Bruce was waiting for an answer. Tiredly, he took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes with one palm.

"Tim called me. Said it was an emergency, that Jay looked to be suffering from a severe panic attack of some sort but something wasn't quite right. I came over as fast as I could - Tim was right, Jay, he was confused, spiking a fever, tachycardic, respiratory rate way too high, vomiting. Mentioned having a cough for a couple of weeks but it being worse over the last few days, and said that his chest hurt. Thought it to be pneumonia - I was going to take him to hospital, but with the Pit, it was too risky. His room-" Clark shook his head. "I-I had to get him to cool down, and we managed to for a little bit, after which I came here as-

"You did the right thing, Clark." Leslie walked in now, followed by Tim, glasses perched on her nose, and looked at them coolly before speaking. "You did the right thing, and yes, Jason has a-" Leslie attached an X-ray of Jason's chest, showing a large, white opacity at the bottom of one of the lungs. "-Left lower zone basal consolidation. With Jason's...unique metabolism, it takes more than average to affect him, especially in this state. Probably had this going on for weeks before it became full blown trouble. Who knows how the infection could have affected him if it had gone on untreated."

"Will-" Bruce swallowed and tried again. "Will he be alright?"

"He's dehydrated, and we've got two bags of fluids running into him, along with a course of antibiotics that should clear the pneumonia right up. Thank you, Tim, for the tweaking. Jason's currently sleeping at the moment, thank God, but I believe he'll be just fine." Dr Thompkins softened her eyes at the young boy, in a too big sweatshirt that was most likely Jason's.

Tim nodded at her, relieved. Jason's body chemistry meant that drugs didn't work on him as they did everyone else. A higher pain tolerance, for instance, meant that most analgesia, even some of the strongest ones, could be mild if not outright useless on him.

A short silence, and then Bruce spoke. "How long will he need to be in here?"

"Two days, at least, three is the usual course for intravenous antibiotics. We'll review him periodically, but until he's hydrated enough, can eat and drink on his own, then he'll remain here, for now.-"

"He'll be better resting at the Manor, we have all the equipment-"

"I wouldn't-" Leslie cut in, voice sharper than usual, but Bruce ignored her. 

"It's a walk-in clinic, Leslie, you know he can't stay here. At least, let us look after him. You can come in and check on his progress, you know that." 

Dr Thompkins pursed her lips.

Clark looked away, knowing how Jason would feel at the Manor, at _Talia_ who certainly wouldn't be happy. "Bruce, I don't think-"

Bruce whipped his head at him sharply, eyes fierce. " _Don't_. Not this time."

The air was tense.

After a moment, Tim spoke, voice level, but his face betrayed his unhappiness. "I...There's nowhere else." He looked at Clark, and then looked away, to Jason. "We can't go to the hospital, and the Manor has all the things we need."

"And once he wakes up? When he realises where he is?" Clark's voice was quiet.

Tim looked away. "Then...Then, assuming he's strong enough... Jason won't stay." Tim said this, looking straight at Bruce, who stared back at him, mouth firm, line flat and angry, but did not visibly react. The man turned to Leslie, and then to Jason, moving to stand by his side, and placed one hand on the man's cheek.

"Then he comes to the Manor."

"For now." Clark felt the glare that Bruce sent him, but he kept his focus on Jason, remembering how Tim had mentioned Jason's increased agitation on hearing the name. "I'll help you-"

"I think you've done enough, thank you." Bruce's voice was stiff, cold, and Tim turned to stare at the man, opening his mouth to protest, but Clark placed a hand on his shoulder, understanding, and with a final " _Thank you_." to Dr Thompkins, and a squeeze on Tim's shoulder, Tim who stepped forward to hug him tight, Clark took his leave.

Jason would hate being at the Manor, that was as clear as day. But he couldn't go home alone either, not in this state. 

As Clark flew home, an idea formed in his mind, and, arriving in Metropolis now, he glanced at the time.

 _05:04am_.

Too early to call, maybe later. Besides, he'd need to leave for work in less than two hours, and Lois wouldn't appreciate being woken up so early. The woman had been a little cranky as of late over the past week, complaining of a stomach bug or something from their takeout, or the flu maybe, and everyone knew a cranky wife made for an unhappy marriage.

Clark drifted to sleep.

 

 

 _Two days later_.

Jason awoke to a groggy start. "Where..what the fuck?" He yawned out, eyes heavy, as his mind began to hazily piece together his surroundings.

The bed was big. No, _way_ too big. And stupidly soft. 

The room was weird. Big ass drapey curtains and shit, and turning his head, to the doorway, a familiar figure stood, posture straight, green eyes sharp, spiky hair turning and disappeari-

_Fuck. no_

The _Manor_.

Jason cursed aloud, and made to sit, but a wave of nausea overcame him, and he found a hand pressed against his chest, a pair of concerned blue eyes entering his vision.

"Jay? Thank goodness you're awake." 

Jason stared at the face in confusion, before the haze finally settled, and _Bruce_ stared back at him, sat in a chair beside the bed.

"You've gotta be kidding me. Uh-huh. Nope. Fucking hell _no_ , de nada-" Jason muttered to himself, throwing the sheets to one side, ignoring the hand in his vision, the protests.

"Jay, you had a severe pneumonia and we couldn't take you to the hospital-"

"Shoulda let me _die_ then, better than being here-" Jason winced, realising what he had just said, and for a moment, the room was horribly silent, the air thick.

"Is it that bad?" Bruce's voice was after a long while, and Jason found it difficult to look in the man's general vicinity, opting to stare at the far away wall instead.

"How-" Jason's voice was raspy, and out of the corner his vision, a cup with a straw appeared. Shaking with visible effort, Jason managed a few sips before stopping, chest heavy with exertion. "How long have I been... _here_?"

"Nearly three days."

Jason fought to remain calm. "Sedated?"

"You...the Pit. We had to put you to sleep, you were...screaming, struggling, fighting against yourself."

No wonder his throat felt raw, and Jason realised that part of the fatigue was the sluggishness, a general side effect of sedation.

"Who- how did I get here." Jason's voice was flat, strangely flat, and Bruce clasped his hands together to stop himself from reaching out, knowing that Jason would not appreciate the gesture.

"Clark." Tim's voice suddenly appeared at the doorway, and the boy moved in now, ignoring Bruce in the chair, Bruce who sent him a sharp look, was if he wanted to disagree but couldn't, and Jason creased his eyes, confused.

"You were really sick, Jay. I..I thought it was the _Pit_ initially, some kid of Pit induced panic attack, but it felt off...You had a temperature and your heart rate was too fast. Delirious too, vomiting - we needed a doctor pronto, and Leslie was the best option, given your history. C-I called him. He didn't want to bring you...but there was no other option." Tim paused, then went to sit by the foot of the bed. Jason looked at him before looking away, hating himself for scaring his brother, whose voice was now coming back to him, high pitched, panicky, wide, frightful eyes.

"Jay. It's alright. I wasn't-" Tim laid a hand on Jason's ankle but Jason moved it away, swallowing. 

"Is A around?" His voice was tight.

Tim sighed. "I...I know, Jay. I get it. As...you know what, I'll go get Alfred." The boy spared his older brother a glance before leaving, and for a while, the room was silent.

"I'm sorry, Jay." Bruce eventually spoke. "I..I understand you not wanting to be at the Manor."

"Do you now? How considerate." Jason's tone, though low, held a bite.

"I know - please try to-"

"Why on _earth_ -"

"Master Jason." Alfred cut in smoothly, recognising the signs of a Father-son argument, and Jason breathed a sigh of relief, eyes softening on seeing the older gentleman. Alfred came to a stop by the foot of the bed, squeezing his ankle gently, and Jason could help the small smile from forming on his face. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck."

"I see."

"Run over a couple of times, then out through a grinder."

"My apologies. I've heard chest infections are somewhat _worse._ Truck, grinder, how mild, considering."

"Pretty bland, eh?"

Jason smirked as Alfred gave him a look at the dramatic response. 

"Would you like something to eat?"

Jason debated to himself. Eating and drinking would mean that his intravenous fluids and medication could stop, which of course meant oral antibiotics, and that could be done at home, away from this damn place. But as much as he wanted to play along, another wave of nausea had Jason resting his head against the bed, trying hard not to throw up, and after a moment of taking slow, deep breaths, Jason answered, head low.

"No. Not...quite."

"Very well." Alfred nodded. "IV fluids and bed rest. We'll see how things go in the evening. For now, I believe-" the older checked his watch before turning his back on the rest of the room, organising contents on a silver platter."You are due for another course of antibiotics."

Jason looked away, but a sudden thought had him turning to the door, trying to sit.

"Tim-"

"Jay, what is it? Can I get you anything?" That was Bruce again, a little perked up, and Jason fought down how his stomach churned at the eyes that appeared eager to help.

"No- Tim. I need to speak with him."

"Oh. Of course. I'll be right back." Something like disappointment could be heard in Bruce's tone, and the man paused, debating whether he should reach out and take Jason's hand, and Jason stilled, tensing. Bruce, noticing the change, decided not to comment, leaving the room quietly, and a few moments later, Tim reappeared, taking Bruce's chair. Without hesitation, the younger boy took Jason's hand firmly, and Jason squeezed back, meeting his brother's eyes.

"Thank you, kiddo. You saved my life, _again_."

Tim blushed, eyes bright at the praise. "Gonna start charging you if shit continues."

Jason laughed, dry and itchy, trying and failing to smother the sound at Alfred's disapproving glare, though mild. "Have you...Did you....does T know?" Jason found the courage to ask, remembering something about trying to keep this hidden from Talia in his delirium.

Tim didn't look away as he answered. "I did. She...out of respect for-" Tim tilted his head towards the doorway, and Jason nodded in understanding. "-she'll wait to see you. I get how much you want to stand on your two feet again, I get it, and this isn't a setback, I promise. I've talked to Talia; if - she wants to see you for herself, but I'm more than sure you won't be going back with her. Maybe not to Danver so soon, don't look at me like that, Jay. I...I don't think it'll be in your best interest to be alone right now, at least not completely." Tim squeezed Jason's hand, and though Jason faced the sheet, the man was listening, quiet.

"Oh! Before I forget - C wants to speak with you. Probably later on today, he didn't say when."

Jason threw Tim a confused look before remembering more of the events, Clark's soothing voice, feeling protected, the sensation of feeling light and tucked in, and he blushed, reddening as Tim laughed. "Yeah, we've all been there, don't worry. He's great about it though."

Jason shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Yeah...he _is_ pretty great.

"Anyway. I'll leave you to it-" Tim began to stand, but Jason reached out to him, unable to let go.

"Stay. sleep - there's more than enough space."

Tim looked to Alfred for permission, and on seeing the man's nod, eyes soft, Tim dove into the bed, ignoring his brother's _owws_ , Alfred's tutting, and made himself comfortable against the big man.

"Don't give me your germs, fatty." Tim's voice was muffled against his brother's shirt.

Already, his eyes were drifting.

"Just for that, Imma cough every chance I get." Jason's voice was soft above him, a yawn, a muttered thanks to Alfred, and within minutes, both occupants were fast asleep.

Outside the door, Bruce, throat tight, walked away.

 

 

 _Metropolis, Daily Planet, seven thirty pm_.

"You sure it's alright, Ma? It's only for a few days, at least until Jay's able to get back on his feet. He's a good kid, I swear. You guys will love him, trust me-"

"Of _course_ its alright Clark, stop being silly." On the other end of the line, Martha clucked, and Clark could hear the bustling of kitchen pans in the background. "It would be nice to have a young'un in the house, wouldn't it Jon? _Jon_?" 

Clark swallowed down his laughter on hearing his Mother berate his Pa for his lack of listening skills. "We're looking forward to meeting the young man. How come we've never met him, Clark?"

Clark looked away. "It...my fault. I didn't exactly reach out to him when he was younger, and then-" Clark swallowed, closing his eyes briefly. "It's complicated, Ma. But as long as you guys are happy-"

"We _are_. Goodness, you fuss. Just bring him already, you're making us nervous!" 

Clark rolled his eyes at the excitement in his Mother's tone. A chance to dote and fuss over another of the Wayne kids, the children of his best friend - of course Ma would jump at the opportunity. Damian, whom she thought to be "too adorable for words", and the poor boy had withstood Ma's fussing, cuddles and soft tones for almost a week during last year's summer holiday's rather well. Probably because of all the animals.

Ma deserved grandkids, and Clark felt a little burning in his chest, at being unable to provide such a blessing to two of the most important women in his life.

"Thank's Ma. I'll let you know what happens."

"Good boy. See you soon."

Clark ended the call, and taking a breath, paused outside one of the large windows, looking over the city.

Hopefully Jason would agree.

 

 

 _Gotham, the Manor_.

"Again, Clark? Really?" Bruce's voice was _bitter_ , and Clark barely managed to keep his frustration at bay.

"You knew this would be the case, Bruce. I warned you, twice. Jay isn't fit to be alone too much right now and my parents have agreed, hell, Jason's agreed!"

Bruce's nostrils flared, and he took a step towards Clark, eyes furious. "You meddle in a family that isn't yours-"

"Alright, stop that Bruce." Dick suddenly appeared, arms out between both men, and he looked at his father sharply. "Don't. I get it, but this isn't the way, nor the time. If-If you really want what's best for Jason, then you'll listen-"

"You just want him out of the house." Bruce accused, and Dick felt a rage rise from deep within, squaring off with the bigger man. "You're right, B. Spot on, in fact. I-I don't trust him, not here, and vice versa. The fact that he himself doesn't want to be here - well, it works out just _great_ , I can't lie-"

"That's enough, cut it out-" Clark started.

"Why? No kids of your own but you're happy to take mine?" Bruce shot back, a little spiteful, and Clark clenched his fists, angry now, face hot, when-

 _Jason_ appeared, in the hallway, tired, breathing a little heavily, but his eyes gave it all away.

 _He'd heard_.

Conversations halted almost immediately. 

"Jay-" Bruce began, reaching out to him, but the man moved, eyes like fire, and directed his gaze to Clark. "You okay?"

Clark had turned his face to the side by now, rigid, tense, and it was difficult to express the words, the barb Bruce had just thrown, and so he nodded, slow and careful, but Jason didn't seem convinced.

"Alright. Sorry A, had to take the IV out. All that saline was making me queasy." Jason turned to the rest of the room, Dick who had moved away, standing closer to Bruce's side, arms crossed against his chest - part intimidated, part distrustful, Damian who was also here, silent, watching. Tim was upstairs, sleeping.

"I've already made my decision. I'm going with Clark-"

"You don't-" Bruce began, the only one to plead his case, but Jason put out a hand, fed up. The arguing had woken him up, and thankfully, Tim was deep enough of a sleeper to be affected. The kid needed some well-deserved rest, like, yesterday.

"Yeah, I do. If I'da had any control from the beginning, I would have _never_ agreed in the first place and we all know it."

Silence.

No disagreement there.

"Clark- go home. It's late, we're all tired, you're super pissed, and I'm grouchy. Home, calm down, and say hi to Lo for me. We'll talk tomorrow, just let me know when. Thank you, for looking out for me." Jason stepped forward to clap Clark on the shoulder, and Clark nodded, reaching to touch Jason's elbow, before walking with Alfred to the door.

"I'm heading back upstairs." To Dick, Jason turned, voice cutting. "Don't worry, I'll be outta your house before you can say "peak-a-boo." You'll be back to being Daddy's number one girl in _no_ time"

Dick clenched his fist but said nothing, and Jason grinned nastily, walking past the man, a lazy backwards salute as he exited the room.

 

 

_Saturday morning, Kansas, Kent Farm._

"You think they'll like me?" Jason's voice was quiet outside the door as they waited, and Clark turned to him, surprised, before placing an arm around the shorter (albeit slightly, if he had to admit) man.

"Anyone would. Once you get past the arrogance and annoying smirk, you're not half bad. Still a shit, though." Clark's voice was dry and Jason grinned up at him before looking down, shuffling.

Movement behind the door, a call for someone called Jon, an older man who yelled back, pitch lower, something about women and their demands, and Jason stifled a laugh, Clark who shook his head, then slapped a palm to the face as the bickering continued, pink.

"Every day, Jay. Every. day."

Finally, a chain was being fiddled, something muffled, and finally - the door swung open, and a woman in her early sixties stood facing them, all kind and sweet looking, small, the kind you see on lifetime movies, in homely folklore, read by the fireside, bright sparkling eyes, honey biscuits and warm hugs, and Jason stared, the woman who laughed brightly at the both of them, Clark who moved first to embrace the woman in a big hug, Clark being so big that the woman was dwarfed by him, practically disappearing into his chest and then the woman became free, eyes radiant on him, and she gasped, taking him by the hands.

"Is this-" The woman turned to Clark, who nodded, a smile on his face, before turning to face him. 

"Goodness! So _handsome!_ And tall - he's almost as tall as you, Clark! Jason, is it?" Her voice was so _warm_ , soothing, and Jason already felt himself being lulled in by the kindness.

"Jason. Every- you can call me Jay." He managed to get out, and the woman laughed, the sound like roasted glass, tinkling and deep, and it made something in Jason's chest constrict, tight.

"Martha, but everyone calls me Ma." Martha now moved in to hug Jason, nowhere near his chest, and the woman laughed again, admiring, squeezing his hand, and drew him inside. 

Jason stood back as Martha fussed over him, coat off, shoes off, bags down, to make himself comfortable, tea, hot chocolate - chocolate, he was a growing boy after all - to Clark, who seemed comfortable being clucked over, allowing the small woman to boss him, Clark who threw a sheepish look to Jason as he obeyed all of Martha's commands, and Jason had to bite his cheek at the scene, this tiny five foot two woman leading a six foot four pounder around the house, unfazed and comfortable.

From the back of the house, a male voice called out, and they watched as man somewhat taller than Martha, but not by much, entered, checkered shirt and slacks, a head of shock white blonde hair, tanned, twinkling, and Jason swore that this was Santa Claus's younger, slimmer brother, the same deep, warm, inviting voice, that shook him kindly by the hand steering him round to the living room, again relaxed and so _nice_ , white teeth, and Jason looked around, the quilted cushions, bookcase at the far corner, golden sunlight that filled the room, the kitchen, large and brick, baked cake and warm doughy bread filtering into the room, and then finally resting on the elderly couple sat in front of him, who looked as if they'd walked straight out of a 1990s movie, - heck, Jason half expect a plate of warm cookies to appear any minute, and the _shock_ on his face - when a plate of _just_ that appeared out of nowhere- and all three Kents burst into laughter, Jon's, whose face was round and laughter rumbling, Martha whose face was as lovely as the food smelled, and Jason felt his skin redden, warm and he swallowed, shifting his feet.

 _Shit_. With a family like this, no wonder Clark was such a do-gooder.

To have grown up with parents like this, comforting and _home_ , the heart of a family-

"Oh honey, look what you've done." Martha reached over to take Jason's hand, pulling him upright, and directed him to sit between herself and her husband. Jason felt too overgrown for the sofa, massive against these tiny people - was this how Clark felt most of the time? Terrified, at the back of his mind, of all these precious fragile things round him, and all it would take was one slip, a loss of control, and that was it, broken to pieces. Martha, his hand still in hers, squeezed his hand gently, and Jason, touched by the kindness, couldn't quite meet her eyes.

"Why is it always me?" Jon directed his question to the room, but his brown eyes rested on Jason's, knowing, and he winked at the younger man. "Women. Always think they know best-"

Martha gave him a look so _severe_ that Jason let slip a chuckle, prompting more laughter from the rest of the room as the two bickered mildly.

"Jason, let me introduce you formally to my parents, Martha and Jon. Ma, Pa, meet Jason, or Jay."

Jon placed an arm around his shoulders. 

"Welcome to our home, Jay. It's great to finally meet you."

 

 

_Sunday morning, Metropolis._

Lois shook the dew from her coat before putting it away. It was a little after ten in the morning, and Clark was still sleeping.

 _Good_.

The local drug store clerk had only raised his eyebrow at the product but processed the payment without fussing, wishing her a flat good day and to _enjoy the rest of the morning_. Lois had barely remembered to thank the man before hurriedly leaving, her stomach churning.

Barricading herself into one of the first floor bathrooms, Lois set her clock timer. _Two minutes_.

She'd been feeling somewhat... _off_ for a while now. Not quite herself, and this week hadn't been great either, feeling a little dizzy and mildly sick. Lois had put it down to a combination of work, a number of deadlines that she and Clark had _only_ just met, living on cheap take out and now the cold had given her a slightly runny nose.

A friend from the Planet's lower floors, Sarah, had mentioned how _glowy_ she'd looked on Wednesday, and Lois had laughed it off, the cold making her voice somewhat nasal.

Funnily enough, now as she looked back, _Bruce_ had mentioned something similar.

 _Are you pregnant?_ , Sarah had asked, and Lois had been taken aback, surprised, mouth dry, before stuttering out a _No_.

Sarah had smiled at her kindly, a touch of sadness, squeezing her hand, and tactfully changed the subject, aware of the pain that flickered across her friend's face before disappearing.

She and Clark had been trying for almost two years without success. For Lois, with every disappointing result in the form of regular periods, it was painful to acknowledge. Growing up, into her teens, college, and working life as a young graduate, Lois's dreams were all about independence, the best investigative reporter for miles around. Prizes on her desk, her own office, running her own paper, one day, if that was to her taste. And things had gone according to plan - Lois had worked her way up, slowly, steadily, hard, and with each effort, her responsibilities grew, opportunities from all over, till her work began to gain traction, recognition.

And then _Clark_ had come along. A little younger by two years, not much, and the man had come to the big shiny city of Metropolis, bright lights and even faster way of life, bustling and full of activity, and Clark had stood out like a sore thumb. Big and tall and broad, whilst everyone else tended to be shorter, slimmer. Tanned country boy, southern manners, polite charm, and he'd certainly caught the attention of many women, not that he appeared particularly aware of that fact. Lois had thought him to be _gay_ at one point. But Perry, in his ever infinite wisdom, chose to pair the two together. Ice and Fire, they couldn't be any more different. Brash against nauseatingly polite, bordering on awkward, outspoken, demanding against calm, level, and Lois had found the man highly irritating.

But, as the years went by, and the two developed a working relationship, and then a ... _romantic_ one, and then, all of a sudden-

 _marriage_ was on the table.

They would lie in bed together, her place usually, -it was bigger- and Clark had been the first one to bring up the topic that was marriage. Lois had scoffed at the idea at first, thinking it old and patriarchal, unsuited to the modern world, and Clark had let her to her opinion, listening intently. But the more time they spent together, the more Lois realised that their differences were what enabled such a perfect _fit_ , like glue, and suddenly-

life, with Clark, formerly unconsidered, but now impossible to imagine without.

Her days began filling with daydreams, _Mrs Kent_ , or was that _Lane-Kent_ \- would she hyphenate the two names, double barreled pretension? Lois wasn't sure, but all that she knew was that she loved Clark, loved him enough to see herself with him for years to come, a ring on her finger, his and hers, in the city, and that was that.

And now - _kids_.

Life was busy for two reporters, busy indeed, and it wasn't as though Lois thought herself to be _maternal_ per say. Mothers she associated with kind faces, warm voices, soothing and patient, ever understanding, and Lois was none of those things. Her voice was sharp most times, raspy from shouting on occasion. A little short on the temper - journalism and news reporting was a cutthroat world after all, and Lois had never been one to mince her words. The truth was just that, the truth, and Lois vowed to tell it, however ugly and harsh it sounded. Now, forties not quite here but not that far off, a few years, and Lois was aware of the time ticking her by. The longer they waited, the less likely were were to conceive successfully, and Lois wanted a child, for herself, for Clark, a child that was theirs, their little family, her brains, Clark's softness, kindness, and his looks didn't hurt either, if she were honest.

So they'd tried. All the positions, the remedies, and _nothing_ had worked. One of Clark's biggest concerns had been his DNA, Kryptonian, but the private medical team, JL approved, that Bruce had kindly provided without so much as protest, had in fact, said otherwise. The structure essentially the same, sperm count above average and of no abnormality, Lois eggs and womb in normal condition, hospitable, that ultimately they shouldn't have too much trouble, and _yet_ -

Nothing.

Adoption was something to think about, but they still held out hope. With each passing day however, the hope seemed to dim.

 _Beep_.

That was her phone timer, and Lois heart thundered loudly, blood turbulent in her ears, and she forced herself to remain calm, to not get her hopes up too much, like the all the other times when she been so _sure_ , that this time, but alas, it never was, and Clark would hold her to himself her, quiet and understanding, but Lois knew he hurt too.

Hand trembling, Lois turned the device over.

For a moment, the air was still, and Lois braced herself against the walled cabinet, tongue heavy.

"Clark-" she breathed, and then with a sudden voice, Lois _screamed_. " _ **CLARK!**_ "

A _boom_ , the door hinges torn right off, and Lois cringed, covering herself, before Clark was before her, shouting, alarmed, arms around her close, assessing for danger, but Lois pushed him off, dragging his hand, and Clark looked down, confused, when he saw it too, and the man _gasped_.

A pair of pink vertical lines stared back from the counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for now!
> 
> As I said at the end of the last chapter, I'll be taking a break because of exams in early May. I'll resume the story from mid May and have it complete by early August, plenty of free time in between (looking forward to two/three chapters a week minimum!) To anyone whose still reading and following along, _thank you_ , and I hope to see you in less than three months time!
> 
> All the best guys!
> 
> Vells 
> 
> xx


	58. Author's note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note the end summaries on the last two chapters.

Dear all,

We've reached a break in the story, which just so happens to cross over to reality, since I'm going to take a short break too!

Jokes aside, I have my finals in the first week of May and want to use my Saturdays (my writing days) to do some work. By the middle of May, I'll be finished, university finished forever! So yep, from mid May to early August, this entire series will be completed - I'll be free throughout, and expect to see at least two, three most likely, chapters a week, which I think is more than enough to explore all that needs exploring! I hate leaving things unfinished, it has to brought to a perfect end.

So, if I haven't said it already:

 _Thank you all_ for taking the time and patience to follow this story! Wasn't sure how many exactly were still interested but for anyone out there whose been following the series, thank you, and I hope you've enjoyed it so far! If you can, then I'll hopefully see you in less than three months time, continuing where we last left!

Take care and see you shortly,

Vells 

xx


	59. Country air, dearest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason wakes up to the Kent Farm.
> 
> PS. I'm back, bitches! Guess who passed all their exams ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'ana 'ukrih 'an 'ukarir nafsi. = I hate repeating myself (Arabic)

_Chirp._

_Chirp-chirp._

_Chirp-chirp-chirp._

Jason groaned. His head hurt.

"What the fuck _is_ that?" He half grumbled, irritated, and yawned loudly, stretching like a cat across the comfortable bed. God, there was so much he had to do today - first, the lawn needed a slight trim. Then his baby girl, Shelly, needed a good wash- how long had it been since his car had had a decent clean? Tim would be coming over this week-end so that meant another big-ass haul downtown, that string-bean would eat for all of humanity, and then there was-

 _Wait_.

Jason shot up, sleep disappearing in an instant.

This wasn't home - not _his_ space, his own damn bed, and now Jason found a slight panic had began to develop, chest tightening, throat closing up, adrenaline pumping -

and so he _moved_ -

stalking slowly against the wall, swiftly picking a baseball bat from the corner, careful to limit his weight across the wooden flooring as he made his way out onto the landing, cataloging the number of doors, the waft of something like pancakes and eggs from somewhere below, frames of people parallel to the stairs, a man and a woman of varying ages, and many of a young child, wavy black hair, blue eyes, tanned, a teenager, tall and strong and kind looking, an arm thrown around a petite woman, another caught mid-laughter with an older man, possibly the father, and now-

Jason stopped, confused.

He _knew_ that face. That ridiculously boyish smile, almost misplaced on a thirty-something year old he'd come to-

" _Clark?_ " Jason stumbled back a little, then moved forwards by an inch, silent, studying the young teen, the farmhouse in the background, football shirt and gear in place, and then it came back to him. Tim's voice, something about _not being well, Jay_ , a call for help, Clark looking all worried and shit, Bruce too, whatever the fuck that meant, the long drive to some town out in Kansas, like a damn hallmark movie, with-

"Remember where you are, son?"

Jason snapped his head round in the direction of the deep voice, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat, bat positioned someway over his head. _Jonathan Kent_ , his mind supplied. Clark's _dad_ , and immediately after the realisation came a deep wave of shame. Cheeks red, Jason came to face to face with a kind smile, a head whose shock white blond seemed to take on a life of its own.

"I-fuck, oh God I'm such an idiot, I-" Jason started out, apologising, dropping the bat, eyes darting to the floor, but Jonathan chuckled, the sound fond, and Jason felt even worse. Jon caught the bat just before it hit the floor, and held it for a moment, as if reminded of memories long ago, before placing it in the umbrella stand by the door.

"None of that here, boy. You ever try dealing with an overgrown Kryptonian with raging hormones and puberty? Cause trust me, aint nothing like having a lanky, sulky plywood of a teenager moping indoors all day. Baptism of fire, you know." 

Jon smiled broadly, shaking his head, and Jason had to swallow down a laugh at the thought of a bratty like Clark, stomping around the house, leaving potholes in his wake. A gentle hand on his shoulder had Jason looking up now, and he tried again, streaming out apologies, but Jon wouldn't have it, choosing to steer him through the corridor and into the large kitchen, where Martha was busying about, the radio on in the background.

"Jason! Come, be a dear and set the table for me. How was your sleep?" Ma turned to him for a moment, sweeping a light over his shirt, assessing, before clucking and diverting her attention to the stove as she stirred a pot of warm milk.

"It was good, thanks. I- I can't thank you guys for-" Jason shyly moved to the corner, aware of the room's attention on him, and was once again prevented from continuing by a stack of plates placed into his arms, a squeeze on the shoulder, and directed out of the kitchen to the large oak table in the dining room. Sighing to himself, Jason turned back to finish thanking the couple, and instead was rewarded with several pieces cutlery to arrange.

"You're not going to let me thank you, are you?"

"Nope." Jon answered, grin broad across his face, and Ma looked up to smile, confirming, before starting on another stack of pancakes.

"Can I at least say sorry for the whole bat thing and-"

"No idea what you're talking about, son." Jon interrupted, a twinkle in his eye as he opened the patio doors to make his way outside, and Jason finally admitted defeat, humbled at the forgiveness, and focused on setting the table.

"Jon! The lawn looks a little overgrown at the back, wouldn't you say?" Ma called out to her husband from the kitchen, and Jon, who was by now stood in the middle of the large garden, apple tree in full blossom, groaned wearily. 

"No dear, it's fine, I only cut it last week-"

"Are you sure, Jon? Because from where I'm standing-"

"It's _fine_ dear. Honestly, it is-" Jon turned to Jason, giving him a _look_ , and Jason couldn't help grinning, even as the elderly couple continue to bicker, Ma _insisting_ , and with every insistence, Jon giving in slowly, until the poor man ultimately threw his hands into the air, conceding to his dearest wife's infinite wisdom, and disappeared round the side of the house.

"Where's he gone?" Jason peered out, curious, and Martha appeared beside him, clearly basking in her triumph. 

"There's a barn out at the back, where we keep the animals, and next to it is the storehouse, where we keep the equipment." 

Jason made to go and help, but Ma linked his arm around hers, halting his progress, and chuckled warmly. "Later, dear. Breakfast first, and then you can help out, if you want. Big strapping lad like you, it'll be great to have an extra pair of hands around the house. Unlike _someone_ we know."

It was Jason's turn to laugh. "Really? I kinda assumed Clark would have been an absolute do-gooder at this kinda stuff. I can just imagine him out here working in the sun, pulling weeds and the like. Probably lifted a cow or two over his shoulder, just to show off."

A laugh was heard nearby and Jon re-appeared, dragging out the lawnmower. He approached them, wiping his hands on his slacks, letting out another groan as Ma produced a dishcloth out of thin air, admonishing him for getting dirt and mud over her floors. "Clark? When he wasn't being a right little _shit_ -"

" _Jon!_ -"

"Sorry, a _giant_ shit, then he wasn't too bad, that one. Spent far more time hoarding animals in his room than actual farm work, but what can you do, eh?"

"Thank you dear. And mind your language, or you'll be re-doing my kitchen. Penny in the swear jar, go on." Ma rewarded Jon with a kiss to the cheek, before going inside, and it was Jon's wink that made Jason really smile. 

"Penny Jar?" 

"Ma's ears are sensitive." Jon walked over the sitting room bookcase, and held up a half filled jar full of coins. "At this rate, I'll have enough to redo this whole _damn_ house-"

" _Penny. jar._ " Ma's voice came from the kitchen, a direct order, and Jon sighed loudly, obeying his wife as he put in _another_ penny.

"Best advice you'll ever receive, son? Women. Always right, never _ever_ wrong. Take it from me boy, a happy wife is a happy home." Jon squeezed his arm before walking past.

"Took you almost forty years to learn that." Ma mused, clucking, and Jon laughed, placing an arm around her waist and drawing her close.

"I'm a stubborn, proud man. It's in my genes, dearest woman." Jon placed a kiss on his wife's head, and looked up to roll his eyes at Jason, who offered a small smile, not quite used to all the affection just yet.

Ma mocked sighed, swatting the man, but the contentment was clear to read, and Jason, after watching them for a moment, looked away into the garden.

He'd never been one for marriage and whatnot, a sham if you asked him, but if there was a chance for something like this, open air, space, a loving and supportive other half? Not half bad, and Jason allowed himself to dwell on the matter a touch longer before he was drawn out of his thoughts by a voice.

"Jay. Come, sit and eat. We want to know all about you, young man."

Ma patted the beside between herself and Jon, eyes warm.

"Martha, for the love of God- Jay, don't mind her, she's nosy like that. Just eat, son."

"I only want to know more about our newest grand-"

"Sweet Jesus, help me."

More bickering, and Jason sat down, a tiny smirk at the corner of his mouth. From his pocket, his phone beeped, and Jason, fishing out the object, read the message silently to himself.

_"...Doesn't get any better, believe me. You'll get used to it."_

\- _Clark_

 _PS. Did not lift a cow over my shoulder. Tractor, yes._

Jason rolled his eyes and began to eat, unable to stop a slight shake of his head. _Show off_.

 

 

_Watch-tower, training room Cama, B floor._

"Pa says Jay had a little trouble sleeping, but he seems to be alright now." Clark spoke quietly to Bruce, who was stood a little beside him as they watched Black Canary's training of the new recruits.

Bruce made as if Clark hadn't spoken at all, but a little twitch at the corner of his left eye gave him away.

Clark continued, pushing down the slight aimed at him. "They don't quite know all the details about Lazarus, the pit's changes and all - they get the gist of it, and they're still happy to have him. If its urgent, they know they can call me. I think Jay too is a little apprehensive about what'll happen if he has a "Pit-day" but he's not really said anything in particular. I'll leave it for now; I'm kinda hoping he settles in a little before bringing up the Pit, you know?

Bruce grunted.

Clark sighed to himself. He wasn't expecting Bruce to have forgiven him, not just yet. He understood, of course, why Bruce was pissed at him, and a part of him couldn't blame the man, but an increasingly annoyed part wanted to shake it into his friend's head that Jason was no longer a child. Not property - a grown man who could make his own decisions, and if Bruce ever wanted to re-connect with Jay, then he needed to understand that, and see Jason as he was _presently_ , not the one knew _before_. It was one of the reasons that Clark had realised, about why Bruce and Jason had fought to bitterly - Bruce had kept these wishful expectations and notions of the boy he once loved, and he kept placing such things on the Jason who, all those years ago upon his return, was no longer a child, but a man, and a very hurt one at that.

How a man like Bruce could be so perceptive and yet so blind to this understanding, Clark would never know.

"Ma says he's been pretty quiet, but really helpful. Apparently he helped Pa to mow the lawn and now they've gone to town to pick up a few supplies for the barn. I told her not too push too much, Jay will open up when he's ready." Clark tried again, and unsurprisingly, the silence stretched further this time.

"No." Bruce finally responded, but he continued staring across at the trainees, eyes narrowed, and posture rigid. "Not quite. Jay- _Jason_ is naturally quiet. If he feels comfortable around someone, then he'll feel less pressure to "open up" and secure enough to be himself, which means most times, finding him in a secluded spot, preferably high up, with a book in his hand."

"But of course-" Bruce paused, and the air seemed even more tense than ever before. "You would know that."

Clark turned towards his friend, and a flare of irritation leaked into his voice before he could mask it. "What does that mean-"

"You're the expert, _Clark_. Figure it out." Bruce had turned his head even further away, feigning boredom, and before Clark could respond, the man stalked away, black cape silent against the floor. Clark watched him go, arms folded, and turned his attention back to the scene in front of him. 

 

 

Up in the balcony, Diana and Shayera watched the scene silently, their two friends clearly in the midst of a private argument. Diana was the first to speak, eyes on Bruce's cape as it went, before returning her eyes to Clark, who seemed both angry and upset. 

"It's happening again."

Shayera hummed, brushing her feathers absent-mindendly. She understood perfectly - Jason had been a sore topic between both men once before, and now it was happening again, except _this_ time, it was Bruce seemingly receiving the brunt of it all, not Clark, and the change was jarring to see.

"It is."

"What do you think we should do? I believe I can-" Diana had turned to her friend now, mouth open, but Shayera looked at her straight on, eyes clear, and cut her off promptly.

"Nothing."

Diana was taken aback, and Shayera could detect a rise in the woman's defences. "How can you say that? Their relationship is deteriorating slowly and if it continues-"

"Diana, listen to me." Shayera straightened up to her full height, ignoring the inches between them as Diana too straightened. "This- whatever is going on between them - is between _them_. Not us, not you-" Diana made to interrupt, forwards, but Shayera cut her off, tone harsh.

"- _Especially_ not you - understand that their positions have switched somewhat, and its a new dynamic both will have to get used to, at least for now. Pride is going to be hurt on both sides, and until they sit down and talk this out properly, all cards on deck, then there's nothing you can do. _Forcing_ them to talk is not the way to go about it, Diana. Not this time, and you know it." Shayera met her friend's eye firmly before returning back to her lounging state, overlooking the balcony. 

Diana stared at her for a moment, and then nodded, also returning to her friend's side, but not as relaxed as before. They were solid friends now, but at times, it was easy to be reminded of the tension that could so easily brew between the two women. Diana was a formidable warrior, everyone knew that, but Shayera too was was battle minded, bold, and unafraid of confrontation, which made her a real challenge for someone even like Diana. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with, but pitted against the other, deadly.

Clark had yet to move from below, and Shayera knew he was listening to them. The fact that he hadn't yet left was acknowledgement enough.

"Give it time. Space and time, and they'll work it out." Shayera concluded, and that was for Clark's benefit, as well as as Diana's.

After a few moments, Shayera spoke again, and Diana allowed the change, immersing herself into the subject, and somewhere in the midst of their conversation, Shayera's eyes had flickered towards Clark had been earlier, only to find an empty space.

It would be later that evening, when Shayera returned to her own apartment, that she'd discover a little jewelry box, of design similar to pieces seen in the museum she'd visited with a certain someone back on _Pepo_ , in a universe some time away, seated on the glass table of her living room. The note attached was simple, _thank you_ in Kryptonian, one of the few phrases she knew, handwriting scratchy like the claws of a mother hen. Shayera held the item to the light, reading between the lines. _Thank you for understanding_ , and if they were being plain honest, another _thank you_ for keeping Diana out of it, irrespective of good intentions. Shayera said nothing but smiled nonetheless, tucking the box in the crook of her arm, before going to bed.

 

 

 _Kent Farm, evening_.

Jason was in the midst of drying the plates when a knock came at the door. Laughter, a _Hey Ma_ , then tones lowered, whispers - Clark obviously probably wanting to find out how things were, and Jason fought to keep his eyes from being lost in his damn head as he finished putting the plates away. Clark, as nosy as he was, was only looking out for him, and though any mention of the Boy Scout still did annoy him a little, learning a little about Clark's upbringing had proven rather surprising, and if he dared to admit it, entertaining. Not _quite_ the do-gooder he'd always imagined the big man to be - hadn't Clark mentioned something along those lines? 

Jason sighed loudly, flinging the towel over his shoulder and made his way to the front door. "Alright, you can stop gossiping about me now, whatever you wanna know-"

and then stopped, because Clark wasn't alone.

Standing beside him, was _Talia_.

For a moment, Jason hadn't the words. The fucking words, they wouldn't come to his mind, even as Talia _al Ghul_ stood in front of him, black suited and booted, eyes on his, softer, and that was all it took, that _look_ , before Jason rushed to her, hugging her tightly, and suddenly, it was just the two of them in the hallway, his throat tight, and Talia muttering something in Arabic, before Jason finally found the courage to let go.

"Ma- _Talia_ \- what are you doing here?" Jason stepped back to wipe his eyes surreptitiously, and Talia only smiled, taking his hand and squeezing it.

"You think I would receive news of your illness and not come?" 

"No, its not that, its just that you're busy and-"

Another smile, and Jason stared at the face, a feeling of unease upon him. "I've come to take you home."

Silence.

But- Tim said that she wouldn't-

Jason opened his mouth and closed it again. "Tals, I-look. I'm fine, I swear. It was nothing, just a chest infection, but I'-I'm better now, I am. Ready to work and-"

There was a glint in Talia's eye, but it was a dangerous one, a _tread lightly, Jason_ , and Jason swallowed, knowing he needed to sell this right.

"Just a chest infection." It wasn't a question. Jason closed his eyes briefly at Talia's flat tone, the way her head was slightly tilted her head at him, and then it came, what he'd been secretly dreading-

"We're leaving. _Now_." The tone changed, an _order_ , and Jason just about managed to hold in his flinch. 

"Ma, just hear me out, alright? It wasn't a big deal, I'm back to normal now, healthy and all, and look - I'll be-"

"'ana 'ukrih 'an 'ukarir nafsi. There is a car waiting for us. Do not forget to thank Mr and Mrs K-"

It was now the Kents decided to make themselves present, the older couple looking concerned, and Jason, a little desperate, threw a look to Clark. The big man caught his eye and with a nod, stepped forward. "Talia, I brought you here on the-"

"You did no such thing, Clark. You know if I wanted to, I could have taken Jason away at any time." Talia snapped, and Jason forced himself to keep calm. 

Talia would of course know about the Kents, where they lived, just as she knew of Superman's civilian identity and the people closest to him. But _these_ people right here, Ma and Jon Kent, had been nothing but kind and generous to him, and leaving like this wasn't right, even though he'd been here for less than a full day, and already he felt much better. Nor was it the time to remind dearest Talia that he wasn't a damn kid, or an object or even pet that she could just order around, but Jason knew he had to pick his battles wisely.

"Talia please, Jason is fine here-"

Talia shifted to Jon and Ma, who were stood side by side, a little anxious at the exchange. Her voice softened by just a touch, but the hardness in her voice indicated that there was no getting around her on this. "Thank you, for looking after my son. I do apologise for any inconvenience caused-"

"Oh no, its quite alright, truly!" Ma began, and Jon adding on with a "Jay's a great kid, honestly, its nothing having him here with us, we lo-"

"Jason, let's go. Home, do not delay. We have a long journey ahead of us-"

"Ta- _Ma_ , please, I'm alright."

"Yes, you've said already. Well and fine, that a chest infection had you almost dying, _again_ , of course, dear child. And ready to work? Just _wonderful_. Get your things Jason, this is the last time I will repeat myself."

Talia was already turned to the door, face cool, phone out, and Jason knew now that really, there was no way out of this. As much as he loved Talia, going back with her would mean it would be a hella while before leaving on his own again. Not to mention, Talia had far more resources at her disposal, and if she truly wanted, she could make him going back to work near impossible - the woman had eyes and ears everywhere, even if she did promise not to keep such close tabs on his work.

"Ma'am - Miss Al Ghul?" Ma spoke now, voice soft, but Talia still looked out of the door, heels sharp against the oakwood. 

Ma continued, undeterred. "I understand you are Jason's.. _mother_. And as a mother, I understand what it is like to worry over a child; we've all been there-"

"You have no idea." Talia was not happy.

"I may not have the exact same experience, but I've had a good thirty years of worry over a child not from this earth, whose abilities far outweigh most, if not all people. Worry over authorities, over fitting in, of him being taken away from us. Of losing him. And-" Ma paused, looking at Clark, before at Talia, whose face was half turned to her, but jaw tight. "-I never wanted Clark to move away. To leave us. I- _we_ were afraid of what was out there, how he would cope, but there's only so much a parent can do, Miss Ghul. Really, as much as we do to protect them, at some point, they will need to venture out on their own, and sometimes, that may mean making mistakes. Failures, hurts and diappointments, but that is part of life. Keeping them away in a bubble out of fear of losing them - in the long run, they will come to resent you, I assure you."

Ma's voice was quiet. Jon seemed uncomfortable and Clark looked away. 

Seemed there was more to the Boy Scout that Jason had given him credit for, and he made a note of the interaction.

A long pause, and then Talia finally spoke. "I cannot lose him." 

Jason's throat felt tight.

"Jason is safe with us. For however long he needs, it'll-" Ma looked to Jon now, and the older man stepped forward, taking his wife's hand in his own, lending his support.

"The fresh air will do him good, Miss. Real good, I promise. There's a whole lot to do out here, the farm, all the animals, we'll get him building all sorts and just- get him strong and rested. You have my word, Miss Al- Ghul. And you can see him whenever you like."

Talia finally looked to them now, face not quite as severe as before.

Jason stepped forward, taking her hand, and squeezed it gently. "T, this will be good for me. A different scene - besides, work is off for a few months anyway. At least, I won't be alone, and there's plenty to do. I'll still keep up with my training, all the practice, I'll find the time, just- a-and I'll keep in contact, real regular and all, I promise. If anything goes wrong or its gets really bad and I can't cope, then I'll come with you. Come on T, you know I can do this. I'e been through worse, remember?" Jason shook her hand a little, biting his lip.

Talia stared at him, and then at Clark. "Are you sure-"

" _Yes_." Clark spoke without hesitation, and had he been up to it, Jason would have kissed the man out of thanks. A friendly punch to the shoulder would have to do instead. "My parent's are more than happy to have Jay here, and Talia, I- Jay will be fine here. I'll be checking on him regularly."

A pause, and Talia opened her mouth as if to question, but Jason shook her hand again. "Please, T."

Silence, and then Ma spoke, voice brave. "How about some cocoa? We can tell you a little more of ourselves if you'd like-"

"Ma, I don't think that'll be necessary-" Clark began, clearly not liking the idea of Talia knowing more than he knew she already did, but Ma continued.

"It won't." Talia responded now, demeanor warmer than before, and Jason let his shoulders sag in relief as he felt a tiny squeeze in his hand. "But- Jason has mentioned one or two... _interesting_ tales in the past regarding Clark, just line here and there, and if you wouldn't mind-"

" _No!_ " Clark butt in now, red faced, knowing Talia was going to get a real kick out of this. "No! I think that's enough, we're all pretty much in agreement here-"

"I haven't agreed to anything, Clark." Talia let her amusement at the big man's embarrassment sink into her tone, and Jason turned aside to let out a smile. This could get interesting.

"Well, let's see here-" Pa started.

"We could start with the time Clark got his first-" Jason suggested, and Clark turned a pair of furious eyes on him. "Jay, I _swear to God_ -"

"Ma! Clark swore!" Jason shouted in near triumph.

Ma turned to her son serenely. "Clark. Swear jar. You know the rules."

"What?!" Clark gasped, red faced, and started to protest, but Pa shook his head, muttering something about _happy wife, happy home_ and now Jason couldn't help but burst into noisy laughter as Clark _threw_ his hands into the air, that _they_ didn't know what they were doing, telling _her_ of all people, that he was a grown man, but Ma's admonishment continued as they made their way slowly into the living room. Out of the corner of his eye, though Talia remained silent, there was... _something_ across her face, begrudging respect, and Jason knew that he'd won this time around.

For now, anyway.

 

 

Jason watched the black sedan take off into the night. The smell of Talia's perfume still lingered on his shirt.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, breathing out slowly, and felt the tightness across his chest dissipate like an elastic band finally giving way.

Somewhere from behind him, a pair of footsteps approached, and then Clark appeared beside him, handing him a soft drink.

"What, no beer?" Jason joked quietly, catching sight of a toothy grin. 

"Ma would have my hide. Pa has a whole selection to chose from; as long as Ma's not around, you and him are good to go."

Jason chuckled, amused at the thought of Pa, drinking in hiding from his wife. "Your parents."He shook his head fondly, and it was Clark's turn to smile, shaking his head.

"They really like you." Clark spoke, a few beats later as he sipped his drink. 

Jason stared into the distance. "They've only just met me, Clark. They barely know anything about me, about... _us_ and our history-"

"Do you _want_ them to know?" Clark's head had turned towards his own, but Jason continued looking forwards, unsure of how to answer that.

"Not...not now." He eventually answered. Clark was their son - and to find out that someone who'd once humiliated their boy on a public level with such disrespect was now under their roof, eating their food? Nah, they'd kick him out for sure-

"They won't hate you, you know."

"Yes, they will. Any sane person would." Jason felt his tone take a bitter tone, and it was as if the light-heartedness of a few moments ago were non-existent.

Clark said nothing for a while, and then took a long swig of his beer. "Well Jay, any sane person wouldn't have helped me the way you did last year."

Jason stilled. "That was different-"

"Is that so?" Interesting. I bet if my parent's knew of the role you played, they'd argue otherwise too. Are you ready to plead your case, Jay? Protest that you don't deserve a second chance, another opportunity?"

Jason said nothing.

Clark nodded to himself. "I won't tell them Jay. It's not my story to tell, not really. But I can pretty much guarantee that whether you tell them or otherwise...you're welcome to stay. Even if you decide to run off tomorrow, it won't be because you're being driven out. Nor am I gonna hunt you down either and drag you back here. Part of growing up...maturing, is that you face the consequences of your actions head on, even if they are painful. Whether you expect them, or regret them in hindsight, whether you wouldn't change a thing - you face it."

Jason looked away. "I don't-"

"I'm not expecting answers, Jay. Not even an explanation, cause that'll mean I'll owe you one as well, and I don't think -well, having to sit through tonight hearing about the time I left a hole in the roof after getting a little too excited with a girl I was seeing, in front of your M- _Talia_ , of of all people- I honestly don't believe tonight is that best time for such a discussion, don't you?" Clark smirked, but Jason, even without looking at him, knew Clark was still pissed that Talia al Ghul had gotten a little kick out of tonight at his expense, even with the humour.

"You invite her here or what?"

"I did."

Jason looked at Clark before looking away, startled to find that Clark had been watching him. "Part of me thought she'd show up because she could, but Talia, whether you like or not, can respect boundaries, even if it seems otherwise."

"I'm not surprised she knew about, you know." Clark waved to the house behind him. "Just wonder what she'll do with with that information-"

"Nothing." Jason spoke firmly now. "She knows a fair number of secret identities, and at any point, could have used such acknowledgement to her advantage, but she never has. And when it comes to your parents, this place-" Jason shook his head. "The kindness you guys have shown me? Nah, Talia wouldn't. For me..and for Damian, cause she knows he's been here before, what with all the animals and such? _Definitely not_. I know her better than you...possibly a little better than...Bruce, maybe, and I know she wouldn't. I'd never forgive her if she tried anything, I swear."

Clark said nothing, and Jason didn't push it further. It was Clark's right to remain unconvinced - Talia was not an outright enemy to the League, but she was certainly no ally either, and they both knew it.

"I'll still have to deal with the Pit. Nightmares, teary breakdowns, you know." Jason swallowed heavily.

"I know." Clark's voice was soft. "They know, not all of it, but they know. And if anything is too much to handle, then they have me, Diana. Bruce even, but um...we're, you know..." Clark trailed off here, and Jason didn't ask about Bruce. Too much for one night.

"I..You're sure? I mean, God, I don't- I don't wanna risk-"

"I'm sure. _We're_ sure. And you're doing great, true story. Compared to the Island and the initial getting you back on your feet, a definite improvement, short stuff." Clark nudged his shoulder with his own.

Jason scowled a little at the nickname, letting out a dramatic huff, and Clark rolled his eyes.

The two of them remained standing for a while, content with the quiet, until Jason decided to liven things up a bit.

"So. The playboys in secret drawer of your bottom closet - what's that all about? Always thought legs were more your thing, not breasts." Jason grinned wildly.

He watched as Clark turned shock white pale, then pink, before settling on a deep, scarlet red.

"No idea what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh."


	60. Heart of the matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick does a little reflecting. Diana helps Bruce see the bigger picture. Jason has a nightmare.

_Bludhaven._

"He _did_? Oh God, poor Clark - wait, you said-" Tim was reclining on the living room couch, red faced, desperately trying not to laugh.

"Ye _p_." Jason grinned over on the other end.

"And Clark, I swear if you don't tell me-"

"Looked like he'd burst into tears. T was having the time of her life, sipping up all the tea. Don't think C will ever be able to look at her with a straight face again, not for a long ass time." Jason was bellowing loudly.

Tim held the phone to his chest for a moment, tears streaming down his face as he laughed, and _laughed_. "I. can't. I-I just _can't_ , Jay. I'm not even sorry, this is too good for words. Oh my _God_ , in front of Talia, I can't believe this."

Outside the door, Dick watched the joy spread on Tim's face, the way his little brother cracked up so freely, and after a pause, walked away, stomach in knots.

It was... difficult, if he were truthful, to see Tim like this. Not that he wanted the kid to be unhappy, God no. But that there was a fairly large part of Tim that he didn't quite know, that as soon as Tim finished his phone call with Jason, the boy would re-return back to the kitchen, a little more guarded, and it broke Dick's heart. It did, because once upon a time, Tim had been so free and open with _him_. When it had been just the two of them, before Damian, before Red Robin, titles and new identities - it had been Dick and Tim, out on trips and fairs, eating junk food and staying up late, coming up with elaborate pranks to play on Bruce, ice-cream getaways whenever Dick had the rare chance to pick up Tim from school. Dick knew that he'd lost part of that the moment Damian came into the fold. At times, it felt like he was in a tug of war between two jealous brothers, and, since he was all about honesty now, Damian had won more often than not. Now, though Tim was still here, still his precious little brother, their relationship had definitely changed. Shifted - the love remained, but there was an underlying awkwardness, as if one was afraid of upsetting the other, and _that_ hurt. But hey, at least Tim _did_ open up to someone, even if that someone was none other than Jason. Estranged brother, enemy, lost soul, Dick didn't know for sure, it all blurred into one. 

The last time he'd seen the man, with the whole chest infection and shit, Jason had made him both empathise and hate him, all at the same time. Seeing him in that bed, small and young, as fucking huge as he was - Dick had sat in that room for hours, just watching the brother turned stranger sleep. The delirium that would slip out at times, mumbles in Arabic, in Spanish, even a small whimper for _Mum_ before quietening, but Dick had never told anyone what he'd heard. Sitting in that room with his heavily sedated br- it was the first in almost three years that they'd occupied the same space without tearing at each other's throats. Dick had debated holding a hand, or even talking, but the memories - they were a lot, complex, and he didn't really know where to start, so he'd eventually settled on watching. Counting. Marveling at how big and strong Jason had become, and it had all come back to him. The small, brown child with freckles, whose eyes seemed to follow him on the rare occasions Dick visited. Curiosity mixed with jealousy as the young child would perch high up in the Cave walls, observing his routines, never clapping, but Jason stayed, always. Never offered to learn, to even come down, but Dick had caught the boy once, just by chance, practicing a routine of his once. Jason's thin arms had trembled with the weight of his body, courtesy of malnourishment, and with every effort came a tumble, a mess of ungainly limbs, but Jason never gave up. Kept dusting himself and starting the routine again. Dick had watched for a few minutes before entering, guilty that he'd not shown any real kindness towards Jason since meeting him and had opened his mouth to praise the boy, but the _look_ on Jason's face upon his entrance. _Foul_ , something angry, primal, fearful, yes, and Jason had all but tackled him to the ground, a flurry of punches at what Dick was doing here, poking in his business, that wasn't it enough to already be the best, and before Dick had the chance to protest otherwise, Jason had took off running, right past Bruce, whose perplexed face said it all, really.

At some point, Damian had been around, watching _him_ watching Jason. Dick always knew when Damian was nearby; light on his feet, almost soundless, green eyes that would narrow before roaming slowly, checking, assessing, but Dick, for some reason, had chosen not to acknowledge his brother's presence. Maybe it was having Jason around, or what, he wasn't sure, but Damian had kept to himself, motionless, outside the door for an hour or so before finally leaving, as if he was just _waiting_ for Jason to try something. A guardian of some sorts, Dick had mused, but ask the boy and Damian would of course deny any such action.

But then, Jason had woken up, and any thoughts that Dick had about the _why_ , and _how_ , disappeared as soon as Jason had laid eyes on him.

That dig at been Daddy's number one _bitch_ \- the golden child, yet again, was a primary factor in their non-relationship. Feeling second, not as loved or as treasured, and though Dick had come to understand why Jason had felt that way over the years, part of him remained frustrated that _it wasn't true._ What Jason saw as favouristism, Dick called overbearing. The fights he and Bruce had fought - just painful all round. Bruce, all emotional constipation, and Dick, jumping too quickly to conclusions, wanting his own space, freedom, and to make a mark for himself, not in Batman's shadow. Jason either didn't see this, or if he did, chose to ignore it, and despite all the arguments he and his brothe- _Jay_ -no, _Jason_ had had, it always ended the same way, the same bitter departure, and Dick had grown tired long ago. 

"Yeah right prick, like the chicken actually did that. Try again, a little less ridiculous next time." Tim's snarky voice brought Dick back to the present, and swallowing, Dick decided a drink was in order. He switched his attention to making a cup of tea. God, what did Tim even like again? Coffee, but everyone knew it was out of necessity, not that Tim enjoyed it, and Bruce had been trying hard to somewhat wean the kid from that poison. What did Tim _actually_ like? Hot cocoa? Spicy cinnamon, a sprinklesome of ginger, just a little pinch of suga- no, that was Damian's drink. Damian, yes - how the hell did he not even know what _Tim_ liked to drink?

"You know this. You've done this a million times already." Dick muttered under his breath. 

Tim wan't one for particularly sweet drinks. Was it lemon? Green tea? or maybe ginsen-

"White tea. Kinda took a liking to it but-" A quiet voice from behind him had Dick whipping round, only to catch faint bemusement across Tim's face, and it caught him off guard. 

"Yeah, of course! I knew that. Gimme a second, I'm sure I have some back here, just wait." Dick slapped his forehead, a little red, and began to rummage emphatically in the cupboards, desperately searching for white tea, something he knew deep down he didn't have, but if by chance he had some stashed away, just a little possibly, then hopefully-

A light hand was placed on his arm, and suddenly Tim was in his peripheral vision. "Dick, its alright. I mean it. I'll have anything, honestly."

Dick turned away, jaw tight. "It isn't, Tim."

Tim didn't respond right away, only to squeeze his arm before backing away to the freezer, digging out a tub of Ben and Jerry's ice-cream. "Hot cocoa. Won't be like Alfred's, but I'll suffer in silence, for you anyway." The snark was back, an olive branch, and Dick conceded, allowing his brother to tease him. 

"Yeah, well, Alfred's a rare breed of special. Everything he does is one of a kind." He smiled, but it wasn't all there.

Dick focused on making the hot cocoa, mentally reciting Alfred's receipe in his head. For Tim? This would be nothing short of perfect, and if he had to drag the his grandfather from the Manor just to get it right, then by the heavens, so Dick would.

From the kitchen bar stool, Tim snorted, words distorted by a spoonful of ice-cream. "You're telling me. Anyway, what are we doing for lunch?"

"We've literally just had breakfast, Tim. Like twenty minutes ago." Dick grinned.

"We did?" Dick turned round to see Tim's confused face as he peered at the clock on the wall, and he let out a chuckle. "Well I'll be damned. Technically, its brunch, and brunch isn't lunch, so. Lunch, big bro, what's the plan?"

"You don't have paperwork to do?" Dick berated himself for letting his surprise leak into his tone. Tim was in his apartment, in nothing but a sweatshirt and jeans. The kid was unlikely to be working today. 

Tim crooked an eyebrow at him, and Dick could just make out a smirk hiding behind spoon hovering in the air. "Your detective skills are slipping; its all the sugar catching up to your fat ass. Nope, no work for me today. Just wanna chill. Pizza? Oooh maybe we could have Chinese, its been a while. We could double up, even. Pizza and chinese, _pizese_. See what I did there?" The boy yawned, smoothing back a stray hair into his low bun at the back. 

Dick rolled his eyes. "I was thinking of cooking, actually."

"Cooking. You. Actual, edible, human food." Tim deadpanned.

Dick smiled. "I was thinking of spaghetti and meatballs, that's about the best I can do without mucking things up." 

Tim stared at him, then tilted his head. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"HAHAHA _no._ I can cook, you know."

"If you call captain crunch and milk cooking, sure. God, if anything happens to me, I want Alfred to have my photography collection." Tim mock exaggerated.

Dick threw a tea bag at Tim before setting down the mug of cocoa at his front, taking the bar stool next to him. "Apologies, Your Highness. I'm a little low on roasted duck and honey marinade with a drizzle of sour cream dressing and trouffle desert, but if you can _bear with me and make do_ , then I'm sure oddly shaped balls of meat will be more than adequate for that flat washboard you call a stomach. "

Tim laughed. "Ah man, Jason cooked up these amazing fried cheesy rice balls the other day, its called suppli al -" and then stopped. "Sorry. I...I didn't mean to..you know."

Dick said nothing for a moment, stirring his drink. "It's fine." His voice was quiet, and though he knew Tim didn't mean to compare the two, especially with Jason's prowess in culinary matters, it was yet another reminder how things had changed between them.

"Dick, c'mon man. You know I- Jay, we all know he's-" Tim started, and Dick closed his eyes, the light teasing over.

"I know. I wasn't there, but I know. From Alfred, even Bruce. You're lucky to have him- to experience his cooking, I mean. I'm sure its great."

Tim sipped his drink before speaking. "You know, you could too, if you truly wanted. If..if there's one thing that can establish any sort of bonding, its food. That's how me and Jay got started, Dick. Over food."

Dick looked at his brother, then looked away. "How is he?" A change in subject, and Tim paused before answering, understanding.

"Alright. Weirdly enough, I think he's actually enjoying it out there, though he keeps complaining about the wifi and "lack" of civilisation. He says it'll only be for a few days and then he'll be more than ready to go back to his own place, but from what Jay's told me so far, I think...I think he may be surprised."

"What do you mean?" Dick was curious.

"Well, you remember the first time Damian went to the farm last year, over the summer?" Tim's voice was a little more tense than before, and Dick noted the change. Alfred had mentioned something about the two of them at some art festival together fairly recently, and though Damian hadn't mentioned anything specific, he did appear slightly less hostile any time Tim's name came up in conversation. But only just.

"Yeah." Dick smiled into his drink. "He really didn't want to go, at first. Said there would be be nothing to do, that he'd be surrounded by inbred dimwits and a severe lack of intelligence all round."

Tim snorted quietly beside him. "Something along those lines, yeah. And yet, when Bruce drove to collect him after a week, it was as if Damian didn't want to leave."

Dick nodded. "He made Bruce stay for dinner, and then the night. Clark said it was the best thing ever, Bruce having to set the table and wash plates. Apparently, watching Bruce do chores was like a baby taking its first steps. Clumsy, awkward, and not knowing what the fuck it was doing."

It was Tim's turn to smile. "Exactly. Jay, I know he's eager to go home and all, but I think after a few days out there? Part of me thinks he won't be so eager to leave so soon."

Dick hmmed. "How exactly did he and Clark kinda, you know?" He waved a hand lazily. "Connect? End up all buddy-buddy like?"

Tim smirked at him. "Jealous? Jay's not gonna steal Clark away if that's what you're worried about, Dick. I'm sure you're still his favourite."

Dick blushed. "It's not that! And I'm not a kid anymore-"

"I know for a fact that you have Superman boxers, a hoodie, a onesie, even a signed autograph by him despite knowing where he lives-"

"Fine, fine! Point taken!" They laughed, and then Dick quietened. "I mean, obviously I'm no longer that kid anymore who was all obsessed over everything Superman. Superman is an icon, sure, but he's not real. Uncle Clark however is, and I, look whatever I may think or feel about Jas-... it's alright Clark has hit it off with Jay. I'm not angry about that. Just wondering how it works, with the history they share and all."

Tim nodded. "No idea. I don't know how things changed between them, and I won't lie, I've been curious, but Jay won't budge, and all Clark said was that there was a lot more to Jay than he originally believed. Look, Clark and Jay being cool doesn't mean their shit's all forgotten and swept under the rug, I can tell. But it works, weirdly. It's the same with you, me and Jay. You guys can be civil and accept that you have at least one or two people in common. So-" Tim stood, draining the remnants of his mug and walked over the stove, beginning bring things out of the cupboard. 

"Don't be jelly. Doesn't suit that ridiculously pretty face of yours."

Dick laughed, also standing up. "Is that jealously I hear?" He asked, tone sugary sweet.

" _No_ , don't be a dick, _Dick_. I'l have you know, this face, in a suit? Get's more in one night that you could possibly get in a _year_." Tim snarked back, though a faint blush had settled on his cheeks.

"Hmmm, I see, I see." Dick sauntered up to his brother, enjoying the mocking. "Hope you're using protection and all. Bruce sit you down for the talk yet?"

Tim spluttered, beetroot red. "Can you _not_ -"

"'Or how to get down on a _girl_ -"

"You need to fucking stop-."

"What makes them go "ooh _Gawd_ , ooh- ah, _Tim_ , _Timmm_ , yes, like that, more, _mo_ "- Dick imitated, voice breathy and high pitched, and Tim, shouting, clutched a handful of cereal and _threw_ it at him.

"I _swear_ , if you don't shut the _hell_ up-"

" _Timmm_ , _harde_ \- ooffeugh-" Dick was cut off mid laughter by Tim crashing into him, red faced, and after a few weak punches, the two separated laughing, Tim doing a poor job of hiding his mortified face in his palms.

"I really don't need this from you guys."

"Guys?" Dick cocked his head at him, then understood. "Ah, so Jason's been getting at you too, _good_. We only want you to be safe, Timmy tots."

" _I. get. it._ " Tim ground out.

"Do I need to do a background check or nah-"

"You continue like this and I'm out, I swear." Tim looked up, but his grin was evident, and Dick felt his chest stop for a moment.

He hadn't seen such an expression towards himself for a long, long time.

"I'm all done bro. But seriously-". He shuffled closer, them threw an arm around his brother and tucked him in close, resting his chin above his head. "You ever want advice or just a chat, whatever, come to me. Don't be afraid - sure, embarrassing you is all fun and games, but I'll always be here, whatever you need, whenever. And...if going to Jay is what you want, then...then that's alright too. I'm gonna have to get used to it, so don't mind me."

Tim nodded. "Thanks, Dick." His voice was quiet. 

"Alright." In one swift motion, Dick had hauled the two of them standing. "Let's get cooking, eh?"

 

 

 _Watch-tower, control room_.

"Wonder Woman." Bruce kept his eyes on the readings on display, but Diana's presence could not be ignored, and they knew it.

"Batman." Diana answered, tone equally neutral, and to the other side of them, Barry grinned, slurping loudly at a milkshake.

"Aww, you guys are so cute! Pretending to be all business when we all know that you guys are hot and heavy like-"

"Get. Out." Bruce didn't even raise his voice, and Barry still whined. He half smirked to himself, ignoring the look Diana was giving him.

" _Bruce-_ " She admonished, hand on hip, but Bruce wouldn't give in.

"I prefer Batman, actually-"

"What?! I'm not _wrong_ am I? We love you guys together-" Barry tried again, eyes wide and hopeful, but Bruce knew they were secretly filled with mischief.

"What does the sign in the top right corner say?" Bruce cut Barry off smoothly, still concentrating on his work.

"No food and drink allowed." Barry recited a little unhappily. "But-"

Bruce pointed at the door.

"You said-" Barry protested.

Bruce continued pointing.

"C'mon B! We're friends now, have been for years. I'm not afraid of you." The tone was rather childish, and now Bruce did look up, to find Barry with his arms folded, grumpy.

"Uh-huh." His tone was flat.

Barry sighed, them grumbled loudly. "Diana, I don't know you put up with this. How you can be with the most beautiful woman in the world and still be such an uptight ass-"

Diana slapped Barry round the head, ignoring his _oww_. "Fine! Fine, I'm leaving, I know you guys will be at it like rabbits the second I leave, but whatever-"

The man sped away from the glare Diana gave him, and for a moment, there was nothing but blissful silence. Bruce let out a silent air of relief, then continued with his work.

"He's been chatting incessantly for the last two hours. Utter hell. I don't know how Iris does it." He grumbled, and it was Diana's turn to smile, bending to kiss him on the cheek.

"You've known each other for close to eight years. Two hours is child play, we all know that."

"I barely like him Diana, and at most, only mildly tolerate his presence."

Diana hummed, encircling an arm over Bruce's chest and rested her chin above his. "Lies. He is one of your best friends, and you love him. Stop complaining, Bruce."

Bruce grumbled but said nothing more, unwilling to admit Diana was right. The woman in question remained standing for a moment before taking the seat next to him. 

When Diana didn't speak, Bruce decided to speak for her, suspecting that it was most likely something to do with his friendship with Clark, or Jason, or any combination of the two. Whatever it was, Bruce didn't want to hear it. As Clark had rightly said, Jason was more than capable of making his own decision, if staying at the Kent farm for a few days was preferable, then so be it. He didn't need a lecture, or another pep talk, especially Alfred's last one after Jason had left with Clark. At present, he and Clark were fine. They were working well together, as a team, leading the League. No arguments, and they did well to respect each other's space.

There was nothing to discuss. _Nothing._

"Clark and I are fine."

Diana hummed, and reached into a pocket to fish out two chocolate bars. Placing one close his station, she proceeded to unwrap the other one, still looking out of the windows.

"I respect Jason's decision. He is a grown man and I have no qualms with whatever he decides to do, within reason of course."

An eyebrow was quirked in his direction and Bruce, holding his tongue, faced his work once more, ignoring the chocolate bar. Silence dawned yet again, interspersed by Diana's chewing, and after a while, Bruce, irritation growing, broke it.

"Was there something you needed?" 

Diana shrugged her shoulders rather lazily, reclining in her seat. "Just wanted to sit here a while, nothing more." The tone feigned unbothered, but Bruce knew otherwise.

"Fine." He bit out, a little harsh, but Diana didn't take the bait, and with a low growl,Bruce swivelled away, hating the fact that she could always distract him, no matter how stoic he was. 

"I take it you've heard the news." Diana's voice was thoughtful, not long after. Bruce glanced at her expression.

"I'm not aware of any-"

"Lois is pregnant."

Bruce stared at Diana. 

"I found out a few days ago. They're keeping the news very quiet. She's six weeks gone, he thinks; they're going to the doctor sometime this week to confirm. They're very excited, of course, but cautious. Apparently Lois had been pregnant just once in the past, but had miscarried early. Clark doesn't want them get ahead of themselves too quickly."

Bruce found his mouth had now turned very dry. "I didn't know." He eventually spoke, lamely.

Diana hmmed again, then ate another piece of chocolate. 

"Why-" Bruce swallowed, then stopped, because they both knew why Clark hadn't told him sooner. Bruce would have been one of, if not the first to know, best friends and all.

"I'll send him my regards." Bruce didn't know what to say, but he knew those words weren't enough. Clark had talked about kids in the past - he loved the boys as if they were his own, and Bruce knew that his friends had had trouble conceiving, but a miscarriage? They- Clark had been through that alone? And the digs he'd thrown to Clark about not interfering in his family because of his own lack of children?

And now Lois was pregnant?

His friends would be over the _moon_. The last time he'd seen Lois, she'd looked so radiant, and Bruce had queried the possibility of pregnancy - hadn't Clark mentioned something about Lois been ill not long ago? Something about being mildly sick, and they'd thought it was just bad food?

"I'm sure Clark is very happy." Bruce tried again, but his throat was tight.

Diana nodded once, then stood, stretching out her legs. She made her way to the door, only pausing by the entrance. "Bruce. Whatever your feelings regarding Clark and his...involvement with Jason, as valid as they are - Clark needs his friend. It...It is a new period in his life, exciting but also very different, and I'm sure Clark would appreciate having someone with extensive experience in childrearing by his side." She finally looked at him, eyes soft. 

"Do not let your friend down, Bruce."

Bruce watched her go.

 

 

_Kent Farm, just after midnight._

_Clang._

The metal hit the bedframe, and the noise had Jason half leaping from the bed, crashing down with a loud _thud_. 

With a panic, his eyes rushed open, sweating beading across his forehead. "No, _nononono_ , not real, just a dream-"

Another _clang_ came from behind him, and Jason screamed, feeling the metal reverberate through his bones, the air chill and unforgiving. 

"Not a dream, bat boy! No time for any of that!" Something red and brassy flashed through his vision, and at the corner of his mind, a large mouth full of white teeth snarled, the sound grating in his ears.

"Oh God, please no. Not now, _no_." Jason whimpered, rocking himself, but the darkness loomed, and the voice, as foul as it was, cackled wildly.

Something purple swept his toes, and Jason crashed into the wall behind him, wanting to distance himself from that god-awful suit an-and shoes and-

"I've got a couple of questions for you, birdy. We didn't get the answers last time, did we?" Green hair flopped into Jason's vision, chalky white skin near his, and Jason _screamed_ , tears spilling over his cheeks, but the Joker didn't seem to care. Dancing with the already bloodied crowbar in hand, Jason stared at the monster at his front, only just beginning to notice something hot, wet and sticky from his chest.

Jason didn't dare look down, because he didn't need to.

He already knew what the substance was. A little runnier than wax, metallic smelling, and it wouldn't be long now before-

 _Clang_ -

Something dull hit his left side, a _crack_ , and the pain hit Jason now, warm and familiar. 

"Please, please stop, I beg of you, _please_." Jason pleaded, but the Joker took no notice of him, and proceeded to bring down the crowbar on his right knee.

 _This is it, now_ , Jason thought in his delirium. _He's got you now out here, all alone a-and that's it, no going back home, no Bruce or Alfred or-or_

"Son?" 

A voice suddenly entered the midst, and Jason, in his fright, pushed blindly at the source, and scrambled towards the light, skidding with eyes unseeing and head muddled, tripping and rolling, away from the voices behind who were calling at him, trying to drag him, but Jason continued, screaming, fumbling with what-oh-doorknob, thank _God_ , and bolted as fast as he could into the darkness, running and running and running, till it was nothing but eery silence, wisps of feathery grass almost as tall as his person, and Jason, battling the demons of the Joker, that horrible _clang_ , the half lit cigarette that dropped from that Shelia bitch's lips as she was tied up beside him, beaten and unconscious, and oh-there, something tall and strong, and Jason sat back now, against a tree-

and _wept_.

It was a little while later, possibly no longer than several minutes, when the haze began to fade, and the chill of the night sky began to wake Jason up.

"Fuck." Jason mumbled, eyes swollen, head heavy, as he slowly surveyed his surroundings. He was on a hill of some kind, overlooking a cornfield, was it? And in the far distance, it was the _house_ , the farmhouse, oh _shit_ , and now Jason groaned, letting his head slump backwards against the tree.

He'd been having a nightmare.

Jason ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to calm his breathing, but his chest felt like it was fire, and so he tugged painfully at his hair, hoping the pain would ground him quicker.

"I'd stop doing that if I were you. If you want to keep all that hair, at least." 

The voice had Jason snapping up and moving backwards so fast he almost rolled down the bloody hill. "Who-whose out-" Jason managed, up on his feet, fighting stance ready, only to watch a pair of outstretched palms appear, then arms, elbows, and finally, Jon's face appeared, eyes wide with concern, wrapped in a dressing gown.

" _J_ on-"

"Just me, son." The voice was calm, gentle, and Jason stared, just stared, willing himself to calm down, not to attack, that he wasn't under fire, or to be taken away and used as a slave.

Just Jon. A good guy. 

"Jay-" Jon had stopped a few feet from below Jason now, palms still raised. "-I'm gonna bend down now and pick up the mugs of cocoa I brought with me, son. Is that alright?"

It took a couple of seconds for Jason to find his voice, his throat dry, and when he finally managed to speak, he recoiled inwards, the sound raspy and painful. "Yeah. Yes, that's fine, I'm-I'm sorry."

Jon nodded, a brief smile on his face, then bent down to pick the mugs, slowly. 

Jason still hadn't relaxed his stance, and it was unsettling. His eyes were glued onto Jon's movement - as much as he wanted to stop, he couldn't, and tears sprang to his eyes. 

"Well, don't mind me. Just going to sit down and enjoy the midnight sky." Jon took booth mugs, and sat down against the tree bark, placing one large mug a little further from his right in Jason's direction. An invitation to sit, but only when he was ready, and Jason couldn't be more thankful for the older man's understanding.

"I ever tell you about the time I bought this land?" Jon sipped at his mug thoughtfully, calm, as if there was nothing wrong, and Jason, unable to continue with the charade-

"What are you doi-"

"It was a good couple years ago, and back then, this land was nothing but empty green and wheat galore." Jon ignored the interruption, stretching his legs at his front. "I didn't know Martha back then - I was in my early twenties, wantin' to make something of myself. My Pa was a good man, a great 'un, a farmer with his own lot and all, but I didn't want to live under him forever. Loved him and respected him, enjoyed working beside him, but as I grew older, I began to crave my own space, something of mine. We kept having arguments, him and me. Kept thinking that I was getting too big for my boots, all ungrateful and the like, and me, as much as I loved that old man, I was getting sick and tired of his rules. Having to do what he said, his time, all of it. Our rows kept stressing my poor ma and one night, when it was just too much for her, she sent us both out. "Shoo, go on! Out, out, and don't you dare show your faces round here till morning breaks." Still remember how mad she looked, in her lil' pink nightie, scarf around her head, but she was a fierce one, my ma, and that was that." Jon had a small smile on his face.

Jason stared at him, but didn't move. His muscles were relaxing, no longer as primed for attack as they were before, but it was the _fear_ , the one still settled in his bones, that wouldn't allow him to move. 

Jon seemed unbothered as he continued the story. "So we're out in the cold, me and my Pa, both still mad as hell at each other. Don't wan' to look at each other or anything, he goes one way, I go another. I keep walking for ages, my boots all stiff, and I'm grumbling to myself that I'm a grown ass man, not a child, and how it wasn't fair and how sick and I tired I was of all of it. I walk, and keep walking till I get to that hill just by there." Jon jerked his chin to behind Jason, and Jason, after a moment, turned halfways to look, not quite taking his eyes of Jon. "I huffed and cursed up that hill, and when I got to the stop, I plonked myself down. Huffing and still mad as hell, I think I spent a good couple of minutes just wishing that I'da pack my things and run away, before I saw it."

Jon stopped here to take a long sip, and now Jason couldn't resist asking. "Saw what?" His voice was quieter this time.

"The view." Jon didn't look at him, but there was a far away look in his eyes, and Jason, calmer, moved forwards by an inch, then another, till he eventually took hold of the mug. Still warm, he took a sip-

and immediately _groaned_ out loud. "Oh my _Gawd_."

Jon glanced at him before resuming his scan of the horizon, chuckling. "Best damn cocoa you ever tasted, I'll bet."

Jason smiled despite himself. "...As good as Alfred's - _better_ , just by a bit, but you can't tell anyone."

"Your secret's safe here, boy, don't you worry now." Jason darted a look at Jon, that kind smile, and looked away, ashamed. The older man opted not to comment, and continued with his narrative. 

"The view. Right on top of that hill, I finally opened my eyes. Took my attention past the hurt, the present, to what was in front of me. Nothing but grass, space and hills all round, but I swear, on Clark's life, I ain't ever seen anything more fitting. I don't know whether it was the air, or the sky, but when I looked beyond me, to what was in front, in my mind came to a house. A house with a barn, with animals millying about. And-as I kept imaging things- I saw a little boy, with his lil checkered shirt and dungrees spraying grain over the floor and laughing as the chickens came pecking up from behind him. A lil' more, than I saw a girl, cotton dress and hat, and she had a small dog by her side, which she led over to a tap to drink. I thought a little longer, and then I saw in the doorway to the house, a woman. Rubbing her hands on a tea towel, with this smile, a right lovely smile on her face as she watched the children. Son, I was there for minutes, not more than an hour at most, but man, that whole scene was everything I ever wanted, believe me. I had to go eventually, it was getting too cold, and I went over to the neighbour's house and slept in their barn, leaving early in the moring before they could discover me. I went home later that morning, to a Pa that didn' say a word to me, not really, but he gave me a pail and shovel, and we worked the next few hours in silence. I...-"

Jon paused here, and held the mug in his hands.

Jason waited, engrossed in the story.

"I didn't have the courage to tell him about the land. What I'd seen, what I discovered, not for a couple of months down the line. I went back to work with him as usual, but took an evening job downtown in a printing factory. I remember the look on his face when he found out, and that...it drove wedge between us even bigger than before, but I had a plan in mind, you see. I'd made inquires about the land I saw that night, and found the owner had been trying to sell for a while, but I couldn't outright afford what he was asking. I thought about getting a small loan from my Pa, but my pride got in the way. Couldn't imagine going up to him and asking, I honestly thought he'd either laugh in my face, or give it to me but hold it over my head, and I couldn't have that. Was so afraid of even daring to ask that I took this night job downtown, an hour away, with work on the farm in the day. Did it for five months, and then one night, driving back home from the town, I was so damn tired that I lost control of the car and ended up in a ditch, just along that road." Jon turned a little to the left, where Jason could just about make out a winding road far in the distance. 

"I was scared as hell." Jon was quiet. "My leg got trapped kinda bad, couldn't move, I was in real pain, and I-I thought about how long I'd have to stay here till help came, what my Ma and Pa would say, whether I'd be able to work. No phones, nothing like you young'uns have these days, and moving made the pain a whole lot worse. I think I began to drift off from the blood loss or whatnot, but one moment I was dozing in and out, and the next thing I heard was this voice above me, real angry, cursing so bad I'da blushed if I were more awake. Something about _Jon, you foolish little fool_ , a pair of big eyes, really worried and scared, and the tone, the voice - harsh and angry, but it wavered. Real shook up, and it stuck with me for a long time, that did. I came to eventually, at home in my bed, my leg suspended in some sort of sling and caster, with the good doctor by my bed telling me it was a minor break and I was gonna live, but not to put any real weight on it for a few weeks. My Ma was real tearful, but worst of all, I remember my Pa in the corner, stone faced, watching me, and then without a word, he turned around and left. And I swear to you boy, as soon as he did- as...as soon as he left, I burst into tears. I did, and the poor doctor looked mildly embarrassed before taking his leave, and poor Mama didn't quite know what to do, but there I was, a big lad, with tears pouring down my face."

Jason looked down, throat tight. 

"It came to a head, I think. Felling so lost and trapped. Desperate to break free and move forward but feeling like I absolutely couldn't. This job of mine downtown, that that was my only real source of decent income, and now I wouldn't be able to do it for God knows how long. And the feeling of disappointment, that I'd let myself down, Pa down...I cried, had my face in my hands and everything, and Ma tried to console me, bless her heart, she did, but it was no use. But you know what happened next?"

Jon looked at Jason now. "My Pa. Came right in, steered my Ma out, Took one look at me, walked right up to the bed. Stoic, hard man, and he looked at me for a second before pulling me in close for a real big hug, and then I really lost it. Broke down, wept into his shoulder, and he didn't say a single word. Just held me he did, till I'd cried dry enough, and then told me that whatever it was, whether I wanted to tell him or otherwise, he'd be there, no matter what. That he was there to help, and that he was harder on my than my other siblings cause he knew I could do better. Go further. That he didn't tell me enough cause he assumed I knew already - that he was real proud of me, of growing up to be a man, and if I was willing to let him in, he'd do all he could to help me. And all the while afterwards, I kept thinking about just how hard I'd made it on myself, keeping it all in....that if only l'd let just a little bit of it out, then things might have turned out a touch easier."

Jason's eyes were heavy.

"Son." Jason felt a squeeze on his knee. "I won't lie to you. Martha and I don't know much about you or your history other than the very little Clark has given us - that you've been through a lot, and that a change of scenery, even for a short while, might do you some good. We're not here to pry. I don't know what it is your facing or whatever it is that's chasing you, but know firstly that _fear_ is never as big as your mind imagines it to be. The fact that you're here, alive, means you can face it. You can, and I can't imagine how hard it is or has been, but I know my son, and that boy doesn't quit on anyone. Real fond of ya, and I can kinda see why. Don't know many as cheeky as you both - believe it or not, you two have quite a bit in common."

Jason turned away to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. "Couldn't be more wrong, old man."

Jon chuckled warmly. "Maybe, but I'm sure there's a reason why Clark brought you to us. I'm not asking you to share - its your choice, and we respect boundaries and the like round here. But if you _ever_ wanna take a load off your chest, then we're here. A good cry, or if you feel like pummelling a couple of trees like Clark did, you go right on ahead. Plenty of space out here, scream as loud you want - no-one will come knocking. I know you're only here a couple of days, that you're looking forward to going, no offence taken, but the point of this long ass speech is that we're here, and whatever we can do to help, Ma and I will do our very best."

Jason tried to speak, but couldn't.

Out of nowhere, a blanket was produced, and Jason closed his eyes briefly as Jon tucked the item warmly around his person. The older man then produced a flask of something warm, and, to Jason's slight amusement, a large sandwich too appeared, causing a rumble to emanate from Jason's stomach. Jon only laughed as Jason blushed, standing up to dust his trousers, and rested a light hand on the younger boy's shoulder.

"See you in the morning, son."

 

 

_Metropolis, early morning._

Lois was in the middle of work when she heard a fumble at the door. Something light hitting the carpet, a small _thud_ , and then a pair of footsteps walking away fast.

Puzzled, Lois rose from the couch, putting her laptop to one side, and approached the door. She came to a slim, white envelope, devoid of writing, and frowned. They usually received mail downstairs in allocated boxes for each apartment, so this must have been important enough to bypass. Opening the door, sat in front of her was a large white box, wrapped with a single ribbon, and a smaller replica on top of it. Looking up, Lois could just about make out a figure striding quickly round the corner, and on a whim, she called out, hoping to get the man's attention.

"Excuse me! I think you may have-" Lois started, but the figure continued, as if she hadn't spoken, and now Lois was definitely curious. "Hey! You in the-" 

No response. In fact, the man seemed to move faster.

Lois huffed as she grabbed her key, and closing the door, hurried after the figure, whose back was turned to her, lift doors beginning to open. "Hello? I was talking to you. I was only asking if - _Bruce_?"

Bruce seemed hellbent on ignoring her for some reason, and now Lois was _pissed_. "You, asshole decked in black, what gives?" 

Bruce, on his own end, seemed unable to meet her eye. "My apologies, Lois. I thought you'd still be in the office."

"Don't try and change the subject. What's up with you? Thought we moved past this long ago - all the damn secrecy and whatnot." Lois forced the elevator doors open and waved the envelope in front of him. "Spill. What gives? The boxes too, Bruce."

Bruce pinched a thumb and forefinger between his nose, and now Lois noticed just how _worn_ the man looked. A little guilt rising within, she moved forwards to touch the man's arm, feeling him stiffen at the contact, and squeezed, concerned. 

"Bruce." Lois softened her tone. "Everything alright? You know you're always welcome at ours, Clark will be home shortly-"

"No." The man cut her off, a little harsh, and Bruce must have seen the wounded look on her face, for his tone also softened, and was quieter and kinder when he next spoke. "I'm sorry Lois. I didn't mean to be so rude, it's been a long day. That-" Bruce flicked his eyes to the envelope before looking at her. "- is for you and Clark, as is everything in the boxes. Open them together. "

"Bruce, why don't you tell me what the hell is going on." Lois was exasperated. "We've known each other too long for all this. Just come inside, we'll talk and have something to eat. Clark will be glad to see you, his other work wife." Lois aimed for laughter, but the man remained silent.

Bruce stared at her, then to her complete surprise, took her hand, leaned forward, and kissed her gently on the cheek.

He squeezed her hand and smiled, but now Lois was alarmed. "Bruce, you're scaring me. Is it Clark? Whatever it is-"

"Congratulations."

Lois opened her mouth, then closed it. She tried again, but instead of words, things became misty, and she stuttered, looking away.

Bruce shook her hand a little. "It couldn't have happened to better people. You two will make wonderful parents."

Lois nodded and closed her eyes. She took in a deep breath, and then said something she'd been keeping from Clark the last few days. 

"I'm scared." Her voice was nothing more than a whisper, a shaky one at that.

But Bruce still had on that damn smile, and it was mildly annoying. "I swear, I've never seen you smile so much in my entire life." Lois snipped, haughty.

Bruce laughed quietly, then took his other hand, and held her own between them. "You can do this, both of you. Together you've dealt with hell and here you are, still standing. In that envelope is a list of appointments with the best medical professionals money can buy. I don't want you or Clark worrying about a thing, whatever you need, consider it done and-"

"Oh Bruce, I can't, honestly, thank you, but we can't accept-" Lois's throat felt tight, humbled at her friend's generosity.

"Yes, you can. You can and you will, and I won't have it any other way." The man smirked.

"Won't you wait for Clark? He- God, as soon as we found out, you were the first person he wanted to tell straight away. Can't you stay? Please Bruce, it- " Lois pleaded gently, attempting to tug Bruce forwards and back to the apartment, but Bruce shook his head and resisted the action.

"No...we're- no, I'm still working out a few things, I'm sorry...I, no matter what, I'll always be there for him. For him, and for you." Bruce finally let go, and stepped back, the doors beginning to close.

"Goodnight Lois."

"...Night, Bruce."


	61. Curiosity and the Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha and Jon discuss last night. Clark tries to thank Bruce. Jason remembers how he started cooking. Damian's curiosity about Todd grows.
> 
> PS. I kinda made Bruce a little bitch in this chapter, don't come for me! He's...trying to avoid Clark, put it that way.
> 
> Happy reading :)
> 
> PPS. Sorry for all the notifications, had to edit a little of the tense/grammar.

_Kent Farm_.

Martha watched her husband carefully. "And after?"

Jon sipped at his tea, only pausing to inhale the aroma, as he had done for the last forty odd years, and Martha hid her smirk against her own mug. "I stayed back a while and watched the lad. Poor boy seemed so broken up like something was out there chasing him. Shaking an' all. Kept holding himself tight and rocking...all I wanted to do was to go over there and give him a great big hug, but the _look_ on his face, when I approached him." Jon swallowed and looked away. His voice was hushed when he next spoke. "Like a deer in headlights. Doubt I've seen an animal as scared as that before, but it wasn't just _fear_ , Martha. It was something more... like his eyes, they _glowed_ in a way. It was a little like the hum of a generator - you know when you can just _feel_ the power of electricity in the air? Like that, I swear to you. And-"

Martha suddenly straightened, and held her hand up for silence. 

A movement in the background, a shift of some sorts, caught her attention. She waited, and a few more sounds followed. Tiny _thumps_ , scratching, a larger _thump_ before something like water sloshed onto the ground, and Ma smiled now. One of the piggies had probably knocked over the pail of water they kept outside by the fence. They loved doing that, for some reason. 

Jon's mouth hung open for a few seconds, before Ma shook her head. "Just the animals. Due for a feeding soon. Go on."

Her husband smiled briefly, but his eyes remained sad. "He was braced as if ready to attack. All his attention focused onto one target, and that happened to me. Ma, when I tell you that if not for Clark and his powers, I'da probably collapsed with fright. His eyes were iridescent - they kept changing colour in the light, and the energy - I don't know if that's the right word, Clark probably knows, but the kid had this sorta energy signature about him that just _screamed_ danger." Jon shook his head. "I had to put up my hands. Just a friendly, I doubted the poor boy would tolerate anything else. Eventually I approached, but Jay - he followed my every move. Didn' blink an' all. It was unnerving, to say the least. I did the first thing that came to mind."

Ma smiled at her husband gently. "Told a story."

Jon nodded. "Figured it had worked with Clark plenty of times, wouldn't hurt to try. Had to ignore how my own damn chest was pounding, so I started telling him about the first time I laid eyes on this place. The land, empty an' all. Kid watched my like a hawk throughout, but eventually Jay relaxed, little by little, till he was able to sit down. Loved your cocoa - apparently it's on par with Alfred's, if not better." Jon looked at his wife now, a glint in his eye.

Ma was smug indeed. "Well. It's all subjective, really." Her tone indicated otherwise though, and Jon held in a laugh as Martha's triumph leaked into her tone. 

"Of course."

Ma gave him a look, but she was smiling. "And Jay?"

"Calmed down eventually. Didn't seem to be one for hugs and whatnot, especially in that state, but I figured a little hand on the knee wouldn't be so bad. I suspect the poor kid only tolerated the contact out of respect more than anything, he barely held in his flinch. Told him that we were here for him; didn't know much about him or his background, but that we were here nonetheless, and whatever he needed, we'd try to help as much as we can. Jay seemed a tad relieved, just a tad though. Looked away when I said that, like he was too scared to believe it fully. Eventually left him with a blanket and the sandwich you'd prepared. You know what time he came in?"

Ma shook her head. "Must have sat out there for ages." She looked at the clock - _07:04 am_. "Poor boy looks like he needs a good week's worth of sleep. I'll let him sleep in for a while, try and get him involved in something later if he's up for it."

Jon nodded in agreement. "Clark mentioned something about baking. Apparently the kid's great at it. Another one for you to dolt all over-" The man ducked as Ma flung a tea towel out him, chuckling. 

"Hush, you. You know how much I adore those boys." 

"I know." Jon held the tea towel for a moment before folding it slowly. "Wonder what the deal is between Jay and Bruce. Clark mention anything specific?"

Ma shook her head. "Nothing in particular. Just that they used to be...close, had a major falling out, and now keep their distance from each other. Probably a whole lot more to it, I guess, can see why. When he told me that Jay was the _same_ one who'd.." Ma broke off here, staring out the window.

Jon swallowed, and held his mug at the sides for a moment. "Couldn't believe it myself. Didn't think such a thing was possible, but we've got a kid who lift's planes like they're pieces of clay. God, to have lost a kid like that. So young." He murmured quietly now. "Still remember seeing Bruce's face on TV after the funeral. All those damn reporters in his face, heartless parasites, the lotta them. Asking him how he was feeling, after having just buried his own kid just moments ago."

Ma closed her eyes. "Remember when Clark came back the day after? His clothes were rumpled, hair a mess, eyes swollen. Didn't say anything to us but when straight outside, to the same tree Jay sat under, and -" Ma held a hand to her mouth. "I can still hear it even now, how loud his sobs were from all the way out there. Gut wrenching, broken things."

"Spent a good three nights out there. Barely ate. Said he'd let his best friend down. That he'd failed that family, them kids. Alfred. That he shoulda known." Jon's voice was low. "Even though he can't be responsible for everyone. Wasn't even on the damn planet at the time."

A hush fell upon the room. "Losing that boy...it changed things. That what they do is _real_ , not child's play. Real consequences." Ma spoke eventually.

The first time they'd seen Clark beaten up, _badly_ , was on the news. Face all bloodied, mumbling incoherently, and they'd held each other for dear life, Ma weeping, Jon failing to console her, and that phone call from from Bruce, that Clark was-

"Can't shield them forever, dear." Jon stood, drained his mug, then walked over to his wife, placing an arm around her shoulders. "Clark, Bruce, Jay. They've gotta make their own choices, and face that world on their own two feet. As long as they know that there's help available, that's all we can do." Jon kissed his wife cheek, before picking off the keys to his truck. "Off to Clarice's place. Gonna help him out with a few things."

Ma watched him go. "Don't be late for lunch!"

A chuckle, and Jon paused halfway out the door, a crooked smile on his face. "Wouldn't dream of it, dear."

 

 

 _Wayne Enterprises_.

"Clark? What are you doing here?" The young teen in the pinstripe suit peered at up him curiously, and Clark let an amused expression cross his face briefly as he freed the boy from their hug. They'd met by chance in the lobby, Tim presumably on his way out to a lunch time meeting. 

"Well, it was the only time I could catch your dad. Had a meeting set up by his secretary." Clark angled his head upwards. 

He'd returned home late last night to a clearly excited Lois, who'd all but dragged him to the counch, surrounded by sheets of paper, books, excitement radiating off her frame as _Bruce_ had stopped by apparently, leaving all this for them. Something about wanting to be there for them, for _him_ , and Clark had remained silent for a long moment, unable to say anything. That Bruce had been generous enough for all the books on _preparing for your baby_ , _raising a child: what every parent should know_ , along with all the appointments he'd made for them with world renowned specialists, to-do lists - whatever it was between them, Clark hoped that they'd be able to put it behind them soon, and what better way to reach out than by lunch? He'd missed his friend. But, despite his best efforts, Clark had been unable to get hold of his friend. Busy, yes, Bruce was probably busy. WE, a busy corporation. And yet, a little part of him whispered that Bruce was deliberately avoiding him, but Clark suppressed it, trying nonetheless. His calls to Bruce had gone to voicemail, texts stayed unread, and so Clark had resorted to calling the man's secretary - it was a miracle he'd even been able to get an appointment on such short notice. Tim nodded, understanding, but his eyebrow was raised. Just then, a stream of sharply dressed men and women walked in, darting him rather disgusted looks as they gave him a poorly concealed once over, noses wrinkled at his own ill-fitted suit, visitor's badge danged precariously around his neck. Clark put a hand on his neck, remembering how much he disliked this place, and Tim snorted at his discomfort, himself turning to nod hello at the strangers, before returning his attention to him.

"How's Jay?" There was a strange look on Tim's face, as if he knew something Clark didn't, and it unnerved Clark that he crossed his shoulders, but it wasn't enough to mask his discomfort.

"He's doing alright. Haven't spoken to him since- well, not for a few days. Gonna drop in sometime, might show him around town if he's up for it. I thought you were going over there this weekend?" Clark cocked his head at the teen, who-

who was now _smiling_ -

no, _grinning_.

Clark felt something sink in his stomach.

"Yep, that's the plan. So-" Tim began, a great big smirk on his face, and Clark groaned aloud, catching the attention of one or two others nearby. 

"Jay told you, didn't he." Clark held his face in his hands, voice flat, aware that he was red, and Tim made no effort to smother his laughter. Cackling, actually. The boy cackled like a hen, and Clark blushed further, hating himself and that damn witch, Talia.

"He said a few things." Tim had finally controlled his laughter somewhat, but his face remained smug, and Clark felt a flare of irritation at the expression. 

"Of course he would." Clark muttered, exasperation in his tone. "Bruce. In or what?" They both knew he could have the answer in a heartbeat, but identities and all.

"Dunno, should be. You're the one with all the...equipment." Tim waggled his eyebrows a little, and Clark resisted swatting the little twerp, settling for "unimpressed" instead, eyes narrow. "Tim, cut it out-"

"What, your junk ain't working? Faulty, huh? Big guy like you-" Tim sniggered, and Clark mock threw his hands in the air, beginning to walk away.

" _Bye_ , Tim-"

"But we didn't even get to the good part yet!"

 

 

Clark steadied himself as the elevator made its way to the top floor, shuffling into a corner as suits flitted their way into the lift, cutting eyes at him, cologne piercing his nostrils.

"Just visiting." It was an effort to make small talk, what with eyes glued to shiny screens, heels tapping away in the corner.

They ignored him. 

Finally reaching the top floor, Clark let out a sigh of relief, stumbling out, muttering apologies to _tuts_ and angry sighs. He made his way to Bruce's lobby, where his secretary, Sarah Potts, was sat ram-rod straight in her chair, glasses on the edge of her nose as she chatted away on the phone, red nails against her cheek. To her right sat a stack of reports, clearly unfinished, and to the side of that, a magazine, _Vogue_ , red circles around pieces of clothing. 

Clark stepped in her sight of line and gave a sheepish wave, berating himself a second later for such childishness. Sarah stared at him blankly before eyeing him up and down, once over, mouth pulled to the side in disapproval. 

"Yes?" Straight to the point, and Clark cleared his throat, trying to appear confident. He was meant to be here.

"Hi, I'm Clark Kent, a reporter with the Daily Planet and I-" Clark started, fumbling with his briefcase, and Sarah rolled her eyes, turning away from him for a moment to stare at her computer screen.

"Pepper, I'll have to call you back. Who are you hear to see?" Irritation lined her voice.

"Mr Wayne. I believe I have a meeting set up for today, at lunchtime, 1:15pm." Clark glanced at his watch: _1:10pm_. "I'm a little early but its fine, I know Bru- Mr Wayne is a busy man and I don't mind waiting-" Clark tried, but Sarah cut him off smoothly, pen in her mouth as she scrolled through an appointment calendar.

"Nothing here." Sarah didn't look at him.

Clark was taken aback. "I'm sorry, but would you mind checking again? I'm sure the meeting was set up for today at-"

"All appointments are made through me. You're not here." Sarah appeared now, and turned to him lazily, eyes boring into him. "I sent you -" Sarah squinted her eyes to look at his name badge. "Mr _Kent_ is it-, well, I sent you an email about two hours ago. Meeting was cancelled."

Clark stared at her, then tried again. "I don't mean to be rude or anything but if you could just double check with Mr Wayne-"

"No, I cannot. Mr Wayne is in a meeting right now. If you want, I can pass on a message to him, otherwise, good day." Sarah had already turned back to the phone, and within a few moments, was back to her conversation. "Hey Pepper, its me. No, it's fine, what were you saying before? Oh right..uh-huh...he did? _Douchebag._ " The woman took out a nail file and began filing her nails, as if Clark had become nothing but a shadow.

Clark tried again. "Miss-"

"Just a second-" Sarah turned to him again, and now she looked pissed. "Shall I call for security? Or are you just that hard of hearing?"

"No. It's..it's fine, thank you." Clark held up his hand, and began walking away. Busy or not, Bruce could have at least sent him a heads up. _Not now, talk later._ _Busy._. _Meeting cancelled, catch up later_. A few steps in, and Clark turned, opting to look through the walls and into Bruce's office.

Sarah was right, Bruce was in fact, currently in a meeting. The man kept nodding his head, something about expenses and predicted costs, and Clark began to tune the man out when he caught sight of Bruce's phone to the right of the table. By chance, just then, a text arrived, and Bruce replied back immediately before putting it down again. Another text, a brief smile crossed his friend's face, a reply, and then back down again. Probably from one of the boys, most likely, Alfred even.

Clark stared, and then decided to try himself. " _You know, when you smile like that, you look almost human. Definitely human enough to answer your phone, at least._ "

A friendly joke, something that would usually get a smirk from Bruce, and if he were lucky, a full blown smile. The end bit was a marker of Clark's irritation, and Bruce would usually reply along the lines of " _Sorry, work was busy._ " or something a little more creative, like " _I'm not your wife, Clark._ ", joking about his nagging.

So Clark sent the text. He watched as the message appeared-

and Bruce, taking the phone, expecting to see someone else, a small smirk already on his face-

the light smile disappeared, and the man's face seemed to shut down. His eyebrows furrowed, as if struggling with deep internal conflict, before Bruce glanced to the door, knowing who was outside, that Clark- he was here-

and looked away, to the window, jaw tight-

"Sir? Is everything alright? If you need to step out-" One of the associates had called out to Bruce, the room knowing his attention wasn't quite there, and Bruce snapped his head round, back to his old persona, and replied a little too quickly for the _real_ Bruce, as if masking the truth-

"I'm fine, it's not important. Continue, Eric."

Clark stalled at the tone, at Bruce, who looked to the door again before turning away, guilt in his eyes. Walking towards the elevator, Clark sent one last text before putting his phone away, missing how Bruce shut his eyes on seeing the message. 

Clearly, there was still a few things to work out.

" _Message received, Bruce._ "

 

 

_Kent Farm_

Ma held back a laugh as a pair of footsteps made its way into her kitchen.

" _Ohmygawdwhydoesitsmellsogoodinhere_?" Spoke one Jason Todd, shuffling into her kitchen in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt that said _Kansas Rangers_ , the team's logo on the bottom left corner. Ma looked at the tall man before smiling to herself, reminded of another young adult not so longer ago, hair mildly tousled and rummaging for food.

"Suits you." Martha continued to peel potatoes as Jason came to stand beside her, evidently curious.

"What, this?" The boy laughed shyly, a blush beginning to appear on his cheeks, before he came to slouch against the counter, arms folded. "The big guy actually had a decent sense of style back in the day, what happened?"

Martha laughed. "Lois said the same thing. Something about brown suits and mustard yellow shirts making her feel sick."

Jason smiled, then looked away. "You sure you don't mind?" His voice was low, uncertain, and Ma was touched at how out of place Jason must have felt. "I mean, if it bothers you, I can always take it off. Maybe keep rewashing the shirt I brought or go get some things from mine later, but it'll only be for a few days, I promi-"

"Hush, child." Ma tutted, swatting the boy gently on the arm. Already, the thought of Jason leaving in a few days brought a small lump in her throat. "You will do no such thing." She sized him up now, noting how the boy was unable to meet her eyes. "You're about the same size as Clark round this age, feel free to wear whatever you want. He won't mind, neither will we." She smiled at him softly, resting a hand on his and squeezed it. "Besides, its good that the clothes are being worn again. Adds life to the house, in many ways."

Jason smile was small as he nodded once. They said nothing for a while, watching her peel and wash potatoes. "Mind if I help?" The voice was quiet once again, uncertain, as if she'd say no, and something in Ma's chest stirred.

"Mind?" She laughed freely, and the boy's demeanor seemed to lift at the sound. "Of course not! Why, it'll be good to have some help around here. I was going to ask if you'd like to join in, but I didn't want to force anything on you. Clark mentioned you being good at baking."

"Oh no, its nothing. I er, yeah, baking and cooking. I used to help Alf- Alfred sorry, in the kitchen, back in the day." Jason swallowed, and turned his gaze to the cupboards. Ma felt him glance at her once, ass if hesitating on whether to share, before he started again. "You know- " the man murmured. "We didn't get along at first, not in the beginning. Too different, I was brash, rude, blunt, and Alfred, all the markings of dignified silence and quiet disapproval, didn't quite know how to handle me. But-"

Ma placed an onion into Jason's hands, and by instinct, Jason reached out to collect a chopping board and knife before she could utter a word. She turned back, allowing the boy to speak freely. Out of the corner of her eye, Ma watched Jason slice the onions seamlessly, confidence building as he selected another one to prepare, and smirked to herself. Clearly he was better than he let on.

"-I didn't understand the way things worked at the Manor. Not the rules, protocol and all that. Was sick of it, sick of the old man in a suit that kept following me everywhere, and one day, whilst...we really got into it. Stormed off to my room after the blow out and stayed there for a few hours. I dunno what came over me, hunger maybe, but later I went downstairs to get some food. At the time, I was still battling the desire to run away, collect a secret stash and take off in the middle of the night, so I went down to the kitchen, only to find Alfred there. He didn't notice me at first, not from where I stood, hidden, and I just watched him with all these veggies and stuff, chopping and working away, and it made me think of my...my life, before I came to the Manor." A slight break came in Jason's voice, and the man paused, opting to wash a few of the vegetables in a bowl. 

Martha didn't comment.

"I...it was rough. Very rough. One of the ways I tried to survive was by acting as a runner boy for restaurants, little take-out corners, nothing fancy. Helping take out the trash, sweeping, cleaning. Acting as their eyes and ears. They'd repay me with food. Scraps here and there, not much, but it was better than nothing. By accident, one of the guys caught me in the back kitchen. Grotty place that joint was, a lil filthy, business was slow and ever dwindling - they'd abandoned a pot of some sorta stew earlier in the night, and I was to throw it away. I tasted it, I think. Plain, uneventful, waay too watery - had never really tasted the food properly cause when you're hungry, pretty much anything will do, but if all their food was like that, then I could see why they were close to shutting the place down. Dunno what came over me, but I decided that me and my....well, I wasn't gonna throw away food, as bad as it was. So I looked around till I eventually found where they kept spices and stuff, and I, I-"

Martha glanced at Jason. The boy held a tiny smile, a faraway expression in his eyes, and she too found herself smiling, warmed by the sight. 

"I remember hauling several out, the spices. Dumped them on the table. And for each one, I'd open the lid, take a lil out on my palm, lick it, see if I liked it, and if I did- _plop_ , in the pot it would go." Jason chuckled quietly, and Ma huffed, amused. "Went through quite a few, and I was about to start stirring my mix when Mikey, a foreign chef, caught me. The guy had never paid too much attention to me in the past, kinda "not my business, not my problem" sorta guy, like all the other cooks, but man, when he caught me - it was like time had stood still. We both stared at each other, me frozen to pot, eyes as big as saucers and all. I think we both waited each other out, as to who was gonna make the first move. But to my utter surprise, Mike...Mike made his way slowly to where I was, to the pot, all the spices strewn about, the chair I'd dragged in from outside because I was too short to reach the stove by myself. He looked at me, then the pot, then fishes out this spoon from his inside jacket. I'm shaking like a leaf at this point cause Mike is this mountain of a guy, and I turn to bolt, but Mike grabs hold of me. I start yelling, cause God only knew what he was gonna do to me, but he has a real hold on me, can't move for _shit_ -peanuts, I said peanuts. I fought, spat, tried to claw my way out, heck, I think- I think I _bit_ him, but after a moment of quiet, the man hauled me up onto the worktop surface and _shoved_ the spoon into my mouth." Jason was grinning now, and Martha stared, food forgotten.

"Eat." That's all he said. I'm crying, and in the midst of my terror, I spit it out. He shook me _hard_ , hard enough that it felt like my bones would snap, and said did it again, but this time, he said. "Taste." I stare at him, grubby and confused. Mike had stepped back a pace, but he hadn't left. I swallow, and right then, the restaurant owner comes bargaining in, screaming about shitty sales or whatever - I took that as my chance and high tailed it outta there. Ran as fast as I could, scrapped my knee against the alleyway grater, but I ran, hard." Jason paused here. 

"What next?" Martha blurted out. The boy had now turned to her, and she only just managed to hide her startle, having been too engrossed in the story, and directed him to something else. "Sorry dear. If you wouldn't mind - the beef needs cutting and washing. We'll have a light lunch for now, save the roast beef stew for dinner."

Jason nodded, and returned to his work. For a while, there was silence, and then Martha dared to speak, wanting to hear more. "Did you ever go back?"

A start, and then Jason made eye contact with her, a gleam so childish that she shook her head, cheeks faintly pink. "Not for a few days, no. Tried to avoid going back inside, but one night, when I was just too desperate, too...hungry, I darted in, rummaging for food, but this time, it was as if Mike was waiting for me. I froze mid way, bread stuffed into my pants, but Mike only turned to look at me, then at the pot of ...something, he was standing next to. After standing motionless for a minute or so, I started to creep out, and just before I reached the door, Mike says to me - "The spices. Pass them to me." I swear, it felt like all eternity when I did reply, cause I knew there was no-one other he'd be talking to, it were just me and him in the kitchen. So I did. Reached the cupboard, and slowly made my way to him. Gave him the spices as quick as I could, expecting him to grab me again but he didn't. I watch him for a sec, then start retreating. But as I do, Mike stops me again, in broken English. "Thyme. Only a pinch, next time." I'm whirling round now, confused, but Mike continues. "Curry powder, one spoon." "Chicken cube, two. Crush between fingers." He reels off all these weird ass names.. spices, I think, and the longer I stand there, I come to realise that the kitchen smells.....smells fucking _heavenly_. Oops-"

Jason turns to her, sheepish as he catches sight of her raised eyebrow. "Swear Jar, I will."

"Continue." Ma lets slip a small smile.

"It smells so, _so_ , good, and Mike keeps talking, just in little bits. How and when to stir, bringing out onions, a-and all sorts of other stuff I'd never seen before. And me? I'm curious, so curious that I had begun inching forward, bit by bit, till I was standing beside the man, watching him. Not long after, Mike said it was done, and without a word, produced two large bowls, dished out some of the stew into each, the freshest loaf of bread he could find, and began to eat. I looked at him, a little hesitant, but Mike - he didn't invite me to sit. Didn't shoo me away either, just left the other bowl of steaming stew there, on the table, with that glorious hunk of bread, and left it to me. My decision. So I-hunger, and man did my stomach feel...I move forwards, till I reach the table, and I- I begin _wolfing_ it down. As fast as I could, but then Mike lifts up his head and says "slowly" in a thick accent, and I do. I slow down, and when I do, the flavours, the smell - I savoured it. Just incredible. I have about two, two and a bit helpings till my belly can't take no more, and Mike, he scoops up the rest in the container, slides it across to me, a loaf of bread in a plastic bag, and leaves. I so-I so desperately wanted to keep it to myself. For me and my..my ma. For the kids down 25th whom I knew were like me, with No...nothing at home, if they even had one to call. But..Ma, ma was getting sicker, every day. Each time I laid eyes on her, it was like a light, fading away slowly, and I _knew_ \- I just _knew_ it wouldn't be long. So I- I shared it out, to whomever I could find. The rest, I saved for myself, for Ma, but all Ma could manage was a few bites."

Jason cut off here, and for a long time, all that could be heard was sounds of food being prepared. 

Ma's eyes were heavy.

"After Ma d- Jason swallows, then tries again. "...I spent a little more time with Mike, in the kitchen." Jason started again, but his voice was thick, and Ma had to turn away, her vision blurry.

"Not much, but we got to talking. He'd come to America from Slovakia, trying to escape poverty, and was doing his best to send money for his family back home. Worked as a chef back there. Apparently had a little one younger than me, can't remember whether it was a boy or girl. The restaurant he worked for - the owner was an absolute bastar-prick, sorry. A real prick, made his staff work long hours, poor pay, set the menus meaning the chefs had to cook whatever the guy instructed, and was too arrogant to realise his food was utter _shite_. No-one complained, not if they wanted jobs and money to survive, the owner knew that. The stew I'd found that night was the one on the set menu, awful stuff, Mike's own was therefore the one he'd cooked the second time we "hung" out, put it that way. Mike never exactly went out of his way for me, but he did point out things to me. The difference between a pinch, a sprinkle, a spoonful. Sounds straightforward, but it's pretty easy to get carried away in a kitchen. Mike...he managed, that guy did. Even with a place and kitchen as filthy as it was, Mike made it clear that cleanliness was pretty much the golden standard. Neat, orderly, tidy, wherever possible, and that was rare. Taught me how to hold a knife, how best to cut an onion. Just very simple, very basic things like that, not much at all. And then one night, a little later, I came to the restaurant, only-"

Martha's heart sank.

"Drug cartel." Jason swallowed, voice tighter now. "The owner, he'd been borrowing from them. Heavily in debt, couldn't pay them back. Fell back on repayments and shit. So, cartels being cartels - they took him out. Him, his wife and little boy, three years old, 'pparently. Him and his boy and staff present that night, cartel killed the wife on the way home. Cops knew, they knew what had happened, what was going on, but they shut their mouths - easy too when most, if not all of those fuckers were being kept cushy by those same people they were supposed to arrest-" Jason cut harder, and then slammed his knife into the worktop, once, then again, and another, shaking his head. "It wasn't- it wasn't _fucking_ fair, yes, I said it, I swore, and I-" The boy clamped his mouth shut, wiping his eyes stiffly.

Ma reached out a hand, but Jason flinched. She held her hand there, suspended in mid-air, before drawing it to her side.

There was nothing she could do that would make this better.

"Sorry." Jason croaked out. 

"It's fine, Jason." Martha smiled at the boy, but Jason only looked away, mouth flat. 

Martha turned back to cooking, allowing Jason to compose himself, and spoke again after a while. "You...you were telling me about the time you first started cooking with Alfred." 

It was obvious that Jason harboured a soft spot for the butler, and watching the way Jason relaxed a little at the mention of the name all but confirmed it. "Go on. You were watching him in the kitchen. What happened next?"

Something brief flickered across Jason's face, but his voice was less tight when he spoke. "He musta known I was there, for sure, but he didn't call out to me. All I know is, watching him, the smells, it reminded me of...that time, and so I kinda crept in, real quiet. Alf, he glanced at me as I came in, but didn't say anything. Still pissed, I guessed-"

"Oh honey, I'm sure he wasn't-" Martha began, but Jason's chuckle startled her.

"Nope, he was. Honestly, as much as I..as much as I care bout Alf, our beginning wasn't this magical fairy tale that some people seemed to believe we had. We were like night and day, manners vs rowdy, polite vs uncouth, honestly, and that's alright. So I walk in, but I stand by the fridge. Just watching him chop stuff, then an onion came into view, and then I-I swear, I dunno what possessed me but I blurted out " _You're cutting it wrong._ "

Martha gasped. " _No_. To _Alfred_?" 

Jason nodded enthusiastically, and Martha laughed, clapping her hands together. "Yep. Right to his face, British mustache and all. Bearing in mind I'd only been in the Manor a very short while. The _look_ he gave me-"

The two of them burst out laughing, imagining the incredulous look on the butler's face at being told off by a _child_.

"I'm pretty sure A was trying not to lose his shi- _cool_ , but after staring at me for like, ten seconds, he finally pulls it together, looks me in the eye and says "Well, _lad_ , how _should_ I be cutting the onion?" Real sarcastic, caustic ass voice and everything, and me, instead of backing down, 'cause I like a challenge and all, drag the nearest chair I can find, up to counter, grab the knife from the man and _started cutting_ , just as Mike taught me. perfectly angled, enough wrist flexion that wouldn't ended up with me developing arthritis, high enough above the counter that I'd see beads of water emerge as the knife sank into the flesh, lifting cleaning from the body of the onion- I carried on like that, putting my concentration into it. Ida been a while since I'd chopped one, and my slices were a little jagged at first, but as I continued, it came back to me, and A, he's there beside me, silent and still. So I finish, a little triumphant, and I can't lie.." Jason swallowed.

"I had tears in my eyes. Not from the onion, but A didn't know that. I remember just staring at the chopped slices, remembering that someone who ought not to have cared, who said he didn't but _did_ so anyway, and Alfred knew, I think, that I was getting lost in a few memories. That I wasn't quite there, and so, without a word, he slides me something else to cut. And, like autopilot, I do it without thinking. He doesn't ask how I know what to do, I don't offer to explain. We did that for a good couple of minutes, him sliding me stuff, me cutting, not saying a word, and all the while, I've got tears, I've got tears streaming down my face, and my fingers kept trembling as I remembered a man whose jokes were goddamn terrible, English broken, but whose food was nothing but heavenly _manna_ to a kid like me. I remember I slipped out of the kitchen at one point, because it-it was too much. My old life was still there, and yet there was no-one, no-one who truly what it was like, nothing connecting me anymore, not B-not with his fancy ass house and car and kitchen and I-"

Ma squeezed Jason's arm. The man stiffened, but did not move away. 

"I retreated. I left, and I went to the room I'd been given, and I stayed curled up in a corner. Dinner came, but I didn't go down. Just couldn't, 'cause they wouldn't understand. Our routine continued like that for a while. I'd go in the kitchen, chop, work in silence. Not much to say, but then one day, things changed between us, I-I can't remember properly, I know it was sometime in the morning, I went downstairs, but Alfred wasn't home, errands he'd mentioned. Didn't wanna go with him, so Bruce had stayed, but he'd holed himself in his study with work. Went to the kitchen, got a few snacks, walked back upstairs. Came down again, two-ish hours later, Alfred was back, in the kitchen, but this time, as I walk in-" Jason's voice broke, and Ma moved her hand from his arm to his hand.

The man didn't squeeze back, didn't flinch, but he allowed her to hold it anyway, and so Ma did, as lightly as she could.

"There on the counter, right by the spot I'd dragged the chair to, was a small, green apron. I walk closer, and I catch sight of this little stool on the floor, as if it had been waiting for me. I-I get on it, to find there's an apron and.. this small box. The apron, that gets me first, for written the top right corner, is my name _Jason Todd_ , stitched in neat white handwriting. I- I could barely touch it, and when I did, the material, my name, the fact that someone hadn't forgotten my _fucki_ , my _name_ , Ma-" 

Jason looked to the ceiling for a moment, eyes glassy.

"The small box. It was black, gold detailing at the border. Nothing amazingly fancy, so I- I look to Alfred, but his back is to me. Never occurred to me that he was giving me privacy. I looked back at the box, lifted up the lid, and there's...it was a miniature culinary set. Smooth, oak wood, polished, and I-I was lost for words. It was so small, as if it was _handcrafted_ for small hands, commissioned for me, and it _was_ , 'cause when I looked at the handles of each instrument, there, right in the bottom, were my initials. _JPT_. I didn't know how ..how or if or _why_ , but that small gesture, I- it was only when I put the apron on and tied it that Alfred turned to me, with this look on his face, like he approved of what he was seeing at his front. I open my mouth to say _thank you_ out of shock but A, he cuts me off by sliding across a selection to vegetables to cut. No mention of why he did what he did, or the box, so I-I took the chopping knife, from the box, with the napkin, and I-I started cutting." Jason finished.

No-one spoke for a while.

"It makes sense, now." 

Jason turned to her, mildly confused, but it was Ma's turn now, opting to look out of the window as she released the boy's hand. "It was several years ago - Pa and I had visited Gotham once during summer. Clark, he apparently convinced Bruce to throw a little barbecue, just friends and family. It...it was nice, that day, and I remember sitting at the kitchen counter, talking to my good friend Alfred whilst all the rest were outside. We were talking, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of this wonderful forest green. We knew very little about you, only that you were once... Bruce, there were no photos. Grief, child, it....it anguishes the soul. I think your fathe-Bruce, I think it was too difficult. Very, very painful."

Jason stared at her.

Martha focused her attention on making dough. "We all focused on Bruce, but he was not the only one who had suffered, who felt such deep loss. I was in the kitchen that day, and the colour stood out to me. Rich, vibrant, beautiful. So I made my way over to it, about to reach for it when Alfred _bellows_ from behind me, and _snatched_ it out of my grasp, holding it to his chest as if it could somehow fuse with him."

Jason's eyes were as wide as saucers.

" _Yes_. I think we were both shocked at his outburst. But Alfred, he just stands there, clutching this apron of yours to himself, and tells me in the chillest voice I've ever heard from him - " _Never, ever touch this again._ " I don't remember what I said, but Alfred, after seemingly returning to sanity, apologised for his outburst, and then turned back to preparing garden salad, but he was shaking, Jason. Tiny tremors across his frame, and once I'd gotten over my shock, I remembering taking him by the arm, gently, sitting him down, and making iced tea. And all the while, whilst I was doing just that, back turned, Alfred was in tears. Not a sound, just tears streaming, but not once did he let go of the apron. I took over the salad, Alfred drank his tea, but he didn't offer to explain why, didn't divulge any information, and I didn't ask. The apron was more than enough."

The silence was deafening. 

 

"Marinade." Jason's strangled whisper cut through the quiet a while later, the sound wet. "I can do marinade."

 

 

_Manor._

Damian looked right, then left, then one last quick check.

 _Empty_.

Alfred would be in the kitchen for another two hours. Father wasn't due home for another hour. 

Opening the door, Damian held his breath, allowing a layer of dust to settle, before he closed the door silently, resting against the wooden frame. Didn't Pennyworth usually clean this room three times a week? He wrinkled his nose.

Damian knew he shouldn't be in here.

Really, he shouldn't. If anyone were to catch him now - well, for one, it would be embarrassing, to him, because it meant that he was at _least_ curious about Todd, and Damian _wasn't_ , by any means, heavens no. 

Two, it would provoke some degree of concern to his well-being. It hadn't been easy seeing Todd's face around, even months after the man's attempted murder. It still wasn't, in a way.

Three, and this was quite possibly the worst of all - Pennyworth would be upset. The older man wouldn't say anything outright, but still - Damian knew Pennyworth and Todd shared a special bond, and being here was a step too far in terms of privacy. Father, on the other hand would himself come to the room, and sit here for a while, unable to touch anything. Damian knew this, because he'd seen the man do so before, time and time again. Whether it was yet another fight with Todd, or a premature departure after fixing the mad man, Father would eventually pay this room a visit. Damian would like to pretend he'd never heard those quiet sobs that one night, after a particularly intense fight with Todd, leaving both men bloody, but he knew otherwise, and Father, though he'd never spoken of that night directly, knew he'd heard too. 

Except, as Damian looked around now, as the later afternoon of the day began to set-

that horribly sensitive part of him, the one that had him walking about with Drake somewhat in the museum, a few weeks back-

He _was_ curious. About Todd. His second return to Gotham, a closeness with Drake that was unlike the pair, an understanding that words failed to describe. The strange true, friendship, if one could call it that, with Kent - the two had been public enemies only a few years back, and yet Todd was staying on the Kent Farm, as if their previous history was nothing but make-believe. The deep hatred the man seemed to harbour for Grayson and vice versa, more than _Father_ even, and it was unnerving. There was something there, dead, bitter - at least Father and Todd had loved each other, once. For all their fighting, the pain, those two apart had devastated each other, the loss insurmountable. But, as Grayson very much liked to believe, and foolishly too-

He and Todd had never shared such a bond, or any at all.

Damian had watched his elder brother attempting to reach Todd multiple times, to "connect" and bring him "home", because they were a "family."

Todd had rebuffed almost each and every attempt. The few that he didn't were always short-lived, in one way or another.

Damian understood why, and, unknown to anybody else, _agreed_ with Todd. It wasn't that Grayson's efforts weren't heartfelt enough, no. 

It was that they were too late. _Too. late_ , and stemmed from something that was not true. Grayson, out of guilt, fear, loyalty to Father perhaps, tried to make it otherwise, but it was all the same. Todd was angry for many reasons, some irrational, some, well, logical, and his animosity towards Grayson was for all intents and purposes, understandable, even if Damian was unwilling to say it aloud.

Todd knew Mother. They were close, and she cared for him, deeply. Enough to stay in contact, when he barely heard from her, and Damian swallowed tightly, fists clenched.

What was so special about this room, anyway?

Damian forced himself to calm down, and moved into the centre of the room slowly.

It wasn't as if he'd never been here before. He had, plenty of times. Times such as now, when Alfred was busy cooking, Bruce still at the office. Other times, when Bruce wanted him in bed whilst he was off on Patrol. Times when he was angry, angry at being held back, misunderstood. A few times, when school had been particularly testing - children with cruelty in their hearts, mocking and taunting his heritage, lack of Mother, Wayne's "Arab" reject, and Damian would enter this room, tucking himself into the closet as he let loose the foulest stream of Arabic he could muster, before allowing tears to spring to his eyes. No crying though, Mother would be disappointed.

He knew this place like the back of his hand.

The corner on the far left of the room, right by the floor, where Todd had etched his initials. _JT. CT._ Catherine Todd, presumably. The floorboard under the second bedpost where Jason had stuffed trinkets: a faded bracelet, a worn photograph of a young woman, a small, orange bib. The petal of one white lily. 

Shelves, desk, cupboards, draws - filled with books, science fiction mostly, but there were other things too, like old classics regaled by one Jane Austen, Tolkien, Dahl. Todd's favourites were those under his second pillow, tatty, thumbed so many times the font at the bottom pages were fading, the younger boy's prints clearly visible. Damian reached out to take one, _Little Women_ , stuffing it down the pant of one leg. Todd's tastes were fairly reasonable, he could partially admit. It would make for some pleasant bedtime reading.

The second draw from the top - old essays, Todd's scrawny handwriting, and at the top in red, A, A-, A, A. Todd that loved school, even with the bullying the boy had apparently faced - Alfred had mentioned it once. Todd's poverty, dark skin and lack of education made him a prime target for the children of wealthy elite, cutting eyes and haughty elocution. 

On the walls, photographs. One of Todd and Ms Prince, snuggled in a blanket - Todd was laughing, Ms Prince-, no, _Diana_ was laughing. Many of Alfred, Alfred in the kitchen, of food they'd made together, one of both man and child in aprons, the frame in black and white. Two or three of Father. Father, with paint on his head, most likely Todd's handiwork, the pair at the beach. The schoolbag on the back of the chair, half opened, just as it had been since his arrival, a lightly annotated Maths book inside, a comic of some sort, and in the front pocket, three sweet wrappers, and a token for a free chili dog that had expired a number of years ago.

A closet only sparsely filled - it appeared Todd wasn't exactly the materialistic, fashion forward kind, in comparison to Grayson, whose closet was always bursting with clothes, gnarly T-shirts, and inappropriate slogans. No dress sense whatsoever, but Grayson didn't care. Didn't mind either - women flocked to his brother like the way useless, hare-brained moths flocked to a light. Nothing much in Todd's closet, one or two hoodies - red seemed to be a favourite theme, worn sneakers. 

Damian stood for a moment, the silence comforting. It was strange to imagine a quieter, shy Todd, tucking himself into a safe space, reading. The Todd he'd always known was brash, uncouth, angry and venomous, _dangerous_ \- Father never failed to emphasie just how _dangerous_ the Hood was. Damian moved now, to a corner, and sat, taking in the view. 

Todd was a mystery. A mystery that had him watching for hours, that day in the hospital, and at night, during Todd's most recent stay here. Everyone else would go to bed, even Father, though the man had done well to resist Alfred's attempts at shooing him away for a few hours of rest. And in the middle of the night, just for an hour, or two, Damian would leave his room, scale alongside the wing he shared with Father and the rest, down a floor, and then make his way across the Oak tree opposite the guest room, where Todd would be found, asleep-

even though his eyes fluttered under their lids like the leaves in the wind-

or as Todd would sometimes mumble quietly, incoherent, and Damian would watch a single tear escape, round the perimeter of the cheek, over the ear, and disappear into the man's hair.

The first time Todd had woken up- drowsy, still delirous, and catching sight of him outside his room, the man had turned to him with glassy eyes and called out in a hoarse voice - "Come down from there, akhi. Come, I will read to you." Too sincere, accent far too familiar, and something in Damian's chest had _hurt_ , enough that he'd turned away, chest thumping. That, unknown to him, he and Todd had lived together, with Mother, and the man had love- _cared_ for him, as a little brother, to protect, to shield-

"Damian?" Father's voice called in the distance, and Damian cursed, wiping his eyes, and scrambled to his feet, hissing as a wooden splinter lodged itself in his thumb.

"Coming Father." Damian winced, dusting off his clothes and made his way to the door. Father was nearing the top of the stairs, if he wasn't out now, he'd be caught, for sure. Damian only just closed the door, wiped his face clean, and walked along the landing as Bruce's head appeared from below, blue eyes zooming in on him.

"I've been calling you. How was school?" Bruce's voice was low, but held an element of curiosity. Already, Damian could tell that the man was giving him the "once over" as Drake had put it, and Damian held his breath, hoping he'd cleared off most of the dust on his shoulders, shoes too-

"Damian. Are you alright?" Bruce was suddenly in front of him, on one knee, and Damian forced himself to keep calm, to answer as himself. He turned his leg ever so slightly, enough to hide the outline of the book he'd stolen-no, _taken_ , from Todd's room.

"I'm fine, Father." Damian kept his voice level. Father was too close now. "How was your day?"

Bruce watched him for a moment, as if debating to himself, and then smiled, as brief as it was. "Same as usual. Probably not as interesting as yours, I'll bet."

" _Tt_. Highly doubtful, Father. I am surrounded by a pitiful calibre of students, the stench of those who fail to adhere to personal hygiene, and mediocre intelligence - I cannot wait to join you at Wayne Enterprises." Damian let a little arrogance infiltrate in his tone, and Bruce bought the act, rolling his eyes, squeezing his shoulder as he stood up.

"That bad?" Father's eyebrow was raised, and something akin to a smirk was at the corner of his lips.

Damian felt himself going pink, but nevertheless stood his ground. "Of course it was. I have no reason to lie."

" _Hmm._ " Father's smirk had turned into a full blown grin, and something in Damian's chest gave way at the sight. Father's smile, though rare, was lovely to see.

"Meet you downstairs?" Bruce was already making his way to the study.

"If you're late, Pennyworth will make you eat all the broccoli." Damian called, walking downstairs, and held back a satisfied smile as Bruce's grumbling filtered into his ears.

 

 

_Late evening._

Alfred tutted to himself, turning back the covers of the young Master's bed. "Master Damian, it is a school night."

"Almost done." Damian shouted from the bathroom, and as if an afterthought, added "No need to shout." quietly. Alfred raised an eyebrow but said nothing. It was already late.

Bed ready, Alfred picked up the rest of Damian's clothes, pausing only at the trouser leg of Damian's pants, where an obvious square bulk could be felt.

 _Odd._ Alfred placed the rest of the clothes on the bed for a moment, and, after much fiddling, straightening-

pulled out a copy of _Little Women_.

He stared at it, amused at Damian's interest in such a novel when he _paused_.

This wasn't just _any_ old book.

This was Master _Jason's_ , the same worn, tatted novel, held together with string laced through its spine. The same thumbed, brown pages, little pencil markings in the margin, and Alfred closed his eyes, pushing down a flare of anger that _Damian_ of all people had this in his possession. It was not his, but then he caught himself, and standing, he placed the book where he found it.

Damian must have been in Jason's room, then. Curiosity? Similar tastes? Possibly. The young Wayne had not commented much on Jason's presence here in the Manor, but he had been more... _watchful_ , as of late. Perhaps he wanted to reach some sort of understanding, about Todd, the man behind that God awful Hood, and Alfred stared at the bathroom door for a moment before busying away, just as Damian entered the room.

The two boys were similar, in some respects. A penchant for anger, dislike of authority, respect of literature, Damian who enjoyed more flavoursome foods akin to his heritage, Jason's culinary skills partly influenced by Middle Eastern culture to a degree-

"Pennyworth? Are you alright?" Damian's voice cut into Alfred's musing, and the man shook himself to focus, turning to stare down the young Master whose eyes were on him, a touch concerned. 

"Quite alright, Master Damian. As for you, however-" Alfred made a show of staring at the time, disapproval heavy, and the young boy sighed. "Clothes are to be folded and tucked away _neatly_ , not hoarded on the bed like a common animal. If they are dirty, they must go downstairs-"

"In the laundry room, yes I _know_ Pennyworth." Damian finished for him, hauling the clothes, and making quick work of the task, folding them away into drawers. Out of the corner of his eye, Pennyworth saw Damian keep his trousers separate from the others, back ramrod straight and towards him. "I think that'll be all for now, Pennyworth. Thank you." The child's voice was tight. Clearly, the boy wanted him to leave.

Alfred kept his face neutral. "Very well. Goodnight Master Damian, see you in the morning."

Damian didn't reply, only to nod, waiting for his departure, and so Alfred left, stopping outside the door to listen to the fumbling of material, something like paper being flicked through, and movement on the bed. He waited a little more, a small smile appearing on his face as a page turned, then another, before leaving.

It would seem, perhaps, that there was hope for the young Masters reconciling after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think its interesting, the way Bruce is behaving. Kinda signals someone who is quite introverted in a way, but introvert or not (and this is coming from someone who is quiet and doesn't respond to texts in a timely manner), airing someone, not replying, even if its just a line, is just rude lol. Its a way of avoiding someone or something, and in worse cases, demonstrates a lack of respect. I think Bruce is trying to balance being there for his friend, and working out his own personal conflict, so it isn't so much as him ignoring Clark as it is not wanting to see him just yet. It's why I feel Bruce behaved as he did in the last chapter, awkwardly leaving the envelope and boxes at the Kent's front door in the early hours of the morning before hurrying away: trying to avoid them without compromising his care for them. It's easier for Bruce when it comes to League stuff; Batman and Superman, they work as a team, leading smaller teams, and its in both of their interests to act professionally, personal lives aside. As Shayera mentioned in the last chapter, the dynamic between them has changed regarding Jason; its Bruce whose on the outskirts now, not Clark.
> 
> Just my two thoughts!


	62. Gritted teeth and Good men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim visits the Manor for the first time since his tearful outburst with the family. Jason offers some poignant advice of his own, and Dick has dinner with his Father.

_A few days later_.

Tim let his head rest on the wheel for a moment. "So tired." He half mumbled, and for a long moment, there was nothing but the sounds of his breathing in the car, quiet and steady. Thank God the week-end was tomorrow; he was looking forward to seeing Jason and the Kents.

The teen shifted, lifting one weary eye to the Manor, where he knew Alfred was probably setting the table for dinner. He'd have liked to come earlier, but work came first, as usual, and too late would mean Alfred's insistence at him staying over, deeming it a "risk and personal hazard" should he have an accident on the road. Really, this was the best of both worlds. 

It wasn't as if they didn't know he was here, either - they _knew_ , all of them. The security feed would have shown him driving in, for one. Two, he'd used the eye scanner and personal key at the gates. Essentially, they were giving him distance, and for that Tim was grateful. A little guilty, if he had to admit, that they felt the need to accommodate him this way, slightly over the top, but they were trying, they were, and Tim wasn't about to berate such efforts, not when the _last_ time he'd been here-

Tim swallowed, and looked away.

Their little showdown in the gardens, with almost all of them in tears, frustrated, Dick hurt, Bruce close to going down on his knees to beg for him to stay, for his forgiveness, Damian- no, he couldn't decipher that one now. Him and Bruce, Father and son, and Tim was now in an awkward state with the both of them; acknowledging, trying but still holding back, as if one wrong move would have the relationship crumbling to pieces, _again_. Things were improving with Bruce, that was true. They'd...Bruce had given him space, and one night, after finding Bruce in his penthouse, eating his ice-cream, that scene alone, the Dark Knight holed up in a corner with ice-cream held possessively to his chest - Tim had burst out laughing on sight, rather promptly. Bruce had smiled, then joined in, and just like that, the ice between them began thawing over Thai yams and duckling stew. At work, they were careful to keep a professional distance. The wounds from their last joint meeting a few weeks ago were not quite healed, and so far, it had worked well in their favour to schedule meetings separately.

By chance though, Tim had caught sight of a reminder on Bruce's calendar, courtesy of Sarah. Something about a technology convention, Techa electronics, a brand Tim was fond of and knew would be coming to Gotham this summer. Something deep and warm had stirred in Tim's chest, that day. Bruce was making the effort, and later that night, as they were about to leave, Bruce to the Manor, Tim to his apartment, Tim had broken protocol, opting to cross the hall, right past the other executives, and without so much as a single word, hugged Bruce as tight as he could, head against his chest. For a stunned second, Bruce had stood, frozen, but his sanity returned not a second later and the man, nary a hesitant pause in sight, returned the hug also, pulling in the boy close, and rested his chin above his head, inhaling the boy's warmth. Onlookers had said nothing but shared brief smiles to one another, leaving the duo alone for a some privacy, and Father and son had remained like that, clasped, for several minutes, unwilling to let go. By the time they parted, however, the tears were there, sniffles and all. Bruce had tried first with a "I'm so _sorr_ -" but Tim had cut him short, opting to take his hand and squeeze it. The gesture had Bruce looking away, wiping his face, but the man shook the hand that was in his, before holding into to his lips. An understanding had occurred, that they were family, and though hurt, with time, it would be okay.

So far, so good, Tim mused to himself, as he switched his attention to the clock. _19:30pm_.

"Another minute." He mumbled, yawning, suit uncomfortable, and Tim closed his eyes now, sleep beckoning, when a sudden _tap-tap_ at the window had him bolting upright, chest pounding.

Outside, Bruce was peering at him, a smirk at the corners. "Alright?"

Tim half swore, face pink, then ran a lazy hand through his hair, aiming for some sort of presentation. He gave up though, the effort too tiring, and instead slumped against his seat, half cursing why his dearest _Dad_ had to show up with him looking like this. Bruce only huffed, amused, and after a moment, let himself into the car, settling into the leather seats with a _squish_. For a while, neither of them spoke, the smell of polished leather and oakwood cologne permeating the air. It was only when Bruce leaned forward, popped open the front compartment to haul out a magazine of some sort and copied his son, resting against the seat, legs outstretched, that the silence was broken.

Tim opened his eyes to stare, then closed them again. "So you're just gonna sit here, huh?"

"Just following your lead." Bruce replied, almost monotonous, but Tim knew better. He let it go, and for a while, the silence was...actually comfortable, truth be told.

"Sorry." Tim finally spoke, voice quiet. "I know, dinner, Alfred. I know, and I want to, but I just.." He swallowed, then looked outside, the moonlight white and cold.

A squeeze on his knee, and then it was gone. "I know. Whenever you're ready, Tim."

Tim nodded, and then a thought occurred to him. He turned to his Father now, taking in the casual turtleneck, dark slacks, and frowned slightly. "Wait, what are _you_ doing out here?" 

Bruce seemed to chuckle at the suspicious tone, darting a strangely blue eye to look at him before returning his attention to the magazine. "Was heading out to the office when I _just so happened_ to catch sight of one of my more rebellious children, out here in the dead of night-"

"Really-" Tim gave the man an unimpressed look, struggling to keep his face neutral, but Bruce continued, amusement clear despite the sarcasm.

"-staring pensively out into the darkness, querying the meaning of life, the complexity of all things human, the-"

"We're doing this, seriously-" Tim was close to laughing now, the corners of lips upturned, but he was determined _not_ to give in to Bruce's satisfaction.

"-The deep and yearning that arises from souls of hidden beyond, the call of the depths and greatness within, Mother nature's beckoning and her frailty-" Bruce waxed, adding a little timbre to his voice, and Tim couldn't take it anymore-

A snort, a giggle, and then they were both laughing, eyes creased. "You're so dramatic its ridiculous." Tim snarked, shaking his head at his father.

Bruce chuckled. "I go out at night dressed in nothing but spandex and a cape, and you're only just noticing this _now_ , Tim? Great detective skills there, chum."

Tim smiled, folding his arms, and then nickname dawned on him. _Chum_. It was one more commonly attributed to Jason and his mischief, they all knew that. And now Bruce was here, calling _him_ chum, and Tim found that the words were stuck in his throat. Opening his mouth, he looked back at his Father, but the _look_ on Bruce's face-

smile a little crooked, but it was something in the man's eyes that gave it all away, and Tim shut his mouth as he reaslised what he was seeing: _pride_.

Pride, at _him_ , and whether it was all the tiredness catching up to him, _Bruce_ here with him, just the two of them, he wouldn't know, but Tim said it anyway, throat tight.

"I've missed you." A tiny whisper of a thing, but it cut through the air regardless.

It was Bruce's turn to watch him, something shiny in his gaze, and then the man raised a hand, placed it gently on the back of his neck, and pulled his head forward to place a firm kiss on his forehead. Tim held his Father's wrist, grip tight, and he-he couldn't _speak_ , vision hazy, but there was no need. It was when Bruce pulled back that he understood why, the gaze so full of love, blue eyes that seemed to scan his features intently, as if to burn them into memory, and then that _smile_ , soft, silly, that did it, let loose something watery, but Bruce only brushed it away with a finger, and rested a palm on his cheek.

"You couldn't possibly imagine." Bruce swallowed, as if holding back the tears himself as his voice wavered, but Tim nodded, understanding, and the man smiled once more before angling his head towards the house. 

"Go on."

Tim hesitated, looking also at the Manor, looming above them. He could picture it now, Alfred who'd be stoic as ever at his presence, but the delight was always clear, _always_ , Damian who'd be more guarded, and Tim's stomach twisted; they'd only just- _just_ approached something akin to a truce, so easy to break a-and _what if_ -

"Don't over think it, son. One step at a time." That was Bruce, drawing him out, and Tim _breathed_ , slow and deep, matching his Father's, before he nodded once, and opened the door, Bruce mirroring the action. He paused at the car door, willing himself to move. Bruce stood, watching, not saying anything, but his presence was the support, and they knew it. 

"Can't avoid them forever." Tim muttered quietly, and then stepped forward. Another step, and another, till he was walking now, gravel crunching beneath his feet, ignoring the way his chest quickened, fingers that locked and unlocked, but still, Tim continued.

It was only when he'd reached the steps leading to the entrance that Tim remembered Bruce. Half expecting the man to have left by now, he turned to look back, and was startled to find that the man hadn't moved an inch, frame fixed on his movement. Bruce met his gaze square on, as if daring him to fail now, and lifted his chin slightly. _Head up, chin forward_ , Tim caught it, and he smirked to himself, doing just that. Less than a second after he'd reached the door and pressed the bell did Alfred appear, neutral as ever, but his moustache, it _twitched_ , and without even trying, Tim found himself caught in a hug, thin arms trembling about his person, and he relaxed, the embrace familiar and entirely comfortable, before the pair of them finally made their way inside.

Tim wouldn't know it, but Bruce remained outside for a long while after, staring at the door.

 

 

 _Later_.

The teen yawned, and half stretched, muscles heavy. "God, that was soooo good Alfred. Your dinners are always-" He brought his fingers to his lips, kissing them into the air, Italian style, and the gesture prompted something akin to amusement from the elderly butler, who fixed him with a raised eyebrow as he continued drying the plates.

"I'm glad you approve, Master Tim. Now if only one could get you to _stay_ for the night-"

Tim's smile dropped. "A-" He bowed his head slightly, looking away, and then looked back to Alfred's small, sad smile. "Too soon."

Dinner had been...okay, weirdly enough. It was strange, sitting at the same table as Damian, who was neither hostile nor overly friendly. Neutral, but it was still unsettling, in many ways. He hadn't been able to fully relax, despite the food, still used to being on guard from an unprovoked attack by the brat. More than a few times, Tim had thought about asking the child about his day. Art, the brat- _kid_ liked art, that he knew. But whenever he opened his mouth - it was as if the words had dried up in his throat, and Tim would look away, too aware of the animosity, the confusion between them. At one point, Tim could have sworn Damian looking at him, realising the reason for his apprehension, and had deliberately asked for small things to be passed his way, as if...as if trying to _prove_ that he wasn't a threat, not any more at least. "Please could you pass the vegetables, Drake." Nothing much, but with each request, Tim had stared at the child, waiting for the trick, the dagger heading his way, but Damian had looked back at him more calmly, and so Tim had eventually met each request, though careful never to let their fingers touch. Damian had noted the evasiveness, but for whatever reason, chose to leave it, and dinner had finished in near silence.

Back to the present, Alfred acquiesced, understanding that Tim wasn't ready. "I understand, dear boy. How about I prepare a dish to take-away?"

Tim began to protest, that _no_ , it wasn't necessary, but Alfred wouldn't hear it, and began to rummage through the cupboard of containers. 

"Okay, okay, you _win_." Tim couldn't stop the shake of his head. Typical Alfred.

"Very good, dear boy."

"In fact - whilst I'm here, is it alright if I head up to my room real quick? I'm heading over to Kansas tomorrow to see Jay and I kinda wanna bring a few things, wellies and-"

"Master Timothy." Alfred half turned towards him, casting him a serious eye. "This house, and everything in it, is yours. There is no reason to ask for permission to enter your own room, not for anything."

Tim let the words sink in, and nodded. "Thanks, A. Won't be long, I swear."

Making his way upstairs, Tim reached his old room, messy with books, old pieces of tech, one or two laptops lying around, and walls full of photographs, magazine clippings and important journals. Digging out the things he'd need for tomorrow's trip, Tim took one final look around before making his way to the door. Yes, this was his room, but with all that happened over the last year, two even, it felt more like a stranger's room, deep down. A shadow of the former boy he used to be, one obsessed with Batman and big brother's approval. _Snap out of it_ , Tim told himself, and hand on the doorknob, Tim was just about to make his way out-

when he heard a _noise_.

A series of small _thuds_ actually, pages being flickered, and now Tim stood rock still, listening intently. The room only a few doors down belonged to _Jason_ , kid Jason, and it was a rather unspoken rule around here that _that_ room remain undisturbed, if possible, but they'd all broken it at one time or another. He certainly had, back when Jason was _his_ robin, and after, when he'd been taken in, the dead boy's room. Tim knew his brother's room like the back of his hand, the supposedly cheeky, rude but well-intentioned Jason that loved to read, who couldn't let go of his old life back in Crime alley, not with all the hidden trinkets he kept dotted around the room, the stashes of canned food stuffs in case he ever wanted to run away. A treasure map, that was Jay's room, and it became almost an obsession to find out what had _changed_ when the Hood arrived on the scene, the angry, dangerous man who'd beaten him close to death, yet refrained from killing him outright, even though Tim knew the man had no qualms about killing.

 _Shift_ \- was that carpet being moved?

 _Creaking_ , and then a tiny _whoosh_ , as if something was being lifted, or a weight giving way-

"What the hell?" Tim frowned, and then as quiet as could be, placed a foot into the landing, half out his door, trying to figure out who the _fuck_ was inside that room-

when the doorknob of said room, _turned_.

Tim stilled, and after a moment, retreated back into his own room, closing the door till there was only a slight gap left, a slither of light that he could peer through.

A pause, as if he and whatever or whoever it was, was waiting, and then the door opened, and out crept _Damian_ of all people, with a book clearly tucked underneath his shirt. The younger boy took his time in closing the door, making sure the hallway was clear, and then steadily walked towards his own room.

Tim waited, and then opened his door fully. 

Since when did _Damian_ of all people paid any attention to matters regarding Jason? Jason, or rather "Todd", "Hood", the madman, crazed animal, the one whom Damian believed to be the most inferior amongst the family, not fit to be called _Wayne_ , despite Bruce's corrections. Who'd shown nothing but disdain whenever Jason had been around in the past, those rare occasions, sneered at the man's rough appearance, "uncouth", and Tim had come to blows several times with that stupid brat, defending a man who'd tried to kill him, that at least Jason stood for something, had morals and principles that extended far beyond himself, unlike Damian's arrogance and selfishness.

Honestly, Damian had no right to be in that room, in as much as _Dick_ did, and Tim stared angrily down the hall. He was about to give dearest _Demon_ a piece of his mind when his phone buzzed, a message from Jason, and Tim held his tongue, texting his brother instead. Apparently, Jay was after a couple of reading materials, one of which just so happened to be in his old room, a copy of some book, an "absolute classic" his brother had raved about for half an hour once, and Tim rolled his eyes, making his way to the room. Inside looked the same as before, but years of Batman's training gave Tim a better eye for detail than many, even with Damian's rigorous upbringing. Little pieces were off, just slightly off corner here and there, signs they'd been read, queried over. The pillows by Jason's bed were too close, didn't have the same shadows, and there was a book missing, _Little Women_. Tim cast his gaze around the room, pools of dust that had been re-settled and his fists slowly clenched-.

What was Damian up to? 

The boy had spent quite a while in Jason's hospital room, back then in Bolivia, and along with the revelations that the two had lived together with Talia years ago, that Jason _knew_ him, _knew_ Talia-

What was Damian trying to do?

Tim felt something hot boil under his skin - was Damian trying to _hurt_ Jay? _Use_ him? What did he want from Jason? A protectiveness arose from within the teen- Why _now_? What had changed? He'd yet to see Damian say even two words to Jason, so what was the game plan here? That bratty little shit already had Dick's undying attention, what more could he possibly want? Jason, whom he'd reached out to at the man's lowest, alone, in secret, what it had taken that the two of them could eat at the same table, all their fights and struggles in understanding one another, so far as to _forgive_ previous transgressions- what the actual _fuck_ did Damian think he was doing-

His phone vibrated. Another message from Jason. 

Tim closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. His thoughts were racing, and Tim knew he didn't have any evidence that Damian was actively planning to harm Jason. But still, Damian had no right, absolutely _no right_ to-

"Master Timothy. Could you kindly assist me in putting these goods in the car? They are for you and Master Jason, whom I'm sure will be-"

The voice of the old butler seemed to cut through the tension in the air, and Tim quickly made his way out, only just remembering to take the worn out novel his brother had requested, and hurried downstairs. From across the landing, Tim failed to miss the slight opening of a door.

"Sorry Alfred, got a little carried away. Here, let me take these, there's no need, I'll do it." Tim stammered out, ignoring Alfred's concern over his pink, flustered face.

Up above on the landing, a pair of eyes watched them.

"Is everything alright, dear boy-"

"Fine Alf, its all good, promise. Thank you, for all of this-" Tim lifted up the bags in his hands, already at the door. "I'll let Jay know you love him and all, don't worry about it. Besides, all this food, between us, I'm sure we'll end up on our assess stuffed to the max. See you later, love you." He managed to hug the old man with one arm before scuttling away, putting the goods into the car.

From the doorway, Alfred watched his grandson drive off, and to his side, a younger pair of footsteps came to join him, eyes fixed on the retreating car.

"How unusual." Alfred said aloud, wondering what had his grandson so obviously rattled.

Damian, however, remained silent, but his eyes never left the front.

 

 

_Kent Farm, early Saturday afternoon._

"Hands off, you little twerp." Jason smirked as he slapped Tim's hands away. "Wait till I'm done."

The younger boy mock pouted. "But Jay-"

"No." Jason would not give in to the brat.

"Please-" Tim was staring up at him, eyes growing bigger by the second, but Jason told himself to _hold strong, damnnit._. _Not today, kid_.

"I came all this way Jay, to see my brother, my best fwend-" Tim was dangerously close now, voice ridiculous, and Jason would have laughed out loud if he wasn't so close to giving in and letting Tim having yet _another_ slice of cheesecake, despite the three he'd had already.

"Cry all you want, I'm standing my ground." Jason spoke firmly, but his voice cracked a little at the end, and on a nearby stool, Pa Kent grinned, watching the two boys.

"Go on boy, go for the gold." The older man encouraged the teen, and Tim, grinning, decided to pull out the wild card: his _eyes_.

He looked up at Jay, _slowly_.

"Oh no." Jason began, horror rising in his throat, knowing what Tim was doing. 

"Yes." Tim whispered, as his eyes grew bigger, and _bigger_.

I. _can't_ , I can't _fight_ it-" Jason's voice was half strangled, and he braced himself against the counter. He was crumbling, quickly.

" _Please, Jay_. You're-" Tim swallowed for maximum effect, and boy did he pull out all the stops: those baby blues _watered_ , his voice got all chokey and shit, and in the back of his mind, Jason cursed the younger boy. "You're the best brother in the whole _world_. I couldn't possibly love anyone more than _you_."

Jason looked around desperately. "Somebody, someone _help_ me, for the love of God and humanity, all things bright a-an beauti-"

"I never want to lose you, Jay." A tearful wisp of a thing, a crack at the end, and that did it.

Jason slumped against the counter, completely undefeated. "Fine." He waved his hand at Tim, drained and defeated, whilst Tim and his co-conspirator, Jon bloody Kent, whooped mightily into the air. "Just, go on. Eat the whole thing, I don't care." 

Jason half opened his eyes two see the two stuffing themselves full with cake, and he groaned loudly, prompting a bemused looking Ma Kent into the kitchen, hands on her hips. She looked at her husband, then at Tim, who both stared back at her, eyes wide and sheepish, mouths full of desert, before looking at Jason.

"Really?" Ma quipped, unimpressed, and folded her hands across her chest to stare pointedly at Jason.

Jason, on his part, threw his hands into the air, frustrated. "It wasn't my fault! He did the whole eye-bugging thing with the voice and then _look_ Ma, the look, it- ah, for _fuck's_ sake-"

Ma simply pointed to the direction of living room, which housed the swear jar, and Jason groaned again, muttering unhappily as he made his way across, digging out what pitiful change he hand in his pocket. The older woman turned to her husband, an eyebrow raised.

"Tim, I understand. I've fallen prey to that same look several times before." Her voice held an element of sarcasm.

The boy in questioned grinned and gave her a thumbs up, which disappeared as Ma gave him one of her more severe looks, before continuing to scold her husband.

"As for you, _Jon_."

Jon bowed his head. "I'll get back to fixing the tractor." The man lifted himself from the table, bending to give his wife a kiss on the cheek, Ma's hmpf, eyes twinkling, but as Jon left, he turned to deliver a full blown grin to Tim, who snorted ungainly, and to Jason's chagrin.

"I have eyes in the back of my head, dear." Ma remained as she were, a smirk on her face as Jon dashed hurriedly outside from behind her. The woman turned to Tim now, eyes gleaming, and Jason held a smile as the teen gulped. 

"Ma, you're the best-" Tim began, going straight for the puppy eyes but Ma cut him off, kissing him on the cheek before making her way out into the garden. "That'll be _two_ helpings of broccoli tonight."

"But _Ma_ -" The boy protested, but Martha wasn't as easily swayed.

"Care to make it three?" Ma remarked from outside, and it was Tim's turn to groan now, folding into himself on the counter.

"Oh, the agony, Jay." Tim berated, voice muffled, and he slapped a hand against his forehead, lamenting his fortune. "The _shame_ of it all-"

"You'll live, dipshit." Jason said dryly, smirking at his brother as he continued with the cooking. "Anyway, how are things?"

Tim didn't answer straightaway. "In general? Alright I suppose." His voice was quieter.

Jason nodded, a tongue stuck out sideways in concentration. "Anything in your mind?" It was open enough that Tim could feel free to share, or if he wanted, decline without feeling under pressure. It took a while for the boy to decide, the sound of food prepared filling the air instead.

"Bruce. We're...we're better." Tim began, a little uncertain. "No, we are. It's been weird, and awkward, but I-I think we're definitively going somewhere, you know? Like, he gets the need for space. Time. Knows it won't all get better overnight, I think he's really trying, and I-"The boy paused, as if hesitating to speak, and Jason shot him a look that said _don't mind me_. "I love him for it." Tim finished, and Jason opted not to comment, focusing on his work. "I think he's kinda understanding some of the things that went wrong between you, us, all of us kids, and he's trying to change, one step at the time. Get's it wrong, but that's expected - so long as he's making the effort, then that's all I can pretty much ask of the guy."

Jason nodded to himself. Bruce was doing better with them, _good_. It was probably too late for the two of them in several respects, but it wasn't for Tim, nor for Damian. 

"Glad to hear it." He felt Tim looking at him, but Jason continued nonetheless. "Honestly kid, whatever Bruce and I...so long as the man is trying to change with you and Damian even, that's good, I swear. I'm not mad, not...jealous, just, you know, better late than never." He finished, steaming the vegetables before placing them to the side. 

Tim watched him, but said nothing for the moment.

Jason took the opportunity to rummage in the fridge, back turned to his brother. The cold air on his face was a welcome relief, helping to push down all the memories he'd locked long ago about distant Fathers and whatnot. "So. Bruce, that's going alright. How about Dick?" Jason shut the fridge, carrying a large rack of lamb to the worktop. The meat would need washing, trimming, sectioning, and then marinating. A little thyme, couple of bay leaves perhaps? Could do with a squeeze of lemon, an Jason's mind wandered a little to the rack of ingredients Ma held on the middle shelf.

Tim raised an eyebrow, and even though Jason's back was turned to him, he swore he could _feel_ the twerp's surprise at mentioning the name.

"Yes, yes I know." Jason spoke in the silence, sarcastic but there was a low bite to the tone. "Not completely heartless you know-"

"I know, Jay." Tim's voice was softer, more placating, and Jason felt his jaw tighten.

"Sorry." It came out rough and gravelly, but a little amused huff from behind him indicated Tim understood.

"Better. It's weird, after so long, I'm kinda used to me and you, him and Damian." Tim's voice was hostile, and Jason forced himself to swallow the bile that arose whenever _Dick's_ name came up in passing. "Spent time with him earlier this week, just chilling. He's getting round to the fact that you are obviously around, that we're tight and all. I can see its hard for him, he says its fine and alright but I can tell he isn't there yet. More like Dick trying to convince me that he accepts it in order to keep me happy and around than anything else, but its a learning curve." 

Jason finished washing the meat, and with one steady hand on top, anchoring the meat to the board, he began to separate each rack of meat, section by section. 

"Yeah. I get it." That was the best he could do without flinging the knife and walking out, and Tim seemed to understand, letting him to his own thoughts for a while.

"The.." Tim paused, then started again. "Did I tell you about the museum? Running into Damian and us actually spending a few hours walking around and shit?"

Jason stilled. "No. How was it?"

So Tim told him. All the awkwardness and confusion seeing Damian there that morning, touring the exhibit with the kid, much less spiteful cruel, more...responsive, A little snarky even - they'd actually sat down for a bite to eat, and though they barely spoke, each remained, and Tim imagined it was a surprise, for both of them.

Jason let slip a small smile during Tim's recounting. The Pit and the hell that was a League had done a number on his memories, but there were still many things he remembered, and art, an appreciation of classic works and literature, was something he remembered very well of Damian, even as a young child. Even now, Jason could picture it - a pair of young, soft hands against his own calloused ones, guiding him against different textures, explaining the meaning behind this colour, or that one. The haughty, strange accent with those green, emerald green eyes that were Talia's, following him, concerned under all that huffing and puffing, who would creep into his room at night, during nightmares, and sit beside him. Read to him, most nights, in Arabic mostly, but sometimes English, though Damian didn't quite have as a good a grasp on English and all the quips that came with it, sarcastic bastards. Talia had never asked him to keep an eye on Damian no, but he had, on his return to Gotham. Even with the whole "make Bruce suffer" debacle, Jason had still kept a tab on Damian and how he was settling in. Bypassed the Manor once, maybe three times in total, noting the Kid's first day at school, favourite books, the animals he'd kept hidden in his room _long_ before Alfred knew. The time he'd scaled the wall, near his old room, only to hear a tearful, angry voice from inside his old closet, Arabic sounding and hateful, and how something in his chest had hurt deeply at the sound of such distress. Snooty playground bullies, most likely.

"...yeah, and so I stayed for dinner." Tim slurped at a glass of lemonade here, and Jason shook himself free of the memories, hiding how his hands seemed to shake. 

"Yeah? Alfred still-"

"-better than _ever_ , of course." Tim snarked, and Jason smiled at the sound. "I went upstairs to grab a few things, and then-" Tim quietened, and Jason looked round to the boy, finding his brother swirling a straw in his glass, an intense look in his eyes. He frowned, but waited nonetheless.

"I saw Damian leaving your old room."

Silence.

Jason stared at Tim, then at the open doorway to the dining room.

"I heard noises at first, and then he came out, with a book under his shirt. Didn't see me." There was something in Tim's voice that had Jason's hairs standing to attention, and he watched his brother now, noting a harshness that had entered his tone, eyes sharp. "I didn't like it, Jay. I-what business does he have in there? I mean, I know its not my room, its yours and all, and we've all been inside at one point or another, but still - _Damian_? I.-" Tim shook his head. "Didn't like it. Couldn't shake the idea that he was planning something and it just-I dunno, just the idea of him trying something-"

Jason knew this was his cue then, sensing agitation in the boy, a slight possessiveness over him, just as how Damian could display a level of possessiveness when it came to Dick and his attention. "Kid. Kiddo-" He moved down into Tim's line of vision, taken aback at how the tight the boy's jaw had become, features tense and angular. Insecurity then, afraid of being replaced by the demon brat, perhaps. "Did he say anything in particular?" Jason placed a hand on his brother's own, but it was stiff, and curled into a fist.

" _No_." Tim's tone was venomous, and now Jason was concerned.

"Anything out of the ordinary? Or evidence to support your suspicions?" 

Tim looked away. "I mean, there's nothing- he hasn't _said_ anything specific, barely heard him say anything about you, Dick hasn't mentioned it either. But I-I just can't help feeling like-" 

"Tim, listen to me." Jason kept his voice low. Tim tended to overthink things, worst case scenario, jumping three, four steps ahead, but he understood where his brother was coming from. Damian wasn't one to talk much in the first instance, and with all the history between himself and the family - his antagonism with Dick, the kid recently discovering he knew Talia, Jason would not be too surprised if Damian wanted to get back at him, in one form or another. Why _now_ \- well, that was the real question, and Jason sensed the was more to Tim's agitation than he let on. The boy made contingency plans like clockwork, it was something of personal reassurance to him, Batman style, but Jason knew that for the sake of peace between the two younger boys, Tim couldn't continue along this path, at least not like this. It would only build up resentment, and once again end up with Dick in the middle, Bruce even, having to choose sides.

"You're blowing things way out of proportion." Jason kept his voice firm. 

"How am I-" Tim started, protesting, but Jason cut him off smoothly. 

"So you saw Damian leave my old room with a book under his shirt? And?" Jason looked square into his brother's eye. "Like you said, I'm sure you guys have been in that room more than once for whatever reason. I dunno, maybe the kid is just curious. After all, its not everyday a kid dies, then comes back to life, terrorises your family, disappears for a few years then comes back completely different and besties with your "nemesis". Maybe Damian just _really_ wanted to read that book Tim, I have no idea. But listen-" Jason rubbed his brother's hands. "Give the kid a chance, alright. If you two are ever gonna meet each other halfway, then you've got to _give each other a chance_. That means- no, don't look at me like that - that means, _not_ jumping to conclusions. _Not_ making assumptions. _Asking_ , if you're not sure. _Listening_ , even when you don't want to. I know, its Damian. I know you guys have a fairly poor track record, but listen - I-" Jason sighed, and looked down for a moment.

"I didn't have anyone to tell me this stuff, when it came to Dick. I didn't. There was a _lot_ of misunderstanding on both sides in hindsight, jumping to conclusions, all of it, and-" Jason shook his head. "Honestly kid, I want you to be happy. Happy and settled, that you're both Bruce's kids, and you guys need to stop with all the competition. The comparisons. Trust me when I tell you, it can really mess with your head, alright. So here's what you're gonna do-" Jason shook Tim shoulder's. "Don't get all stroppy with me. You're gonna have to give Damian a chance- you didn't before, from what you told me, but you have _another_ opportunity not to make the same mistake, so don't."

Jason paused, and then straightened. "One more thing, kid." His voice was low. 

"Yeah." Tim's voice was flat.

"You're not gonna lose me. Whatever happens, know that I'm always gonna be here for you, that-" Jason pointed between the two of them. " _We're it_. This won't stop. So take a deep breath next time. Deep breath, and don't lose ya head." Jason finished, squeezing Tim's shoulder, and the boy nodded, quiet, but appeared less tense than before, a win in Jason's book. The man straightened, then turned back to the sink, mind onto the next phase.

"Don't know why you're still sitting when there's work to be done." A little snark, a huff, but Tim stood up nonetheless, appearing at his side.

"Can I have some more cheesec-"

" _No._ "

 

 

 _WE offices, evening_.

From across the hall, Dick stared at his Father.

The man had undoubtedly noticed him by now, that was obvious, but call it pride, call it laziness, Bruce hadn't called out to him once.

There were bags under his eyes, and yet Bruce showed no intention of slowing down. In fact, with the -one, two three- _five_ stacks of paperwork on Bruce's desk, it didn't look like the man would be leaving anytime soon.

Dick sighed, then called out loudly from where he was slouched. "You're not fooling anyone, you know."

Bruce paused, and then continued with whatever report he was reading, unruffled by the disturbance. "How would you know?"

Dick grinned, and with a huff, pushed himself off the wall, walking into his Father's office with a lazy air. He dumped two large bags of takeaway on the window seat and slumped ungainly into one of the couches, stretching, before lying across the whole damn thing, yawning loudly. 

"You have a bed. An apartment, in fact. A very expensive one, might I add." Bruce finally looked up, and although the tiredness was there, the glint was too, and Dick rolled his eyes at the sight, further lounging away.

"You'd know - you're the one who got it for me." Jokey, but there was a sharpness to it, a reminder of their previous fights - Dick wanting to make it on his own, his craving for independence, Bruce taking his rejection for financial help as a slap in the face. The man in question turned to him, clearly mulling him over as he scanned for injuries.

"I'm fine, stop feeling me out already." Dick hoped to lighten the air, and it worked, with Bruce huffing and turning away, but Dick had caught the smile nonetheless.

"Here to check up on me?" Bruce shuffled a stack of notes to the side, and then took another, amusement in his tone.

Dick yawned loudly, then folded his arms across his chest as he stared out of the windows. Man, Gotham had one hell of a view from up here. So breathtaking, one could almost forget the poverty that languished not more than a few miles away.

"Call it whatever you want, old man. Can't a son visit his Father?" Dick mock exaggerated, and now flung a dramatic hand to his forehead, voice quivering. "A son, so fair and bright, youthful and hand to the _some_ , dying to spend time with his _beloved_ Father, oh, how _humiliating_ , such rejection-" Dick lamented.

" _Dick_." Bruce's tone was flat, but they both knew he was trying not to laugh.

"The lack of appreciation, my heart, it witherest so." Dick did his best at all things Shakespearean, but he himself had to force down the laughter threatening to erupt from his throat. "Of all things beyond and yonder-"

"That makes no sense-"

"Far and wide-"

"Still nonsense-"

"To infinity and _beyond_ oh sweet Mary Mother-" Dick cried out, clutching his jacket, and now Bruce snorted, looking his way, and for a split second, the two of them made eye contact.

Dick was the first to crack, and soon the room was filled with hearty laughter.

"Alright son." Bruce eventually gave in, palms up, and standing, made his way to where Dick had sprawled himself across the couch. "You're not at home, Dick." He mock-admonished.

In response, Dick only stuck his tongue out at him, then grinned unashamedly. "My Daddy owns the company, whatcha' gonna do?"

Bruce shook his head at the high pitched, bratty voice, then stood again to make his way over to a cabinet, pulling out a slim bottle of something mildly alcoholic. "I need this."

Dick raised his eyebrow, then leaned forwards, hands grabby as he attempted to swig a glass, but Bruce held the object out of reach. "Adults only."

"I'm twenty-four!"

"Twenty four going on eight, yes." The man smiled now, genuinely, and Dick let it go. That smile was becoming rarer these days, and if it was a drink Bruce needed, well, so be it. It wasn't as if Bruce was a complete stranger to alcohol - in spite of his no alcohol policy, the man did let his restrictions slide somewhat once in a blue moon, with Clark mostly, Barry too at times.

They didn't talk about the five months immediately after Jason's death, where Bruce had drunk alcohol like a fish, because he was too full of grief and heartbreak to imagine living each day as a sober man, not with his dead thirteen year old son buried in the Manor grounds.

They never talked about that.

Dick choose to retrieve the food he'd brought along, and after laying out a mini feast across the table, the two men sat in silence for several minutes, eating away.

"B." Dick spoke after a while, staring up at the ceiling. "How you doing?"

Bruce finished what looked like a spring roll before answering. "Fine. Work- company doesn't run itself, as you know."

Dick smiled softly, then took a sip of a soft drink. "It's not your fault, you know."

Bruce seemed to stop altogether at that, and Dick could feel his Father's eyes on him, curious. "What do you mean, 'it's not my-"

"He's okay." Dick sipped his drink, then continued looking at the ceiling. He had to hand it to Bruce, the man had taste. Well, Alfred and or Lucius had taste, but that was besides the point. 

Bruce said nothing.

"I...I imagine part of you must feel like you've gone wrong somewhere. That you keep losing him, or that you keep making the same mistakes." Dick sipped again, closing his eyes."It is partly true, mind you, but if it hasn't already been said, then I'll say it: you're human. Humans make mistakes. They..they get caught up in all sorts, and its difficult sometimes, when your in the midst of things, to see that. It's easy to see what you could have or should have done, and that, more than anything, if you don't forgive yourself and move on, will keep you in a continuous loop."

Bruce wasn't looking at him.

"He's okay. He wasn't, when he left Gotham, but he...he came back. Albeit, not to you, not to Gotham, but he returned as someone else, stronger, in a much better head space. Got himself something good, something that -from what Tim has vaguely mentioned-, keeps him focused. Grounded. Tim-" Dick swallowed, and the sound caused Bruce to glance at him, but Dick didn't dare look back. "Tim has someone to talk to. Not me, as much as I'd-I'd _love_ for it to be me and only me, but Jason, he's got him, a friend, and it works for them, I think. It's alright to feel....you know, but here's the thing big guy-" Dick turned now, and they stared at each other in the dim lighting.

"Letting Jason go. It was the right thing." Dick spoke slowly, thoughtful. "May not have felt that way at the time, but it-it _was_ , it was the right decision, for his well-being, and I see it now. You see it too, even though you wish you hadn't let him go, or given up, but..it was something that was necessary. And often, its the things we love most that's the hardest to let go."

Bruce seemed transfixed on something on his knee. "What changed?" His voice was low.

Dick smiled, then switched his gaze to outside. "Couple of things. Tim, seeing him the way he is - if we compare it to a year, two years ago-" He shook his head. "Very different. Being able to sit in the same room as Jas-..yeah, that would have never have happened had he remained in Gotham, never. Di, you and Di- great stuff by the way, hows that going?"

Dick smirked as he felt a glare from the older man. "I thought so: pretty amazing, I'll bet. Would that have happened had you guys _not_ been out there in space, on Gerebeta, is it? Maybe, maybe not. She's in his life too, and though I wasn't- I wasn't around then, I wasn't aware of just how close the two of them had been before he, you know, but I _am_ glad that they have the opportunity again to reconnect. Not many have that kinda chance. And-"

Dick paused. "We're not blind, you know. At least I'm not, put it that way - the others probably don't wanna call you out on it. We know you and Clark-"

Bruce suddenly moved, as if trying to shut down any further attempts at continuing the conversation. "I think that's enough-" 

Dick ignored him.

"As long as Jason has someone, why does it matter if that person is Clark, Bruce?" Dick stared at his Father, who looked at anywhere but him.

"I should get back to work-" The air was darker, a lot more tense, and Dick knew he was on dangerous territory. 

"Bruce, you guys aren't talking, it's not right-" Dick attempted, but this time, Bruce, or rather, _Batman_ took control of the conversation, voice hard.

"I am _sick_ , and I am _tired_ of people telling me what to do. What to "feel". What I _should_ accept." Bruce teeth was gritted, and now Dick sat up, aware of the change. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go-

"No-one is saying you're feeling aren't valid, Dad-"

I was as if something _clicked_ , and with a fury too intense to describe, Bruce _snapped_ , smashing his glass onto the table, and the sound reverberated off the walls.

" _ **I hate him!**_ " Bruce screamed.

Dick froze.

For a long, long minute, there was nothing to be heard but the slow, heavy breaths of his Father.

Dick watched as droplets of blood began to drip from Bruce's hand, the one still curled around the fragmented, broken glass cup.

"I-" Bruce seemed to have trouble finding the words, and his jaw was _tight_. "I. I don't. I don't, _hate_ Clark, I..I don't. Hate isn't the right word, I'm just-" Bruce closed his eyes. "Why couldn't it have been _me_. Me, I, I should be the one in Clark's position, not Cl- not _him_."

Dick didn't move.

"He's a good man." Bruce swallowed. "A good friend, and I know- I know he's trying, to be there for Jay, I get that. I understand, I-I appreciate it. But me, why can't-why couldn't it have been _me_ , me being there for Jay this time around? Me that he could talk to - even if it was to shout and get screamed at, I wouldn't- it wouldn't bother me, but to have him not want _anything_ \- anything to do with me-" A tiny tremor ran through Bruce's frame. "It's not hate- at least with hate, there's something still there, you know? The capacity for..it's still there, the potential is still there, but Jay- that day in the Manor, when he woke up, the _look_ he gave me-" Bruce turned away, shaking his head. "Like- like I meant nothing. A stranger. Couldn't even bear me holding his hand or just- just touching the quilt, and it-it broke me, it did. And-Clark, with their history, they didn't even _have_ a relationship for God's sake, and now its all- they text each other, did you know that? I know, they do, he's living at the Farm for fuck's sake, I mean, how much-" Bruce clenched his jaw, then released it. "How. How did Clark connect with him, like that - how did he reach through to Jay? He tells me all this bull about patience and time and whatnot, but we're talking about two people who were out for each other's _blood_ at one point- when I was the one trying to protect Jay from the League, from my friend, from governments, and now its like, like-" Bruce scrambled for the words.

"Like the tables have turned." Dick finished quietly.

Bruce nodded. 

They sat like that for a while, before Dick went to retrieve the first aid kit in one of the desk drawers at the side. 

"Clark. He and Lois, they're expecting. Keeping it hush for now, though." Bruce spoke a while later. 

Dick paused from cleaning out shards of glass from Bruce's palm, reading his Father's face.

"About time." He huffed, fond, and tutted as Bruce winced from the sting of saline solution. "They'll make great parents, for sure." Dick smiled briefly, then held up Bruce's hand to the light. Satisfied the area was free from debris, he began to unwind the roll of bandages.

"Had tons of practice with you. Surprised you didn't ask to live with Clark, actually." Bruce's voice was softer, and now Dick grinned, flicking the older man in the chest before concentrating on the palm.

"Jealously is an ugly color on you, Bat. Besides, me, without you? Never. In it for the long run, so stop trying to get rid of me already." 

Bruce let loose a small smile, and looked away, but the sadness in his eyes remained, and Dick felt an overwhelming urge to hold his Father, never letting go.

"I'm happy for them. Really happy, and they'll be great."

"But-" Dick's voice was muffled as he held a piece of material between his teeth.

"It's being there for them and getting over all this." Bruce waved aimlessly in the air, and Dick nodded, understanding.

"Trying to put aside your own feelings to support them, but without ignoring that you do, in fact, have these feelings." He interpreted, and was rewarded with a grateful look in return.

"Bruce-" Dick focused his attention on finishing the final strips. "Maybe you don't see it. The fact that you're so willing to out aside your _own_ feelings for the sake of your friendship with Clark - that's admirable, Popsicle. It-the feelings, they're still there, they won't go away by magic, and I know you don't wanna hear this, but it'll take time to work through those feelings. This frustration you're feeling - its normal, Bruce, and frankly I'd be worried if you _were_ entirely fine with everything that's been going on. It's alright to feel this way. To feel like you're deceiving yourself 'cause in a way, you totally are, but its for the benefit of someone else, and that's what friendship, selflessness, is all about. Putting others first, even when you don't feel like it, or when you don't want to. It's alright, and I-I suspect that's pretty much why Clark isn't pushing too hard on this."

Bruce swallowed uneasily. "He came round, the other day. I- I couldn't answer his texts, I just didn't want to see him, or face him, because when I do, I just-" Bruce shook his head.

Dick, finished with the palm, decided that a good drink was in order, and producing two glasses, he poured out a small amount into each one, ignoring Bruce's eyebrow.

"I deserve this. I'm a big boy." It sounded childish out loud but Dick didn't care.

That brought a smile on Bruce's face, and the two of them drank in silence.

"B." Dick spoke, resting a hand on his Father's shoulder. "It's alright. It'll take time to get used the idea of...whatever this new dynamic is between the three of you, but what matters is that its for a good cause, _Jason_ , and that's that."

"For someone who once threatened Arkham, you've had quite the change of heart." Bruce spoke into his glass, casting one eye at him.

Dick didn't answer immediately, only to drain his glass in one gulp. "Oh gawd, so fiery." He shook violently for a moment, before flopping over the couch once more.

Bruce let the matter go. Discussing Dick and Jason- too much for one night, anyway.

"Did you hear-" Dick spoke a while later, chicken skewer halfway in his mouth. "Our Timmy tots has been exploring the land down under." He turned to Bruce, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, and the meaning sank in quickly for Bruce, whose expression turned to one of horror, as Dick cackled.

" _My_ Tim? You can't be serious- you're joking." Bruce sat forward, pain forgotten. Tim was-??? _His_ Tim? Not yet sixteen teenage son, innocent, sweet Tim with the blue eyes and-

"Ye _p_ , I mean, I dunno for sure, but he got _mighty_ flustered when I broached the subject." Dick laughed, and Bruce groaned, slumping all the way down in his seat.

"Tell me everything."


	63. Foreign territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Lois visit the Farm. Damian's research takes him beyond the Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know this chapter is a lot of Clark and Lois, so I won't write about them for a while. It'll be more of Jason/Tim's interactions with Dick, Damian, Bruce, Diana perhaps, Bruce and Diana.

_Metropolis_.

"Clark! What's taking so long?" Lois called. "Don't forget, we still need to pick up cake on the way."

Lois's footsteps alternated between the kitchen and the living room, and the clicking of a laptop indicated she was, once again, taking work with her. Not one to rest, his wife.

"Coming." Clark held back a sigh and lifted himself from against the wall he had been leaning on. He stared outside the window, just for a moment, before returning to his desk, putting things away. Thank goodness this coming Monday was a bank holiday. At least they wouldn't have to be physically _in_ , and Clark breathed a sigh of relief.

He'd heard a shout last night, a scream that cut through the air like a knife, the source familiar. Something that held a deep hurt, an anguish that words couldn't quite describe, and Clark had jolted out of bed, shocked at the sound. Lois had swatted him, irritated, before mumbling back to sleep, but Clark had forced himself to remain in bed, elbows propped up at his sides as he listened to his friend's confession. Bruce had admitted, out loud, what _really_ bothered him, and Clark had closed his eyes in the darkness, unable to piece his feelings together. He knew of course, that there had been a subtle change between them regarding Jason, but to hear the -heartbreak, was that the right word- in Bruce's voice, at why it couldn't be _him _in Clark's position, not that it was Clark himself that was the issue, but why everyone else seemed to have this second chance with Jason except him, not even for a moment-__

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Clark shook his head. He shouldn't have been listening - a private conversation between Father and son, and he'd been prying. They all knew, of course, that Clark had the ability to listen in to secret talks and intimate chats around the world, but it was unspoken, the _respect_ , _confidentiality_ , _minding his business_ , and the best thing Clark could do now was to pretend he'd never heard a damn thing.

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Except, he _had_.

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Bruce was right - all that he'd told the man about _time, space, patience_ \- coming from someone who'd never had any sort of relationship with Jason to begin with, thoughtless of their well documented animosity- it was almost comical. But thank God for Dick - the man whom he'd loved as a nephew, a precocious eight year old, one who'd flourished in his own right, right from under his Father's shadow - Dick had somehow given Bruce both the understanding and advice the man needed, even with minor criticism. No quick fix, not for this. It was something that, with time, would become less of a sting hopefully, and Clark was quite glad he hadn't tried to contact Bruce since his last attempt. It would be good to take Dick out for a bite, just the two of them and catch up. He'd yet to hear how the eldest Wayne heir was coping with everything over the last few months, though he knew Dick had been intentionally avoiding him for that very reason.

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"Clark! For the love of-" All of a sudden, _Lois_ was in his face, violet eyes questioning, and she crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her foot. "Smallville! I've been damn near hollering out my throat calling your name!" At seeing his slightly pensive state, the woman's voice softened, and Lois moved forwards, taking his hand.

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"Clark, honey? Everything alright?" Lois stared up at him, with leaned forward to kiss his shoulder, a gesture she knew he loved.

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Clark smiled down at his wife, tucking in stray hairs coming loose from the low bun, flushed cheeks, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, bringing her close to himself.

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"I'm fine, Lo."

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"We can always re-schedule, Clark. Tell them over the phone, even, I'm sure they'll understand, what with work being busy and-"

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"It's alright. Besides, they'll be over the moon when we tell them, and I can't _wait_ to see their faces." Clark squeezed his wife's hand, and Lois looked up at him, a smile on her face.

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"They'll make great grandparents." She conceded, and after a pause, reached up with one hand to run a hand through his hair, eventually resting the palm against his cheek.

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"Breakfast, smallville. I'm eating for two now, so if I blow up into a whale-"Lois warned.

"I'll love you even more than I do now." Clark grinned, and Lois smirked, breaking free of their embrace.

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"Cop out, sappy as shit answer, but you're buying me food, so I'll allow it. _For now, anyway._ " The woman tugged him out of the room, and it was only halfway out that Clark stopped, turning back to the small stack of books on the glass table, hurrying over to it. 

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"Jay." He explained to his wife. "He loves to read. Figured he might do with some new material."

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Lois raised an eyebrow, beginning to smile, and Clark felt his skin redden. "What?"

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"Oh, nothing." Her voice was airy. "Seem to have a real soft spot for the kid."

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Clark pretended to fix his glasses, but his lack of denial was all but confirmation. "He's not a kid, Lois. He's what, 21, 22? An adult, a grown man, nearly as tall as me in fact, but I didn't say that. I know Jay was looking forward to meeting you before...you know. Haven't told him we're coming."

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Lois linked an arm with his as they left the apartment, bags in hand, walking towards the elevators. "You sure this was the same guy-the _Hood_ \- the one who was responsible for killing all those-"

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"Yep. Same one." 

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"What's he like? I mean, I know he is/was sorta Bruce's kid, shit happened, came back, wreaked all sorts of havoc- I was there, remember- but what is he _like_ Clark? You mentioned Jay likes reading, that's great. What else?"

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Clark thought to himself. "He's-Jay, he's different. Has a lot to deal with, under the surface, a _lot_ , and I think he puts on a front as a defensive measure, in a way. I-deep down, he cares for people, I know he does, and it shows, even when he _thinks_ it doesn't, or pretends he doesn't care. He does. I suspect he'll like you - when he found out we were married, God Lois, the _look_ on his face - Jay, he couldn't believe that I'd somehow managed to "bag" _you_. Loves to bake, but Ma says he's a pro in the kitchen, cooking and such, she kept asking as to why I didn't bring him sooner. Got a sense of humour. I mean, for all our past, its...its been strange, getting to know him. Good though, I have to say - there's a lot I'da never expected from a guy like him, not after...well, the Xan fiasco." Clark swallowed, and after a beat, continued. "Jay's trying, and I respect how far he's come, especially since the last time I saw and heard of him, he was a _mess_ , Lo. All the efforts he's making to _live_ again, Di's back in his life, close with Tim - Jay is doing well, and I know, its probably out of place for me but I..I'm _proud_ of him. I really am." Clark finished quietly, but there was no mistaking the _pride_ in his tone.

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"Huh." Lois looked thoughtful, and Clark glanced at her as they made their way downstairs to the underground garage. "What? If you're not up to meeting him, we can always-"

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"Uncomfortable?" Lois laughed. "I've met everyone from corrupt city officials to two timing cheating prime ministers, _Lex Luthor_ for crying out loud, Clark. I'l be fine, more than fine. Besides, you love him, and I'm looking forward to yet _another_ Wayne who seems to have stolen my husband's affection-"

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Clark turned _red_ and began to splutter as Lois wagged her eyes suggestively. "What- _no_ , Oh my God _no_ Lo, Bruce is my best-"

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"Relax, country boy." Lois laughed, but she seemed to be enjoying this _way_ too much, and it was Clark's turn to cross his arms, in an effort to regain some semblance of control over the situation. Yes, he was secure in himself, but it wasn't easy being compared to Bruce at times, not when it came to the League, and certainly with Lois's past history with his friend. "Look-no, don't give me that look Clark." Her laughter subsided. but her smile remained.

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"Lois-" He warned, but Lois swatted him lightly, elevator door opening to the garage floor. 

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"Just saying-" Lois turned to him before walking out the lift, putting her sunglasses on. "The kid seems to be taking after his Father. Half your days are ranting about being fed up with a sulky, broody _Bat_ or-"

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"Lois, cut it out, you _know_ its not like that-" Clark was sure he'd never been so red in his entire life, not with what Lois was suggesting anyway, and his wife was clearly enjoying herself, striding on ahead to the car. 

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"I mean, I understand honey, its nice that you have someone else to vent all that pent up energy to." Lois teased, teeth gleaming. "I can see the appeal- after all, Bruce is -"

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"That's it!" Clark dumped the bags in the boot and slammed it shut with considerable force, but all Lois did was to raise an eyebrow as Clark made his way into the driver's seat.

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"Clark, sweetie, I was only joking-"

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" _No._ Just-nope, no more talking about Bruce, or about- just _no_." Clark started the ignition, beginning to reverse out, but a hand on his hand caused him to pause.

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"I'll stop." Lois looked apologetically at him, understanding, and Clark relaxed somewhat. "Things still frosty between you guys?"

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Clark swallowed and chose to look in his side-mirror instead, waiting for the garage doors to open. "Yeah. Haven't spoken." His voice was clipped.

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Lois nodded, and pulled down the mirror of the passenger side, applying lipstick. "Give it time. You guys fight half the time anyway- I'm sure things will settle. Now -" the woman turned to him, eyes glowing, and she struck a pose, somewhat cartoon like, causing Clark to chuckle. 

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"How do I look, smallville?"

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"Like something outta the Rocky Horror show." He smirked.

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Lois laughed. "Be serious, Clark."

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Clark stared at her. "Perfect." He switched his gaze to her stomach, currently flat. Lois followed his gaze, and smiling, took one hand and rested it over her stomach, her own hand over his. 

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"Let's go make your parents very happy."

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_Gotham_.

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Damian finished the last paragraph.

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As much as he'd like to admit it, the essay was good. 

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Yes, there were spelling errors. A few grammatical mistakes too, but the _overall_ structure, points for and against, evidence supporting each side, was well researched, and consequently, balanced throughout. Much of Todd's work was the same, and for a young boy whose previous years were steeped in poverty and illiteracy, it was rather impressive of the child, but Damian would never say it aloud. Injustice, deprivation - these were common themes amongst various pieces here and there, and Damian wasn't at all surprised. For all of Todd's heinous acts and obvious derangement, the man did appear to live by some sort of "moral" code, though one had to debate the validity of such "morals". "Justice", but with Todd, it was more like _vengeance_ , swift, brutal and on behalf of those who were too helpless to inflict it. it was as if, despite the riches, the glamour, elegance and refinery that was _Wayne_ , Todd couldn't quite shake off the tendrils of his past, and if Damian reflected further, seemed to welcome its hold over him. A reminder, almost, of who the real Todd was, staccato Gothamite, his smokey, hoarse voice, blunt and unforgiving.

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Damian placed the work to one side, and digging under another pile, produced a small notepad. Over the last few days, he'd somehow began compiling a list. Nothing specific in mind, just one or two names here and there. Places. Things that came up more than once in the things he had seen, in Todd's room, in his work. Authors, for example - Todd certainly had three of four favourites. He'd found a faded, crumpled leaflet of some kind, torn, with obvious wet patches that had dried to a murky brown over the years - a restaurant of some kind, one of those cheap takeaway perhaps. He couldn't quite make out the name, and a google search proved rather useless apart from a few images here and here. Balls of notes, scribbled handwriting, illegible for most, but one or two Damian had just about made out: _45th, East Elm Ave._ _Garden of St Mary's, behind the wall._ _Ching's soup kitchen, round the back, up the stairs, careful of the nail._ A few other names, _Donny's_ , _Charlie_ , places or people, Damian couldn't tell, but it was slowly becoming clear to him that his research needed to move beyond the four walls of the dead boy's room, and indeed, the Manor.

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Damian paused for a moment, and then, as quietly as possible, made his way to his bedroom door, stepping out onto the landing. 

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"Pennyworth?" He called out.

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No response. Good.

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Damian waited a moment longer before returning inside, a plan hatching in mind. Father was currently out, leaving straight after breakfast. Work probably, the Watchtower otherwise. Grayson he knew was on his way to San Francisco, something about meeting old friends, and Drake was at the Kent Farm. Dinner the other night had been...difficult to sit through. Drake had stared at him throughout the entirety of dinner, and despite Damian's attempts to lessen the tension, by engaging the man in conversation via simple tasks, requests, Drake had remained highly strung, taut, as if waiting for the curtain to fall down on their pretense. The realisation, that Drake did not trust his intentions, did not recognise the sincerity of his efforts, despite their museum outing a few weeks back, had hurt a little. Damian had masked it well however, partly understanding Drake's response - he _had_ terrorised the teen so much so that earning the boy's trust would take a long while, but still. The real surprise came on seeing Drake leave Todd's old room, hurried, eyebrows harsh, agitation in his voice as he bid Pennyworth goodbye. Damian had re-entered Todd's room after Drake's departure, wondering what had spooked the older boy, but nothing had come to mind. So, Father was out. Grayson was away, Drake in Kansas, and Pennyworth he knew had left an hour ago to run some errands, of which would last roughly three hours, before the elderly man would return to the Manor and start preparing dinner.

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Very good - he had enough time then.

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Time to explore for a bit, and now Damian put his research away, leaving only the notepad aside. He pulled the laptop to his lap, and after a few strokes, brought up a map of Gotham, and on another tap, the main transport links running in and out of the city.

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According to the wisdom of Google, Gotham, or more accurately, _Todd's_ Gotham, the other side of the Manor, crime ridden and depressing, was about an hour away, a little more if there was traffic. Buses weren't too frequent from here, and so Damian would have to factor in walking for a good fifteen minutes or so, till he reached the nearest bus-stop. He'd have to change down at the Interchange, of course, in the main city centre, to a bus going to the less acknowledged areas, rundown and full of grime, but still, if Damian was fast, then he could _just_ about make it, though timing would be tight. To get there, and explore - look around, where Todd had grown up. _Crime Alley_ was the worst part, most dangerous, and for today, time constraints meant that a trip to this area would be need postponing for another day, but there would still be a lot to see. Walking quickly to his closet, Damian dug out an old backpack from the bottom, and threw in a few essentials, not too much. Notepad, pen. Torchlight. Camera - no, he would buy a disposable one when he reached the Interchange. Clothes- _ah_. Damian stared at his well stocked wardrobe. He would stick out like a sore thumb in most of these things. Cashmere jumpers, soft, baby soft slacks, shoes that cost the average of one month's salary- _no._ To blend in, he'd need dark clothing. Hoodie, faded jeans. Scruffy trainers, and Damian made his way now to Drake's old room, hoping to find something he could use. The boy's slim stature meant he just about squeezed into an old, worn hoodie, but the younger boy struck gold in Todd's room, dark jeans and cuffed trainers completing the look: struggling, low on cash, and Damian rumpled his hair, just a little, before darting to Father's room, whom he knew kept a supply of "bruise" makeup in a bottom drawer. A slight smudge of something he knew little about, and now Damian looked sickly, skin yellow and nearing on gaunt. _Perfect._ The less attention he drew to himself, the better.

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Damian made his way downstairs, pausing in the lobby. 

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Coins - he'd need damn _coins_ for the bus, a roll of notes would not only be useless, but make him a prime target should they be discovered. He took out two twenties, just in case of an emergency.

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"Drat." Damian murmured, irritated at his short-sightedness, but then a thought struck him. Didn't Alfred have a loose change jar, somewhere? Either the kitchen, or West hallway, Damian was sure he'd seen it before, and as luck would have it, he found it, nesting beside an old umbrella stand. Hauling out several coins and into his trouser pocket, Damian's final stop was to the Cave, checking the camera feed. Satisfied he had everything, Damian left the Manor via the gardens, certain the camera recordings had been looped in order to mask his disappearance. The weather wasn't bad, not too cold, and as Damian made his way out, something began to stir, deep in his belly. A mixture of anxiety, apprehension, a touch of excitement, even danger should he be found out, or get into trouble, but the one thing that stood out most - that this was _necessary_. Something that he _had_ to do, and Damian adjusted his backpack now, jaw tight.

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He had to do this.

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_Kent Farm._

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"That's it boy, keep it steady, _steady_." Pa instructed, and he put a hand around Tim's own, helping the younger boy to keep his fishing rod firmly in his grasp.

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"Oh-wait, _wait_! I-" The boy looked at Jon excitedly, to Jason, and then at the Pond, the string, which was clearly being tugged. "I think I've got one! I have, _yesss_ , sucks to be you, Jay!"

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Jason groaned as the teen whooped wildly, Pa clapping the boy on the back, and irritated at his own lack of success, watched the pair reel in a fish, a fat slimy thing, floppy and clearly disgruntled. "Goddamnit, what the hell am I doing wrong?"

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Jon only laughed, throwing an arm around him by the shoulders. "Practice makes perfect, son-"

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"Yeah but _I_ didn't and I've got more than your sorry ass, so ha!" Tim butt in, smirk and all, and Jason mock lunged at him, ready to wipe it off his face. The teen laughed as he darted away, and Jon pulled Jason away, squeezing his shoulder. 

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"He's showing off, the little git." Jason grumbled, not caring how childish he sounded, but Jon only smiled.

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"Leave him to his one and sole fish, boy. Let him have this victory, there's always next time."

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Tim continued to cackle, dancing the fish in Jason's line of sight, and Jason, hmpfing loudly, slung the line back into the water, determined to catch his own damn fish, _twice_ the size of his brother's, when Martha's voice rang out.

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"Boys! Jon! Clark and Lois are here!" Her voice was happy, and both Pa and Tim stood up in excitement, rods placed to the side, fishing rivalry forgotten as they made their way back into the house, talking to one another. Jason meanwhile, took his time, clearing away their equipment whilst he forced his stomach to settle. Clark, he was used to now, but Lois? He'd never met her before, not even as a child, and now that she was here, it was...the feeling of something _new_ , an _unknown_ , that had Jason feeling a little jumpy. Having to get used to someone new, the initial awkwardness, uncertainty even - that played on Jason's mind now, not to mention all the accomplishments he could list about Ms _Lois Lane_ , Pulitzer winner and all. Talk about intimidating.

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"Jay! Hurry up, We're waiting for you!" That was Tim, calling from ahead, and Jason, entering the house, could see shopping bags in the kitchen from where he stood in the hall, Clark's back to him, Martha berating Pa over something. Clark turned to him now, about to welcome him, but Jason held the rods up slightly and quickly exited, heading over to the storehouse, all before Clark could utter a single greeting to him. Putting the things away, it wasn't long before Clark appeared, watching him stall.

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"Just putting all this away." Jason didn't quite look at him, but Clark only _hmmed_ , waiting. Jason tried to go as slowly as he could, but eventually he had nothing left in his hands, and along with Ma's calling from the house, they both knew he was out of time.

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"Jay." Clark stood beside him, and Jay glanced his way only for a moment, not wanting to catch his eyes, but it was too late. "She'll love you."

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Jason nodded. He swallowed, and then fixed his attention on his hands, then his, or rather, _Clark's_ shirt, checkered.

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"Looks good on you." Clark joked, nudging his shoulder, and Jason managed a brief huff, a small smile on his face. 

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"Dunno why you dress so shit now, though. Half the clothes up there are actually alright." Jay snarked, and Clark chuckled, putting one arm around his shoulders. 

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"Subtle, but not quite. Lois - she's been looking forward to meeting you for a long while, and now she's here. C'mon." The bigger man began to steer him towards the house, and though Jason tried to resist, it was futile, and in the end, he gave up, allowing Clark to push him along.

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"You didn't wipe your feet." Jason murmured, as they reached the entrance, and Clark only sighed dramatically, before proceeding to make a show of the whole thing, one leg exaggerated as it was scuffed against the doormat, then the other.

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"Mama's boy." Clark muttered.

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"Pur _lease_ , sasquatch. If I'm a _mama's boy_ , then what the hell are _you_? Piece of advice, billy boy - if ya don't wan' nuttin', don' _start_ nuttin'." Jason shot back, watching the grin spread across Clark's face, before they finally made their way into the kitchen.

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"There you boy's are! What on earth took you so- never mind. Deary me." The room seemed to watch as Martha fussed over the two men, straightening Clark's collar, then Jason's shirt, all while the two mildly protested, but they stood nonetheless, enduring the torment. "There!" The older woman exclaimed, proudly eyeing the two, before she turned back to the stove.

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Pa and Tim were together at the other side of the sink, grinning at the two. "Aren't you guys so _cute_ together-"The teen remarked, much to Jason's chagrin.

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Clark went red, and Jason made to interrupt when another voice came through, a tad snarky, and Jason whirled round to the source. "Tim, leave them alone honey. You know how Clark is sensitive about this stuff, he gets it from me all the time but with _you know who_ -"

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"Lois!" Clark seemed to whine, but Jason watched as Lois stood now, making her way to him. "Hi. You must be Jason. Lois. Pleased to meet the third person in our marriage."

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Jason stared at her, mouth ajar.

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"...hello?" Lois cocked her head at him, bemused.

Somewhere in the background, Jason could hear Tim snorting down a laugh, Clark too, but the circuits, his brain - _not.working.exe_

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_Beautiful_ , that face, those _eyes_ , man oh _man_ , violet raindrops, that's what they were, and the _legs_ , sweet baby _Jesus_ , Clark was a lucky ass fucker. Jason only just managed out a _Hey_ , surprise clear in his voice. It was Lois's turn to laugh, black hair dancing behind hair as her eyes gleamed, and Jason continued staring, transfixed at the sight.

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"Uh...Jay? You can stop staring now, kid." That was Clark now, clearly caught on, and Jason snapped his attention onto him, then Lois, nerves dissipating.

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" _Him_? _Seriously_?! You look like this-" Jason waved his hands up and down before continuing. "Like violet ice _perfection_ and you go for _him_? Hillbilly lumberjack, "aw shucks"?!" He exclaimed, a thumb jabbed in Clark's direction. The man's wounded _Hey!_ caused Jason to turn to him, eyes wide with disbelief.

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"Whadaya mean "hey"?! How, in the ever loving _fuck_ \- whoops, sorry Ma- how the _bloody hell_ did you manage to get _her_! How?! Are you just that _good_ in bed or what? _How_?"

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The whole room cracked up, Pa slapping his knee, Tim bent over, Martha laughing into a dishcloth, amidst Clark's feeble protests, and Lois, delighted with the attention, moved to link his arm in hers, beaming up at him.

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"Clark." She announced to the room. "I like this one better than the other one - _Let's keep him._ "

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Clark groaned, slapping a hand on his face.

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_Back alley, 14th Crimera st, Lower Gotham._

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Damian held his breath.

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The footsteps disappeared, and he closed his eyes in absolute relief. _Too close_.

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The man- whatever it was, drunkard probably- had been following him steadily over the last block or so, clearly interested. Those eyes, dark, red rimmed and too watery too be natural, had sent a shiver of something cold and foreign into his bones, and Damian had quickened his pace, keeping the backpack secure to himself. Eyes seemed to follow him everywhere, taking note of his movements, stature, and at first, Damian couldn't understand _why_. He was sure he'd done everything right - the clothes were worn and holey, handing off his frame, bruised skin, but what he _hadn't_ accounted for, what had gradually quickly sunk in as time went on, was his gait. Years of superior training had him walking with his head held high, chin haughty, light, graceful on his feet, because he was an _Al Ghul_ , royal heir, and once he entered Father's family, a _Wayne_ , _the_ Wayne.

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Except, this wasn't the League of Assassins, the secret city, where Mother would oversee his training with a satisfied smile, eyes approving. Where Ra's would have him sit at the high table, testing his knowledge on history, politics, and the infiltration of power structures.

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No, this was _Gotham_ , the other side, dark and hopeless, air unbearable with the stench of the unwashed, of poverty, ambitionless, and the contrast was jarring.

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The moment he'd gotten off the bus, stepping directly into a mound of sewage, Damian knew almost at _once_ that he wasn't _meant_ to be here. Even the bus driver had raised an eyebrow at him at the mention of his destination. _Lower Gotham, please_ , and the man had grunted, taken aback, but had accept the change without comment.

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God, the _smell._ Even the air was something gloomy, despairing, but still, Damian had set off, undeterred. If Todd had grown up here, survived in this hellhole, then he could surely survive a few hours without too much fuss. _Donny's_ , _Maggie_ , the pond - Damian had set out looking for clues, but broken boards, graffiti and the way people rushed about, scurrying almost, as if not wishing to be seen - it became unsettling. Hadn't Gotham council pledged something towards renovation - how much again? 60, 80 million, something about "rejuvenating the city"? A brighter future, hope and order - where was all this money? What had happened - was Father aware of all this? Why did his skin feel as if it were crawling, distant shrieks that had him jumping every now and again, almost begging him to turn around, to run and flee back to the safety of the Manor, but his pride wouldn't let him. If Todd could manage, so could _he_.

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As Damian continued, he began to pick up on a few things here and there. Abandoned buildings - one that happened to be an orphanage, another clearly housing squatters and the like. The way the streets appeared confused, jutting and crowded, but there was a system to the madness. Alleys that led into alleys, through alleys, from alleys, _to_ alleys. Trainers thrown over power lines, homeless and vagrants huddled in corners, ratty rags over their shoulders as they stared at his passing by. The details, Damian was absorbing it, slowly, picturing a young child, thin and alone, squatting on a cardboard mat, defenseless against the chill of winter, snow that could eat through ones toes, begging for spare change, scraps as he dug through waste bins. Had he more confidence, Damian might have pulled out the disposable camera hidden now, in his backpack, but it was still too unnerving, the unfamiliarity of it all, and so the camera remained, still in its packaging.

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Damian waited again. The footsteps had petered out into nothing, but the air had picked up a slight breeze, and then a chill, deathly. Enough, it was time to go home, certainly, and now Damian moved from the wall, shuddering at the muddy oil that seeped into the soles of his half wearable trainers, when the thought hit him.

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He had _no idea_ where he was.

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In an effort to lose his tail, he'd darted into a series of alleyways, each darker and more grotty than the last, and eventually the tail had given up, mumbling something incoherent. It was getting darker still, and the longer he stayed out her, the more... _predatory_ it all felt, as if _he_ were the unsuspecting prey, and then-

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_swoosh_.

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Something _soft_ and furry brushed against his bare ankle, a gentle gnawing of claws that scraped against his skin, and Damian _yelped_ in fright, cursing himself a moment later, because now he'd given away his position, and the _alley_ knew it too. A shuffle, more shuffling, and then Damian knew that he had to get out of here _now_ , right this instant, and so he ran, blindly, eyes desperately trying to map out the streets, but they all looked the same, nameless, undergarments hanging their flimsy selves on washing lines, and eyes behind windowless panes that fixed themselves on him, amused by his distress. The more he ran, the deeper he became swallowed in by the madness, and now Damian began to panic. 

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"Calm down, this is nothing, calm down." He instructed himself.

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Something furry ran down his arm, and this time, Damian _screamed_.

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"Home, home." Damian forced himself to speak aloud, to grab a hold of his senses, but his voice betrayed him, too high pitched to be calm, and now his chest began beating wildly. He should have been home an hour ago, definitely. The disposable phone he'd bought in the city refused to work, and judging by how quickly the sky had begun to set - he couldn't tell, it was like time out here in the Godforsaken place was _mocking_ him-, Alfred would have returned from his errands, probably, no note attached to inform the elderly man of his whereabouts. Father could even be at home too, and if they found out-

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Damian gulped, and something sore sprang to the back of his eyes, but he scolded himself-

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"You are an Al Ghul, Wayne, heir of two great empires, _pull yourself together, boy._ " That was Grandfather's voice.

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His legs still shook. They felt like jelly, and the more he moved, the worse everything became.

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_Footsteps_.

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A strong smell hit Damian square in the face, a stench of the most unimaginable smell, something dead and sulphuric, rotten and depraved, and Damian turned to retch, when something thin and bony _grabbed_ his face, pulling, the hold pressing and moulding into his flesh, and Damian forgot all training, all defense, and lashed out, desperately, hitting and screaming, but another hand, this one even thinner, _skeletal_ , clamped across his mouth, _hard_ , whilst something else from above him shushed him, sharp, dragging fingernails through his scalp- Damian couldn't dare think of it in his state, another set wrapped itself across his _ankles_ , hands, more hands, too many to count now, tearing at his clothes, pulling, tugging, jeans beginning to lower, fabric straining at the seams, a _tear_ , the prey ready for the taking, and now Damian lost it, biting, _biting_ , screaming for _Father_ , anyone, _Kent_ \- Oh _God_ , _God_ _God_ -

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_Kent Farm._

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"Oh really? That's- that's pretty damn cool, I gotta say. Didn't you get scared though, when they started making all those threats?" Jason directed at Lois, and took another swig of his drink as Tim continued eating. All of a sudden, out of the corner of his eye-

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Clark took _off_. Sat opposite him one second, and then next, _poof_ , vanished into thin air.

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"Wait, the _fuck_ -" Jason stared, slack-jawed, only just managing to catch his drink from slipping out of his grasp, but Lois only laughed, smiling at him from next to Clark's empty seat. An _Ahem_ from Ma indicated that she had, indeed, heard the swear word, and Jason passed her a coin without even blinking, mumbling a "sorry" in the process.

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"Yeah, he does that sometimes. It's usually an emergency, can't wait, that sorta thing." The woman waved her hand dismissively, clearly used to it all by now. "Anyway, _no_ , I wasn't really. I mean, half the threats are pretty mundane, "you'll pay for this" yada yada -look, when you've heard it all before, it becomes just so _unoriginal_ you know..."

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_Rooftop, abandoned building, Lower Gotham._

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" _Breathe, Damian. Damian, listen to me-no, stop fighting, listen to my voice, Damian. It's me, Clark. You know me. Concentrate, Damian._ "

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Damian was still screaming when a voice cut through his frenzy, and his movements slowed, confused. The sound was familiar.

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Something rubbed his arms, gentle, soft, and Damian caught a whiff of something _fresh_ , clean, welcoming, and he dared to open his eyes now, still very much shaking uncontrollably.

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"That's it kiddo. Open your eyes for me." The voice was deep, low, a little like Father's strangely enough, and Damian tensed, afraid that it _just_ might be-

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"It's me, Clark. Not your Dad, just me." Damian felt himself being lifted, and then pressed against something big and warm, a material over his shoulders, and Damian couldn't help but sink into the embrace, relieved and exhausted. He opened his eyes now, meeting the face of one very worried _Clark Kent_ , a slight frown on the man's lips, and Damian swallowed at the sight. If Kent could manage to look this disappointed, then imagining _Father's_ face- Damian's chest felt tight all of a sudden and he stared down at his grubby clothes, stained and smelly.

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" _Kent._ " He mumbled, and his voice sounded distant to his ears, young and afraid.

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For a moment, the big man said nothing. Damian half expected a flurry of questions, asking what on _earth_ he was doing, why he was out here, in the dark, in some of the worst parts of Gotham, alone and dressed shabbily, but Kent, for whatever reason, pity likely, said nothing. _Instead_ , what the older man did was to lift the two of them up, soundless. Damian tried to resist the action, pushing away at the huge chest, despising the thought of being seen as _weak_ , a baby needing to be carried, but Kent _shook_ him all of a sudden, and the man stared at him right in the eye, almost daring him to resist. Damian couldn't hold the look for long, not in this state, his voice hoarse and scratchy, and the warmth from Kent was enough that Damian conceded defeat, wrapping his arm around Kent's neck, and rested his head on the man's shoulder. Kent, he knew, would never tell anyone of such a pitiful display, the man was understanding like that, and Damian relaxed further against him, sighing a little as an arm came up to rub his back soothingly. He would deny it, of course, but the sensation of being lifted into the air, flying slowly and gently, and the slight press of a kiss against his temple - the _something_ that welled in the back of his eyes, but Kent stayed silent, and so they made their way home, back to the Manor.

Damian would have liked to ask that Kent _not_ land them at the front door - maybe drop him off by his bedroom window, or even near the grounds, that would be best, but one look at the man's tight jawline had Damian keeping his thoughts to himself. Neither did he let go as the door opened, with Pennyworth only gazing at them, silent, before stepping aside to allow Kent inside. For whatever reason, Damian could not find it in himself to _let go_ , and Kent, still with his arms wrapped around him, carried him upstairs, to his room, setting him down quietly on the edge of bed, and came to crouch in front of him. He'd yet to see Father, and the thought made Damian's stomach turn. Jason was already a... _sensitive_ subject, and to discover his whereabouts...Father would almost definitely kill him, or perhaps, more like the man, _ground_ him for all eternity, Robin on hold indefinitely.

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"Damian." Kent started, putting his hands on his knees, and then sensing the internal stress, his flinch at being touched, opted to clasp his hands together. "Damian, look at me."

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Damian very reluctantly looked at the man, and then looked away again.

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Kent opened his mouth to try again, but once again, the man took him by surprise. "Leave the clothes on the toilet seat. When you've finished taking a shower, come back in here." In any other circumstance, Damian would scoffed by now, but there was something about the man's gentleness that somehow led to him obeying the instructions without protest, and Damian made his way into the bathroom without so much as a word.

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The boy turned the shower on, waiting for full blast. It was only when the water reached hot, steaming hot, that he entered, numb to the scalding, and on full power, sank down to the floor of the unit, knees tucked beneath his chin, and finally, let the tears roll. The horrors- those hands and filthy fingers across his face, over his eyes, pulling at his hair, tearing, just _tearing_ at him, devouring, about to _do_ something he'd read only as Robin, to poor, utterly defenseless victims- 

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Damian held himself closer now, shaking, before something like bile rose in his throat, and it came spewing out, the dark, murky grime that had polluted his lungs, clogging and ghastly, and then Pennyworth was there, holding him as he sobbed, soothing. It was Pennyworth who eventually cleaned him, top to bottom, washing his hair, hands gentle and caring, before lifting him out of the tub and tucking him into a warm, thick rob after being dried. On leaving the bathroom, Damian was lost for words to see Kent, still in the same position he'd left him in, but now sitting on a chair, and beside him, a second, empty one. The nerves took over then, and Damian suddenly reached out to clutch the old butler's hand, but the words, they wouldn't come out. Bless him, bless Pennyworth - the man held him for a moment, whispering that Father was at the Watch-tower, and the _relief_ \- Damian had sagged against the butler for a moment, heart thumping, before remembering that Kent still wanted to talk with him. The man in question made eye contact with them, and Damian's mouth turned dry.

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"Please. Don't tell Father." He blurted out, tears springing to his eyes.

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Kent still looked at him, and Damian, out of desperation, looked up Pennyworth, and shook their hands together. "Please, Pennyworth. Father- he, he'll kill me, he won't ever let me leave again and I-I can't, I'm sorry, I am sorry, I did not mean to-" Damian choked on his voice, and his emotions betrayed him. "Please. _Please_ don't. He's already... _not_ happy. Please - I cannot be another source of unhappiness." He whispered.

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Neither man said anything for a long time.

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Eventually, Pennyworth placed a hand on the small of his back and directed him to the bed. Damian couldn't lie, each step over to Kent filled him with dread, but Kent still watched him nonetheless.

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"Here, Damian. Sit down." The big man patted the space in front of him, and Damian sat down, legs dangling off the bed. Alfred too took his seat next to Clark, and for a moment, the two of them looked at him, but Damian didn't have the heart to meet their gaze, fumbling with his fingers instead. 

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"Why don't we start-"

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"I only wanted to know more about him." Damian blurted out, and then clamped his mouth shut. "I." He swallowed, and then tried again. "Todd. I- I just-". Damian flailed around, but he couldn't describe just _why_ he had to more about a man who'd barely spoken to him since his return. "I don't know why." His voice was low. "I-I don't, I can't explain it. I shouldn't, even, but - it's- it as if there is a part of my life that I am missing. A part that makes no sense, and I- I don't understand."

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Both men were silent. 

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"I just wanted to know about the boy. Todd, the boy, w-what he was like. How he changed...what you all see in him. And why-" Damian clenched his fists, and then uncurled them. "Why he can barely look at me. Why he was so...why he tried to _kill_ me, and yet, to find out that we lived together and he cared for me, once...I've seen-I caught him staring once and there was this _look_ in his eyes, I- I don't know what it was, but it was _something_ , guilt, sadness, regret, I don't-and I-I can't get it out of my mind. and-" Damian whispered now. "Father. Father loves him, still loves him so much, despite everything. He has been struggling, I know it and I couldn't bear the thought of... if he knew what... Grayson- he and Todd." Damian shook his head. "I can't-he mustn't know, not at all. If he finds out-" Something like panic entered his tone, and Damian forced himself to calm down. What if Grayson found out - found out that he was drawn to Todd, for whatever the reason? The man would feel betrayed, and Damian would not dare risk upsetting his brother. Grayson was... _far_ too important to him.

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Silence.

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"Drake." Damian closed his eyes. "He hates me. I...I don't blame him, not exactly. I didn't try hard enough, not to make amends, I expected-I don't know what I expected, but he- he still thinks that its all a _lie_ , all pretense, for show, and it's-the way he holds himself, its like he's just _waiting_ for someone to take it all away from him. He shuts down, and I've seen him, with Todd. Free, happy. He laughs with him, and I...I thought that if-if I could try and understand..no, know more about Todd, then I might...I might be able to reach Drake _too._ " Damian finished, and stared at his bedsheet.

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"Are you going to tell Father." Damian's voice was flat, and his stomach was _coiled_ in knots.

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The clock seemed to tick forever, but Pennyworth eventually answered. "No."

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The tears, they escaped now, misty things, and Damian bowed his head in relief, the pressure across his chest loosening.

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"No, I will not, but that doesn't mean all is well, Master Damian." Pennyworth's voice was stern, and Damian winced a little at the tone. "I understand your intentions, and I empathise with them, and with you. However, regardless of your motives, you left this house, without notice, without warning, with no way of contacting you, alone and without permission. Mr Kent has... _kept_ the details of your exact whereabouts to himself, and despite my better judgement, I will let it slide, at least for now." Alfred glanced at Kent, but the big man did not give anything away.

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Damian dared to look at Kent, and the man stared back at him. Not only had Kent kept _where_ he'd found him secret, but also the _state_ in which he'd been rescued, what was being _done_ to him, more accurately, and Damian shot him a grateful look, thankful, for which the man only nodded, the action barely perceptible. 

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"I can see that things did not go as...smoothly as you had had planned, let's put it that way." Alfred, lips pursed, surveyed the the few scratches on his arms, shallow but present nonetheless, and Damian instinctively tucked them into his sides. The arms were easily coverable, but if Father _did_ catch sight of them, then the truth would need to be told, and Pennyworth would never lie to Father, _never_. "I am only thankful for Master Kent's intervention at the time he did. I..I understand Damian. I know you may feel you are independent, and along with your skills, more than well-equipped to look after yourself, but believe me, dear boy. There are parts of Gotham that even your Father finds to be a challenge, Batman notwithstanding."

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_Challenge_ was an understatement. There was something...something rooted in absolute _horror_ , where he'd been not long ago. Unearthly, unnatural, and dare he say it, frightening. Even now, the thought of that alley- it made him _sick_ , all the smells, the sounds, that _brush_ against his leg-

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A hand on his knee jolted Damian out of his thoughts. Kent's hand, the man gazed at him. _Pay attention_. Damian swallowed, and returned his attention to Alfred again, who was watching him.

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"As for wanting to know more about Master Todd-" Alfred paused, seemingly considering things, and then Kent spoke for the first time, voice thoughtful.

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"How about you come to the Farm, one day?"

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Damian stared at him, and the thoughts rushed out. "And do what? Sit down and strike up a conversation with a former madman about his stay with the League of assassins, his relationship with my Mother and why he tried to kill me?" His voice was incredulous.

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Kent gave him a look. "If you want." His voice was dry. "I know you have questions, Damian, but I would suggest that you start off a little less intense. Maybe you focusing on the animals, as a project or just checking up on them. Could even bring a book or two along to read. It helps, to have something inbetween, something that is neutral, if that's the right word - start small, start simple, and take it slowly. Don't expect answers overnight, and not for a while either."

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"Is that how the two of you connected?" Damian asked quietly, and it was Clark's turn, his eyes masking something of a secret. 

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"It's a little more complicated than that." The man finally answered, but there was clearly more to it. "A set of circumstances arose that we found ourselves in. We...well, it didn't happen overnight, and even then, its a work in progress like anything else, but so far, so good. I'm sure you're more than aware of our history, so it isn't all swept under the rug."

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Damian nodded. "Why is it that the same cannot be said for Father?" He paused, trying to find the words. "Do they not love each other, after all? I know Father cares very for Todd...despite everything." A hint of bitterness could be heard in Damian's tone, and he didn't try hiding it.

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The question remained in the air for a long moment.

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Kent seemed to struggle with his answer. "A lot of things. It's all there, deep down, but there's a lot to work through. I think they've gone through it, and been "at" so many times that it can be hard, to try again. I suppose, its actually easier for me in a way because though Jay-Jason and I had quite public differences, we were still strangers to each other. We didn't have a relationship prior to that, not like your Dad did, so there was nothing to compare us to really. Nothing to fall back on, if that makes sense."

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Damian nodded to himself, and even Alfred seemed to understand.

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"I can help you, Master Damian. With regards to Jason, there are several things around the house that may give you greater understanding of the boy behind the man, and if finding out more about Jason's surroundings in Lower Gotham will further help such research-" Alfred paused.

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Damian nodded. 

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"Then I can give you some direction, in that regard. Not that I know much, mind you, Master Jason was never one for opening up when it came to his background, but there were few places he talked frequently. Favourite spots, that kind of thing. Under supervision, and only for a very short while, but it is possible. Should I catch wind of a situation like this repeating itself, however, you will have to answer to your Father, most certainly." Alfred conceded, and Damian looked at his grandfather, grateful.

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"Thank you Pennyworth. And thank you, Mr Kent, for tonight." He swallowed.

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Kent looked at him for a moment, nodded, and stood up, shaking Alfred by the hand. "If you need anything-"

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"-I cannot thank you enough, Master Kent. You've done more than enough, my boy."

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The man offered a brief smile to the butler. "I'll keep you updated about Jay. He misses you. Didn't hear it from me of course but I _think_ Jay prefers Ma's cocoa to _yours_ , Alfred."

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Alfred hmfped fondly. " _Impossible_ , Master Kent. I will not tolerate any more nonsense this evening. I bid you goodnight."

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The big man grinned, then winked at Damian. "I'll be in touch, Damian." With that, Kent left.

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Damian made his way into bed, under the butler's watchful gaze. After being tucked in, a little too firmly than usual but Damian didn't dare complain, Alfred stopped by the door, hand by the light switch.

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"Pennyworth." Damian didn't know how to finish the sentence, but the old man only nodded, eyes knowing.

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"Good _night_ , Master Damian. I expect you to lend a hand with the chores downstairs for the _rest_ of tomorrow." The way Pennyworth phrased that statement let them both know that this wasn't an option, open for debate, but rather a _fact_ , and Damian held his tongue, understanding the price he was to pay.

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"Yes Pennyworth." If his tone was a slightly gritted, the older man made no indication he'd heard it.

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"Very good, Master Damian."

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_Kent Farm, late evening._

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Clark closed the front door quietly. Shrugging off his jacket, he made his way to the living room, taking stock of the sight.

____

The television was still on, a movie of some sort was playing, but no-one seemed to be interested in it.

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Ma and Pa were rested on each other, snuggled in close on one couch, a blanket over their knees, snoozing away. On another couch, Lois was sat with her feet outstretched, Tim against her, snoring, head in her lap, feet across Jason's. Both Lois and Jason were in quiet conversation before Jason turned, catching sight of him.

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"Hey." His voice was low, questioning, and Clark moved now, first to kiss his wife's head, before squeezing Jason's shoulder to sit nearby.

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"Where-" Jason raised his palms, obviously wanting to know where he'd been, but Clark only settled against the couch, wondering how to phrase it all. 

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"Emergency." Clark kept it short. "Everything's fine now."

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Jason didn't seem convinced, and a quick dart of his eyes told Clark that the younger man was looking him over, assessing him for obvious injuries, just like a certain Bat was annoyingly prone to doing. He shot the younger man a look.

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"I'm fine, Jay. Superman, remember?"

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"Huh." Jason took a sip of something, cocoa probably, but it was there in his eyes, that he didn't quite believe him. Another flicker, an eyebrow was raised, before the boy's gaze was returned to him. It passed quickly though, as Jason shifted his brother's legs from his lap, stretching across to wake up the boy up.

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"Jay, its alright, Tim is fine here-" Lois began, but Jason woke the boy nonetheless, claiming something about leaving the _parents-to-be_ alone for some _mclovin'_ , much to Lois's blushing. Tim woke with a start, grumbling a little, and bidding the two goodnight, he and Lois were left alone. Clark only patted his lap, despite the space both Jason and Tim had left.

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"Really Smallville? You're gonna make your pregnant wife walk all the way over there?" Lois snarked, but Clark simply chuckled, giving his lap another pat.

____

"Its not even half a foot, Lo. C'mon, you can do it." He joked, and Lois acquiesced, flopping down against him with a grumble, but her smile gave her away.

____

She kissed him, long and firm, and Clark drew her to himself, inhaling the fragrance of her hair, before the woman settled on his chest. "Everything alright?" Her voice was quiet.

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Clark took his time in answering. "I think so. Not sure - it could have been worse definitely. We'll have to see."

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Lois only nodded, and curled up tighter against him, digging her toes into his ribs.

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"Ow, Lo. Watch those claws you call nails, woman." Clark joked, and Lois's only response was to swat him. 

____

"Had a little chat with Jay." She mentioned after a while, and Clark glanced at her, kissing the top of her chin. "I really like him. Helps that he's a damn looker, goodness. Lovely hair. Ridiculously tall, taller than Bruce I bet. Bet he _hates_ that."

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Clark grinned. "The man won't even admit it, Lo, it grates on him. I'm sure Jay reminds you of one of those rugged suffer guys on the front cover of those magazines you keep by the entrance, you know the ones?"

____

Lois looked up at him, eyes teasing. "Very astute, smallville. But not quite, I don't think. They're a little too clean shaven, vain and pretty boy looking. Get a little oil on them and they'd slide about, glistening like rats in the sun. Jay is more rugged than that, more heartfelt, more sincere. You know he made me a cheese feta and tomato soup, just for me? Could eat that thing all day, every day. Amazing."

____

Clark barked out a laugh. "Any left for me? Fine, if not surfer, then what? Lumberjack? The beard and the shirt kinda gives him that look."

____

"Yeah, its in the fridge. Hmm, I don't like that comparison. Too pretentious, Jay doesn't fit the mould. It's the eyes, I think. Makes him look older and yet _so_ young at the time, like he's been through hell and high water." Lois's voice quietened. "Still can't believe we never spent time with him like the others."

____

Clark looked away, nodding, but said nothing. 

____

"It's alright, Clark. He's - Honestly, I know we've only just met and all, but he's so-" Lois waved her hand. "Unexpected. So very different to you know, what you kinda expect as someone who used to go by the _Hood_ of all things. I...I can see why you're so fond of him, I do, and I'm glad you have him. Can't wait to pick his brain."

____

Clark's throat was tight.

____

"Anyway, got myself one all to myself, so I know what I'm talking about." Lois yawned and slipped her hand into his, words mumbled as she began to drift off. "Only have eyes for your southern ass, farm boy."

____

Clark held the woman close, pulling a blanket from behind to cover the both of them, chucking to himself. "Goodnight, Lois."

____


	64. Hollow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ubu has important news. Jason questions when to leave the Farm, and Clark pays Dick a visit.

_Jordan, just after midnight_.

Ubu waited till the second stack of papers had been cleared before knocking. A slight pause, a firm _Enter_ , and Ubu opened the door, making his way into the study to stop midway.

Behind the desk, the Mistress eyed him carefully, noting his clasped hands at his back, head a little bowed, but posture straight - an important matter, therefore, and the Al Ghul put down the pen in her hand. His cue to speak, then.

"Master." Ubu began, and then cleared his throat. "I have received news from our contacts in Gotham."

Talia's only response was to tilt her head at him, but only just. Gotham meant the _him_ , the boy, and Ubu knew how much his Master had sacrificed in order to protect the boy from Ra's clutches, even at the cost of her own safety. The child and his older brother, not of flesh, nor blood, but of heart, the one who had defied all odds, flew past expectations and had triumphed through pain and failure, Crime Alley's forgotten one - these two were his Master's pride and joy, dearly loved from afar, and it was his job, as titled henchman and subservient companion, to keep all three safe, whatever the price.

Talia nodded. " _Speak, Ubu_."

"A description resembling that of the youngest Master was reportedly seen in Lower Gotham, several hours ago in the afternoon." Ubu paused for a moment to let this sink in before continuing. "Specifically the East, near the birthplace and childhood of his elder. The boy was noted to have been dressed rather shabbily, backpack in tow, and was seen to be _looking_ for something, clues possibly-"

"Clarification." Talia had stood up now, and made her way to the window, observing the view with an odd sense of calmness, but years of experience told Ubu otherwise.

Ubu nodded once. "Most likely. It is unknown of what the boy's exact purpose was. Despite the young Master's attempts, he remained a point of interest for several unkempt characters, and managed to attracted unwanted attention by presence alone. Though our contacts disposed of one or two more aggressive tails, the boy apparently...deemed it pertinent to enter a series of alleyways, of the Hillsborough estate, "Hilly" for short, in order to shake off the attention and presumably buy him enough time to escape." Ubu stopped here now, and Talia turned to him, understanding that his report was not only incomplete, but unfortunately negative. Her eyes narrowed.

"Due to the strange layout of Hillsborough, it appeared that Master Damian found himself lost. Matters were further complicated by the fact that the air had turned somewhat unusually dark, alongside the boy's constant movement, and before our contacts could reach him, the boy was heard screaming. Attacked, possibly being...assaulted."

The air was still.

Talia didn't move, but her jaw had tightened so much so that Ubu could practically _trace_ her lower mandible, and he shared in her anger. For all of her hardened front and cold presentation, at the heart of it all was a woman, a _Mother_ , doing her best to protect her children, her most valuable assets, and Ubu understood. That the boy could so stupidly land himself in such trouble- Ubu shook his head. Even with all manner of training, as vigorous as Miss Ghul had instructed, Master Damian still held an inward streak that was akin to curiosity, rebellion at its worst, having only been tempered over the years with the heavy burden of _duty_ , the responsibility of heirdom, and the consequences of failure, amongst _other_ measures.

"What happened next?" Talia's voice was clipped. 

"One moment the boy could be heard, and the next thing-" Ubu took a moment to phrase the words. "It was as if the boy vanished, into thin air. One servant reported seeing red and blue, moving fast - a figure most fitting of the Superman, given that all that was left of the alley were several ragged individuals, tied together. We intercepted a 911 call to the area but no vehicles were dispatched - it is our understanding that the cops are known to avoid such an area."

"I see." The Master's voice was flat.

Ubu noted that her anger was also directed at himself, or more accurately, the minions under his service, who were supposed to be keeping an eye on the boy. Highly trained assassins, skilled and feared, yet failed to monitor and protect a young boy of barely eleven years - such failure was a reflection on himself, and Ubu bowed his head. Apologies were useless, they had failed in their responsibilities, and Ubu knew he would require another set of guards to replace those currently stationed in Gotham. Failure had a high price indeed.

"The young Master was taken back to the Manor, with the Superman. The butler, Pennyworth, was the one to open for them- supposedly Mr Wayne was unavailable at the time."

Talia clenched her teeth but made no comment.

"Superman was seen leaving a little over an hour later. The boy has remained in the residence since, and I imagine, will continue to remain until he returns to school on the Tuesday, following the public holiday."

Talia said nothing for a few moments, only gazing across the mountainous desert down below. "He draws close, I think." Her voice was level, but Ubu detected a touch of hope.

"If he continues like this, then yes, I believe the boy will break the hold." Ubu confirmed.

"All the more reason that he stays safe, Ubu. Ra's must _not_ know of the boy's progress, I will not have my father interfering once again, he has done enough. As for Damian...it is natural that in his curiosity, he will seek out his older brother to learn more." Talia paused here, and out of the corner of his eye, Ubu saw his Master reach up to briefly touch the necklace around her neck. It was one she'd worn almost every day for the last three years, simple, too plain for the Master's elegance, a gift given from the Todd boy, though Talia had never confirmed it. "The question is how much Jason remembers, firstly, but more pressing in my view is whether Jason is willing to share that information with his brother. I would like nothing more for the two boys to care for one another as Jason dotes on Tim, though I recognise that such a sentiment is likely far off at present, all things considered."

Ubu said nothing, but he was not one to deny the memories - watching a young child lead his elder around the gardens with utmost care, haughty concern, the older who would viciously protect the younger, sanity aside, and from up above, on the balcony, the Mother who would watch the two, pride in her eyes.

"Keep me updated, Ubu. It is imperative that Damian continues his research with minimal influence - only he alone will be able to break that which holds his memories. As I'm sure you know, any external force will only serve to cement the hold. And when that bond finally breaks-" Talia held the chain to her lips, eyes far away. "Then things will make sense, I hope."

Ubu bowed. "I will do my best, Master. As for the guards- they will be taken care of, Master. I will not let you down again."

Talia didn't look at him, but her voice was hard. "See to it that you don't."

A dismissal if any, and Ubu took his leave.

Talia waited until Ubu had long left before letting out a long, controlled sigh. Damian would do it- she knew her son, but as soon as those memories became unlocked, then she herself would need to explain, to Damian, to Jason, all she had done, _why_ , and the thought left her uneasy. _All_ of it. Damian was a little easier to predict - having been trained to withhold emotion, the boy at first would treat her coolly, but later, the anger would arrive, anger, frustration at her distance, the secrecy, and it would not be easy for her to earn his forgiveness, but she _would_ , eventually, be forgiven. _Jason_ , however, was a different story altogether. He, Talia knew, would find it difficult to forgive her, if such a thing was possible. He would understand, and possibly love her, but things would...they would _change_ , between them, and the prospect of losing him, of being cut out from his life, was difficult to swallow.

Talia played with the necklace. It was the first thing anyone had ever given her, free from condition, without bound nor responsibility, away from expectation, not loaded with hidden meanings. Something simple, not much - it was all he could afford at the time-, and that day, during lunch, Jason had brought it out, unable to look her in the eye as he presented it to her. His voice trembled, that one, a little unsteady, but still, Jason had insisted it was for _her_. She'd asked why, of course, but Jason had let out this small, shy smile, and shrugged his shoulders. No reason, no "why", just "because." Talia had pressed further, but that was all Jason would say. "Because". She let him put it on, and the _look_ in his eyes, as if the boy had been holding his breath all the while, as if she would throw it back in his face, a rejection, that it was akin to a toy, cheap, meaningless, silly little thing - Talia had stared at it in the mirror, that a boy that wasn't even of her flesh, her blood, could do such a thing, even admist his own turmoil- she'd enveloped the boy into a hug as crushing as she could, ignoring his feeble protests, and held him to her chest. _A boy of the heart_ , she'd told him that, and Jason's face, though flushed pink, lit like the sun on hearing those words.

 _Her_ son.

Her _boys_ , of the womb and of the heart, and Talia knew her time was coming.

 

 

_Kent Farm._

"There!" Pa declared, and he stood back at Jason's side, both men staring at the old, weathered truck, eaten away by rust.

Jason eyed the vehicle, and then Jon. "Jon, at least let me get you another one, a better one. It's no trouble I swear-"

" _No._ " Jon wiped his brow with a sleeve and bent down to inspect the tyres.

Jason tried again. "Alright, how bout you think of it as a lil "thank you", hmm? Or a small token of my appreciation-"

"Can't accept it, boy." Pa took a cloth and began wiping the grooves of the tyres.

Jason bit back his irritation - why wouldn't they accept anything? He'd been here close to a week now, and very soon he'd be leaving. Ma, Pa, they'd been downright selfless during his stay - eating their food, giving him clothes to wear, staying in their house without contributing a single dime, and yet when it came to repaying them? It would be easier shoving a camel through the eye of a damn needle at this rate. Ma had said _no_ to goddamn everything he'd offered; _no_ to a brand new kitchen, not even an upscale remodel, _no_ to a new set of dishes, cutlery, and Pa had proven even more stubborn. Maybe repayment came in the form of him helping out, but Jason felt it wasn't enough. After all, if life had taught him anything, Crime alley and her ways, it was that favours were never for free. Generally, if _one_ did _another_ a favour, then the _latter_ was in the _former's_ debt until clear. Sure, he'd helped out Clark for free back then, out of his own will and "goodness" of heart, but that was _his_ decision, from _his_ end, and he didn't require any favours or dues to be paid in return. This time round, however, it was _him_ on the receiving end, and Jason was determined to find out what he had to do to return the favour. It wasn't easy at this age, running a farm, but the Kents were a pretty active bunch, always on their feet, and Jason had been unable to sit down on his ass when there were two of his elders, several times his age, kept busy with chores and various errands to do.

"Pa, please. I can't...leave empty handed- you've gotta let me-"

Pa slapped down the cloth onto the ground and stood, looking at Jason right in the eye, voice firm. "Son, I understand what you're trying to do. Ma, she gets it too, and we're touched by the gesture, but listen here, boy: maybe its a country thing, an old folk thing, I don' know, but round these parts, we love, and we help, without expecting anything in return. No favours, nothing fancy, just some good old, decent, well-minding folk who look out for each other, no matter the cost. A new this, or a new that- it comes across as bribery son, like you're trying to _buy_ our good will, and lemme tell ya, it ain't great, feeling like you're being bought."

"Pa, I didn't mean to- you know its not like that. I wasn't tryna make you feel some kinda way or anything." Jason rubbed the back of his neck, red, looking at the floor, and Jon relaxed slightly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, son. The intentions are good, we know that. Just understand that we love having _you_ here, not what you have, or what you can do for us, none of that. _You_ are more than enough, you hear? Now." Jon patted Jason's shoulder before moving, eyes scanning the bonnet. "Pop that open for me, let's take a look at dear old Maury-"

" _Maury_ -"Jason snorted at the name, and Jon chuckled. "Really?"

"Coming from the boy who named his own _Shelley_ -" There was a twinkle in Jon's eye, and Jason let out a groan as he lifted the bonnet open.

"Tim talks way too much. That kid's got a mouth like a damn gullet. Go on, what else did that lil git spill, tell me."

Jon grinned. "Not on your life, son. The juice I have on you - gold mine, I tell ya."

Jason groaned even louder this time. "Blackmail, in other words."

The older man chuckled heartily from the inside of the car. "Lights, son. Call it whatever you want, boy - all I know is that if you ever feel tempted to rat me out to Ma, just expect a ratting out on yourself too, you hear?"

Jason shook his head as he stepped back. "Left blinker's dead, pops. Ma loves me." He stuck out his tongue rather defiantly, much to Jon's laughter.

"Stay here long enough and you'll soon find out that that woman's the sneakiest of them all-"

"Sneaky what, dearest?" Ma's serene voice from behind had both men jumping up to attention, Pa letting slip a swear word, and Jason struggled to hold in his laughter.

"Nothing, Ma." They chanted.

Ma folded her arms across her chest and stared at them. The two men glanced at each other, nodding in unspoken agreement: time to butter her up.

"You're the best Ma in the world." Jason began. This was a performance of a lifetime, _both_ their lives depended on it.

"My wonderful, beautiful wife. So loving and kind. Not at _all_ sly, good heavens no." Jon held the dishcloth between his fingers, folding it over and over again under Ma's intense stare.

"Nuh-huh, the bestest of them all, you are." Jason reached across to kiss her hand, flushing under Ma's besmusement.

"A _mazing_."

"In _cre_ dible cook." 

"Out _stan_ ding woman." Jon kissed the air, Italian style, and Jason almost broke down laughing, but he managed to keep his cool, only just.

"Phenomenal in all your ways." He was really going for it, but Jon was determined to outdo him.

" _Un_ matched." Jon declared.

" _Un_ defeated." Jason shot back.

"Be _yond_ the extraordinary-" Pa's voice was louder.

" _Stop._ " Ma ordered, a palm raised, and though her voice was firm, her face gave away her amusement at the over-exaggerated praise.

Jason didn't dare look at Pa, Pa too, and the two stood, breath held. 

"Didn't buy any of that, but nice try regardless. Pa, penny in the swear jar, I heard that curse word." Ma smiled as Pa muttered to himself, digging rather grumpily into his trousers for a penny. Jason took his chance to gloat and stuck out a tongue at Jon, but Ma caught him, and he sank his gaze to the floor, cheeks pink."Jay. Phones for you, its Clark."

Jason furrowed his brow, confused, before remembering that his phone was dead and currently being charged upstairs. "Yeah, sure." He made his way into the kitchen, where Ma returned to her baking, a steak pie of some sort, and Jason couldn't help his mouth watering at the sight, mouthing a _Love you_ to the older woman before answering the phone.

"Big man. Heard you wanted to ask me out. Phone's dead, coulda sent me a carrier pigeon with the scroll like the olden days, know what I mean? _Dearest beloved Jay, would thou knowest dare to please mine heart and dine with thee at the hour of twilight?_ Gotta mix it up."

Ma chuckled nosily, sending him a look. Over the phone, Clark laughed, and Jason grinned at the sound, picturing the guy going red out of amusement. "Can't you be serious, even for a minute Jay?"

"If you promise a candlelit dinner by the stream and your most expensive red wine, then sure thing, sweetcheeks. None of that cheap stuff, I want steak, french potatoes, freshly cut asparagus, the full monty, and roses-no, lilies, yeah, white lilies with chocolates, the crunchy ones. No skimping out on me, you here? Wear a suit, open collar. No bow ties, those things are death-traps."

"You're ridiculous, you know that? Just-I'm just _sick_ of you, you little shit. _Anyway_ , I was wondering - you still gonna be around this week?"

Jason paused. Logically, there was no reason as to why he was still here. The chest infection had fully cleared, he was back to full strength, ready to work, even if actual Ghost work wouldn't be for a while, but still- there was always private mercenary shizz that paid well. He had his own house, his own life. Pa and Ma were fine before his arrival, and would be afterwards.

So why was he still here? 

It was difficult to answer, strangely enough, and Jason realised that Clark too had remained silent over the other end, waiting for his response. He opened his mouth to give a response, but it seemed as if his mouth had accumulated sand instead of water.

"I..." Jason began. He cleared his throat, and attempted a re-start. "I-I, uh, I dunno." His voice was unsure.

There was silence for a few moments before Clark spoke again. "You know Jay, if you wanna stay longer, that's okay. There's no rush, I'm serious. Ma and Pa love you."

Jason glanced up at Ma, who was wisely giving him privacy, her back turned to him. He looked away. "I know, I know that. I..its weird. It's like I can't bring myself to...you know, not just yet."

A small chuckle. "I understand. It's the same for me, whenever I'm back at home. A few days in and I'm so immersed, the thought of going back to Metropolis feels foreign."

"Even to that hottie you have at home?" Jason half smirked, trying to mask how coiled his guts felt inside.

" _Yes, Jay_." Clark's voice was dry, with a hint of warning. "Even to Lois sometimes. The city is great and all, my home is wherever she is, but having that break, being in the open, the countryside - the air is cleaner, its quieter, a lot more peaceful - a guy can do some serious thinking out there."

"Too much thinking. Keep questioning loads, out here. I'm turning into you, checkered shirt and all." Jason muttered.

"The horror, I know. Already hear a little country slipping in, boy." Clark joked, and Jason groaned, slapping a palm to his cheek.

"Don't even start, Billy. But yeah, I mean, in that case.... yeah, I'm free this week. Depends when, though, I'm going to the farmer's Market with Ma and Pa and I have got a couple of things planned. Di's supposed to be coming over too, tomorrow I think, or the day after, gotta pull out all the stops. What did you wanna do?"

"Well, I was wondering whether you'd like to see Metropolis. We didn't get to, you know, after... but I thought it would be a nice change to take you around the city, the best bits anyway, get something to eat, a little sight seeing maybe. I know, its probably nothing compared to where you've been all over, but I'd like to spend time together, if that's alright with you."

Jason was a little taken aback by the request. Clark wanted to hang out?

"C, you don't have to. Honestly, God knows you and Lo must be pretty busy but there's no need to worry about me, I'm fine, I'm more than okay-" Jason started, wanting to put away the notion of _obligation_ rather than anything else, but Clark cut him short.

"Jay, I _want_ to do this, I like hanging out with you. I'm not offering because I _have_ to or that I'm being _forced_ to, not at all. Why, has someone said it like that?" The tone suddenly turned serious, and Jason's stomach tightened.

"No, no, its not that. I..I just didn't want to be seen as this "burden" that you have to deal with. Just remembering you promising Talia to drop by and check on me regularly- its alright, I'm not a kid, and anyway I've-"

"Jason." It was Superman now, and on instinct, the hairs on his arm bristled at the sound of command, wanting to rebel. It took a second for Jason not to bite back, that this was _Clark_ , trying to get through to him. "Jay, we're hanging out. We're doing this, whether you like it or not, so get used to it, and start getting used to me, 'cause I'm not going anywhere. Let me know when is best for you; I'll be driving over, and we'll drive from the Farm to the city. Probably stay over at mine for dinner if you're okay with that, but this is happening, short stuff. No ifs, no buts, and no excuses."

Jason held the phone, for a moment, touched by the sentiment. 

It was nice that Clark was trying this hard with him. He certainly didn't have to.

"Alright." He finally spoke. "Okay, that's fine. Thanks, C. You sure Lo is okay with this? Don't wanna intrude on anything."

It was Clark's turn to laugh now, the tension lighter. "She's been bugging me about when next we're seeing you, so trust me Jay, she'll be delighted."

Jason smiled despite himself. "Alright, I'll let you know. Say hi to the missus for me."

"I will. See you later, Jay."

Jason put the phone down with a _click_. "Country boy my ass." He muttered, as he made his way outside.

 

 

_San Francisco._

Nearly two thousand miles away, Clark listened to Jason and Pa talking once again before moving off, adjusting his glasses in the process. A day out with Jay, it would be good for the both of them, and then Clark might possibly broach the idea of _Damian_ , the child who wanted to know more about him, and spending a day at the Farm. It was only a possibility, and Clark didn't want Jason to feel pressured to spend time with the youngest Wayne. The older boy's history with Talia was already steeped in mystery, and Clark knew Damian was a constant reminder to Jason of the League and all that came with it. He shook his head, clearing his mind. Right, San Francisco, Dick's San Francisco apartment - the younger man had given him the address a few years back, one night, after ranting about Bruce, how suffocated he felt, and all Clark had done was to listen, understanding the desire to break free of rules and expectations, and made a mental note of the address.

He glanced at the time. Not long after 7pm, and yet the apartment was quiet. Dick was a social animal, and thrived on attention - no wonder Clark had half expected to find the man out, at a party somewhere, but, as Clark switched to his x-ray vision-

there Dick was, lying face down on the couch, buried under blankets of some sort, flushed, empty bottles on the table, a couple scattered on the floor.

Clark closed his eyes, beginning to blame himself. Dick wasn't coping, and he should have known that. That was the job of being the "cool" Uncle - there for the kid when Dad was too overbearing, too protective, and once the tantrum was over, to encourage the kid back home, that Dad was only being _Dad_. Taking a small breath, Clark knocked on the door.

"Go away." Dick mumbled, face stuffed into the couch.

Clark tried again. _Knock-knock_. 

Dick shifted a little, and now Clark could see what looked like dried tear tracks on the man's cheeks, hair in disarray, and clothes crumpled. "Dick. It's me, Clark."

Dick's eyes opened somewhat, and then closed, voice bleary. "Well then, _Uncle_ , why don't you use that goddamn x-ray vision of yours to see that I'm not in any position to "chat", let alone walk across the room on my own two feet. Leave me _alone_."

Clark rested a shoulder against the side of the door. "You know I can't do that, Dickie. I'm worried about you."

"Don't call me that." The voice muttered from inside, but it was a young sound, childish, and they both knew how much Dick loved that nickname.

"Dick. C'mon now. Open up." Clark's voice grew firmer.

"Oh for _fucks_ sake-" Dick got up, swaying, and now Clark regretted saying anything in the first place, because Dick had conveniently forgotten to wear pants, of _any_ kind. "Oh _God_ , Dick, no, _Dick_ go put on-"

"What?" The door opened with a _whoosh_ , and now Clark averted his eyes to the ceiling as a clearly irate twenty four year old glared at him, bottom half as free as they could be. "What? What-what do you want, _Clark_? Can't a guy get some alone time round here? Okay, you've seen me, now _bye_ -"

Dick slammed the door, but Clark held his arm in the gap, preventing the door from closing completely. "Dick. I'm here to see you." He kept his voice calm.

"Why, huh? So you can spy on me? Report back to Dad- heads up, I'm not a kid any more, I'm a grown ass man with my own grown ass life, and I can do whatever he _hell_ I want."

"Dick, let me in. I only want to see how you're doing-" Clark attempted, and now switched his attention to his nephew face on, concentrating on not looking down, but it was a mistake.

Dick looked _awful_ , and for Dick Grayson, that was a lot.

"Look horrible, don't I." Dick stared at him, eyes red, a little swollen, tone defiant. "A mess, I know. Just-just look at me." He raised his arms to his sides, at his dirty shirt, dirty feet. "I'm a bloody mess, Clark."

"Dick, please-"

"I'm a-mess, i-" Dick seemed to struggle with the words. "I'm a fool." He whispered, voice cracking. "Everyone else i-is there, and here I am, barely holding on. They can't see me like this, th-they musn't know, they can't, no, they _can't_ -" Dick's frame trembled, pressure on the door weakening, and Clark's throat felt tight on sensing the man's distress.

"Dick, I'm here for you. Only you, no-one else. Dick, son, look at me."

Dick lifted his face to him, and Clark saw how the dull his eyes were. "Here for _you_ , kiddo. I've missed you."

The younger man shook his head, and his agitation only seemed to increase further. "I feel- it feels like I'm the one having to hold the rest together. That I'm _losing_ them, Clark, piece by piece. Tim, I'm- its better, better than before, but he's happier with Jay, with Jason, not me, and its great he has someone, its all just fucking great, but me-me? Dami, I have Damian, but he's been avoiding me for some reason, I know it. He didn't wanna hang out this week, one word texts, like he's sick of me or something or hiding something from me, I don't know Clark, _I don't know_ , and Alf, I miss Alfie but I know he's got a lot on his plate, B and Dami, Tim too, he's busy busy but I'- Clark, why do I feel so _alone_?" Dick's voice broke towards the end, rushed, and now the boy's eyes held a film of water. "I feel like it-its too late, my fault, they're all slipping away. You-you're slipping away, with Jay, Di, Shay, they all like him, its great, it is, but I-everyone is all "Jay" and I- sometimes I just wanna get away from it all. I know its selfish, its not right its _wrong_ , I know, _wrong_ _wrong_ _wrong_ , _Jay's_ back and great, everything's just _great_ , but I-I'm not like the rest, I don't have good memories, not like B, not like Dad who loved Jay so much, so-so much-, Jay was his everything, his boy, and I-we , me and Jay- we don't have good memories, C-we didn't get along, we made mistakes, and I can't, say this aloud, because then everyone will _hate_ me, Clark, they will, they will, they'll call me heartless and selfish and Jay, he'll be right all along, that I didn't ever _care_ , and I-" Dick gulped, tears streaming down his face.

"Dick." Clark rested his head against the door, saddened. If Dick didn't open up, then he was going to break it down, the door, cost be damned.

"I _can't._ " Dick burst into tears and slid down the wall, releasing the door.

Clark walked in steadily, crouching to see the young man with his knees to his chest, sobbing into his palms. "Oh, Dickie."

Walking towards the couch, he grabbed the blankets and carefully wrapped them around his nephew, before bringing the man to himself, and held him.

"No-one else is here but me, Dick. Let it all out."

And so Dick did. Sobbed, broken, hoarse sounds, about things that had clearly been burdening him for a while, shouldered by himself. Standards that were frankly absurd, having to be perfect at all times, setting an example to the two younger Waynes. That Bruce was drowning his sorrows in work, unreachable until only recently. And there he was, alone, with all these mixed feelings, pent up anger, at a stranger who was now back, and it was overwhelming, it really was, having no-one to talk to.

"Dick." Clark spoke, once the younger man's tears had slowed down. "I'm here. I'll always be here for you, you know that."

"But you're _not_ , though, are you." Dick muttered sullenly, playing with the carpet. "You're over there, with _him._ We know you guys are in contact, that you've "bonded" or some shit, Diana talks about it, Shay teases you about it. It's...I'm not mad, I'm just-just-" Dick curled his hand into a tight fist. "I hate having to share. You. It's a horrible thing to say, I know, I'm awful, but that's just it. I hate-after everything he did to you, about you, he just doesn't get to, you know, _have_ you, its not fair. It's not-I don't know how you can do it."

Clark said nothing for a few moments, letting it sink in. It would be easy to say that Dick was jealous, but there was more to it than that. Everyone knew that they were Uncle, and nephew, close friends, and it had been that way for _years_. And now, Jason had entered the picture, the same Jason who was at great odds with Dick, so much so that even being in the same room, together, created tension. It must have felt like a betrayal, in many ways to Dick, seeing Jason take his place somewhat, and Clark, with his arm around Dick's shoulders, brought his nephew in close, resting his chin above the boy's head.

"Dickie, listen to me." He began, speaking carefully. "I get this is new for you - it is, frankly. It's weird, its different, heck _Jason_ is different, and you're surrounded by all these people that have a connection to him, some more positive than others. It must feel as if all we do is talk about Jason, about what he did or said, or reaching him - it's a lot, and anyone in your position especially might find it a little overwhelming, even more so as your experiences with him haven't been all that good."

Dick nodded, voice glum. "Understatement."

Clark pressed a kiss to the man's hair before continuing. "I'm trying, with Jason. I wasn't around much when he was with you guys, back at the Manor. I didn't make an effort with him like I did with you. Jason and I didn't go fishing, or camping like _we_ did. I took you on mini trips around the world, week-end breaks, little getaways, and I did the same with Tim, and with Damian."

"Don't be fooled by the haughty exterior." Dick butt in. "Little D _loves_ your trips. You didn't hear this from me but I know he has a small travel bag in his wardrobe, packed with "essentials" like bandages and a camera, ready for your next improptu trip."

Clark chuckled quietly. "Alfred told you, huh?"

"He'll kill me if he finds out, seriously." Dick managed to huff fondly before quietening. 

"Dick, I made it a point to spend time with you three boys because I wanted to, and because I love you boys as if you were my own. That will never change, _ever_." Clark hugged the boy closer.

"Congrats, by the way." Dick reached over to hold his hand, squeezing it gently, and Clark returned the squeeze. The man looked at him, eyes tired, but the sincerity was there. "You and Lo, you guys are gonna make awesome parents, I know it. Lucky ass kid, for sure. Just letting you know now, I'm gonna steal your little runt sometimes, to the zoo, for ice-cream. Putting in first dibs in babysitting, tell Tim I get first go, I don't care what he says. Dami might bribe you, don't fall for it C. The git has his wiley ways."

Clark laughed. "You guys will spoil him rotten I bet, but I'll let Lois know. _Anyway_ \- see what I'm talking about? How you guys know us, me and Lois? Well, that wasn't the case for Jason. We, _I_ didn't make the effort, because truth be told...I was afraid. Afraid that he was so different, and I'm talking everything - different in race, colour, different background especially. You- you were a sweet kid, Dickie. Real cheerful, happy, positive, even when sometimes that wasn't the case, but your presence alone just lit up a room. Jason-I think quite a few of us expected the kid to be the same way, and when he _wasn't_ \- brash, swearing, rough, didn't like to be touched - all of that - well, I think that rather than make the effort, we shied away. I certainly did, and I regret it, so much. So much so that when Tim entered the family, Damian too, I made sure I didn't make the same mistake with Jason. Damian, whose nature is pretty damn prickly, but I persisted, and still persist, and it has paid off. I mean, our last trip was to Kyushu, the trip before that was London, and we had dinner with Diana, just the three of us, and it was great, honestly was, having this little kid just _be_ a kid, talking about the stuff he found interesting, and I think he loved it too."

"He did. Couldn't stop going on about it for weeks. Drove B up the wall." Dick smirked.

Clark's smile was small. "I bet. So when Jay-when Jason, for the first time in years, Dick, showed up at the Watch-tower? You were there- what happened?"

"You were mad as hell. Diana had to hold you back." Dick murmured.

"That's right, I was. I was not only mad, but embarrassed, humiliated, and just plain fed up that _that_ asshole was around again, and worse than that, he had the skills and contacts we so desperately needed. You think I wanted to work with him, after our past, that the League, be in _league_ with a murderer, a damn criminal and an unrepentant one at that? _No way_. I voted against working with him, the rest narrowly voted in favour, and that was that. I couldn't get over it, and I didn't, which was why I avoided him like the plague when he first arrived to the watch-tower, and during those few days. It was only by accident that we met in the library late at night, and then a few nights later, but we barely spoke to one another."

Dick turned to look at him in surprise, and then looked away. "I confronted him, one night."

It was Clark's turn to stare at him. "What?"

"Yeah. One night, when I found out just how long he and Tim had been in contact - wasn't supposed to know but I eavesdropped, made Tim mad in the process. I was jealous, angry, upset that Tim had turned to Jason of all people rather than me, his brother, or Bruce, whatever, and in my anger - I was furious that this asshole had a hold over my little brother, who I was finding difficult to connect with, our relationship already so strained- I confronted him, at the watch-tower one night. Just stormed in, stared him down, and not long after, we had it out. No point in lying now - Jay wiped the _floor_ with me. My ribs were on fire for weeks, God that guy has one hell of a punch. Definitely very different from the last time he fought, and he knew it."

Clark's eyes bulged."What?! How come I didn't hear of this?" There was an undercurrent of something dangerous in his tone.

Dick shrugged his shoulders, avoiding his gaze, and it was _that_ which told Clark he knew exactly _why_ he'd been left in the dark.

"Can't know for sure. I think-Bruce knew of what happened, but chose not to confront me about it, probs knew I'd be licking my wounds and all. Tim, when he came to visit a few days later, Tim told me that "Bruce says get well soon." I hadn't told anyone of the fight, only Alfred knew, and he _promised_ not to say anything, since it was my fault I went looking for trouble in the first place. I guess B found out and got rid of the footage or something. Might have even kept it to himself to use as leverage, over Jason, hurting one of the League members, should he fuck up or fuck around with the League, can't say. Never asked him about it."

Clark looked away for a long moment. "I'm sorry I didn't know, Dick. You could have told me." The anger was palpable.

"I know. I just didn't want anyone to know that I'd taken a beating by the Hood of all people - a crazed, unstable, madman who'd I'd beaten plenty in the past without too much effort. All you had to know was where to push his buttons, and Jason, he'd lose it. Lose control and it was all the emotions that made him vulnerable if you knew where to strike. Guess he got himself a whole lot stronger whilst he was away." Dick mused.

"This isn't over - I'm coming back to it, but we'll leave it for now. Adversaries or not, none of that should have happened." Clark spoke firmly, and then paused, causing Dick to look at him.

"Clark. What happened in Xan? How did you and Jason connect?" The voice was gentle, concerned.

Clark froze.

Dick waited.

Remembering to breathe, Clark decided that now was the best time to clean his glasses. It was hard to find the words.

"Clark. You know you can tell me, always. Only and forever between us." Dick nudged him. A promise the boy had once made as a ten year old, back on the Farm one summer day, when Clark had accidentally dropped Ma's freshly baked apple crumble pie, and had less than an hour to remake another one from scratch. Clark smiled, also remembering the incident, but then he remembered Dick's question, _Xan_ , _what happened_ , and his stomach coiled into knots, face dropping.

He looked at Dick, and then away. "I." He tried again. "I was raped."

The words, they sounded so foreign, hollow and ugly out loud, and Clark looked away.

All air seemed to die away at his confession. Even the digital clock on the far side of the room seemed to have stop working.

Dick's face was frozen. Unnaturally, eerily still, and his mouth was hanging ajar. "Whaa.." the man breathed out, and Clark rested his head against the wall, forcing the bile back down. He closed his eyes, unable to look at his nephew's face.

"I was raped, Dick. I...I can't go into it, much more happened, but that's the gist of it. It was..." Clark swallowed, and his eyes felt heavy all of a sudden. "The worst, most despicable I have ever felt about myself. I...I know when _it_ started, I-I was in so much pain. So very-so much pain, and I tried, to resist, but I was weaker from what they'd done to me already. The more ... _it_ continued, the..I grew numb, I think. I remember being out of it, like separate from my body, if that makes sense. Like it wasn't real, wasn't happening, but every so often, I'd get a....a jolt, a little reminder, and it. It was agony, all over, and I-" Clark paused, voice tight, and Dick held his hand, hard.

"Jay. He found me, when I was being...right in the midst of it. I know it had been going on for quite a while-everytime I'd lose strength, she'd-I'd get started up again, and it would continue. I-Jay. He...he and his team, I think, they found me. Him and this other guy, Yena, they were friends, they were all friends, don't know names or how many, but they were there when it mattered. All I remember is one moment, being _rape_ -" Clark swallowed. "-the next, someone tackling them off me, screaming, shouting, so much noise, someone helping me up. I was sick, vomiting, a complete mess, it was so loud and noisy, and everything was a blur, just a blur of movement, and I felt-my body was like lead, heavy, wooden, stiff, and I-I know we got out, and I." Clark stopped here, and for a long, painful moment, all that could be heard were his rapid, shallow breaths in the room.

"Jesus." Dick finally spoke, evidently shocked.

"I can't remember the aftermath, not the exact details. I know I was numb, like in a daze, like lights on, nobody's home, that sorta thing. Then after that came the self-loathing. I couldn't look at myself. I felt something close to this horrible shame and disgust, so powerless and weak, and I...my mind, it felt shattered into a thousand, tiny bits. And through it all, when I was this dazed, bumbling, incoherent mess, _Jason_ was there, with me." The tears began to fall, but Clark continued.

Dick stared at him. "Oh Clark-"

"Right there. I-I can't tell you how out of it I was, I think it was the shock, the trauma of it all. I know I had several breakdowns, but Jason, he was there. The...nicest, kindest, most understanding person was right there, next to me, telling me that I was to always hold me head up high, for making it out, making it through. That I wasn't a disgrace or a failure of a man, that he _understood._ That it was gonna be hard, _awful_ for a while, but I'd make it through, and that he would get me out, get me out of that place, that hell-" Clark choked on tears now. "-and-and he _did_ , Dick, Jay, he kept his word. Every promise he made on that place, he kept it. He-he came through for me, at my lowest, most vulnerable point in my entire life, the guy who'd I'd been at public odds with just two, three years earlier, he was the one holding me up, the one whose shoulder I cried into, when I was vomiting, he cleaned me up. Made sure I ate least tried to drink something. Got me out of there, just like he said, him and his team, and I...later, I found out that he'd gotten the League out too, safe and sound....and we'd left him, him and his team, to their lives, sorting out a mess, but they'd done it, they did and I honestly don't know how. And when Jay-when he finally met us on Gerebeta-he'd sent word ahead to make sure we were all taken care of, and for me, cause I couldn't stand to be around anyone, not my friends, not anyone-" Clark swallowed, face wet.. "Jay, he asked that I alone stay in his house. That I try and recover a little in privacy, with my own space, because he told me, he told me that I'd have nightmares, screaming, breakdowns, and I did, Dick. I had them all, every day, every night, and I- when Jay, when he finally met us on Gerebeta, he looked after me. Made sure I was safe. Took me around, sometimes at night, when I couldn't bear seeing anyone. Never let me feel anything other than safe and cared for."

Dick was lost for words.

"And when we-" Clark paused to wipe his face. "When we got back. Instead o-of pretending it never happened, or worse, telling people, or using it to his advantage, or going back to what we used to be, hostile, Jay- he told me to hang in there, he gave me his number in case I ever wanted to talk to someone who _knew_ what it was like, someone who'd _been_ through it all, and he did. Gave me space, and we stayed in touch."

Dick closed his eyes, and sunk against the wall. 

For a while, neither man spoke.

"I...I've been awful." Dick stuttered into the silence. "I...Clark I'm so...I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I...is that why you guys took some time off when you came back? Why you weren't on official league missions and all public stuff-"

Clark nodded.

"I can't believe Jason did all that." Dick shook his head. "Tim, I knew he'd...Tim, he was going through a really bad time, with Damian and me, feeling isolated, and he...I wasn't supposed to know but he told Bruce that he'd tried to kill himself."

Clark stared at him, eyes wide.

"Yeah. Had a gun, in his old house. Ready to end it but Jason, he'd stopped him, and they went to Barcelona, I think. Disguised it as WE thing but really it was Tim in rehab, and Jason by his side, telling him that he was loved, and had a family who loved him, all while Jason was the black sheep, the outcast." Dick's voice was very, very quiet.

"I've...I've made a mistake, Clark. God, I've been a fool." Dick stared up at the ceiling. "I'm...I can't just forget about what's happened, but.." He shook his head, and instead, curled into Clark's chest, wrapping his arms around the bigger man's torso. "Clark, I'm so sorry. So so sorry that happened to you. Do you...Do you see anyone, at all? A therapist - is it alright to ask?"

Clark held the boy to himself. "Yeah, I do. J'onn, I see him regularly. I saw him a lot during the first couple of week, months...I couldn't cope. Found it hard to function as "Clark", let alone Superman. Still see him every few weeks... I...I still get nightmares, sometimes, daydreams, I flinch when outsiders get too close or-or too handsy. I'm a lot better now."

"Fucking hell, C. You- you're a goddamn inspiration, you know that? Going through all that, and still not giving up." Dick looked up at him. 

Clark looked away. "I can't take all the credit, I'm afraid. If...I know you have your differences about Jason, Dick, but without him, I...I'd would have been in pieces. Stayed a shell, I'm sure. I...Dick, listen to me. I'm not saying all is well between Jason and myself. It's not all swept under the rug - there are certain things we don't talk about because we both know it won't end well, and its a cop out, not trying, but for now, because we're still learning about it each other, it has to do. Same with Diana, Dick, they have history, and believe me, she and Jason had a big blowout back on Gerebeta. I know Tim and Jay, they've been at it apparently more times they can count, but with time I think it gets better. You're feelings are valid, and I am not about to suggest that you hide them, or pretend its all okay. If you do that, then sooner or later, it'll all come out, your frustrations, all that pent up anger, and you'll end up feeling worse than you did before.

Dick stilled against him. "You heard us."

Clark nodded once. They both knew what he was referring to. 

"I didn't mean to, but it was that shout - it was by accident, but when I heard that scream, I.." Clark shook his head. "The point is that you shouldn't feel that you have to swallow up your feelings, how you really feel, or hold it together because that's what you feel everyone "expects" from you. You're not invincible, neither am I, and its not healthy, in the long run. So, kiddo, if you _ever_ need someone to talk to, I'm right here. You know where I live, my favourite hand out spots, where I work, you have my phone number. Heck, if you can't be asked with all those things, then all you gotta do is shout, and I'll do my best to stop by. But I'm not a mind reader, Dick, and neither is anyone else. And, for the record, let me just say this: yes, things are weird right now, and though it may seem that the topic of conversation is Jay, understand that there's a lot to it, both the good, _and_ the bad. The history is still there, like you've said. Some are able to move past it a little quicker than others, like Diana for instance, but that does _not_ mean its forgotten entirely. It's a working process, there are steps, and you-you can't beat yourself up for feeling different, not at all."

"Thank you, Clark." Dick finally spoke. "And thank you, for sharing what happened, over there. I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you, and...I'm glad, that Jason was there. He did right by you, more than I'd ever expect, and...I owe him my gratitude, for you, and for Tim. I can at least say thank you, that much I can do.

Clark smiled now, rubbing the man's shoulders. "That's big of you, Dickie. And one more thing." Clark squeezed the younger man's hand to get his attention. "Dick, what we have-". He shook their hands slightly. "This will never change. I'll always be your Uncle, you my nephew. Don't feel...threatened by the prospect of Jason "taking" your place, its not like that. There's room for everybody, for you, Tim, Damian, and...and Jay, someday, if he wants. Don't ever forget how much I love you, and care about you. Me spending some time with Jason doesn't negate _us_ , our relationship all these years we've known each other, us as friends, and as family. Don't feel...apprehensive to call, to reach out, not for anything, whether I'm alone or with Jay, _whatever it is_ , still call, still text. I can love you _both_ , all at the same time, there's no shortage in that regards. Does that makes sense?"

"Yes." Dick whispered a little later, the sound wet. "Thank you, C. I really needed to hear that."

They stayed like that for a while until Dick began to shift. "I'm not sure whether you're aware but I, um, I kinda have nothing under here."

Clark felt his face redden. "I'm aware, Dick."

"Going commando, so to speak-"

"I understand-"

"Dangly bits hanging free in the wind-" Dick's eyes gleamed with mischief and Clark groaned quietly. The kid definitely needed to get laid, if he hadn't already. Where the hell was Barbara, for goodness sake?

" _I get it_ -"

"Bare ballin'-"

" _Dick_ -" Clark warned, hands covering his eyes. Dick and Jason _loved_ when he got all embarrassed and flustered - it only entertained them further, his southern goodboy country values. A pity they were unaware of the little things they had in common.

"Keep sayin' my name like that and we might get a lil' sum' sumin' rollin-" Dick was enjoying himself far too much, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Last chance-" Clark tried desperately, ears burning.

" _Titty_ ballin'-"

" _ **Dick**_ -" Said man in question had begun to shake his hips- weirdly gyrating, fucking hell was that even a word?- and now Clark had decided, enough was _enough_. They needed a girl around here, _stat_.

"Free willy-" The glee in Dick's voice was sickening.

" _Ohmygod_ -" Clark's voice was strained. Why oh _why_ had he come here again? 

"Baldilocking on ma-"

" _Jesus_ , help me, Dick I swear, if you don't cut it out-"

"The _Annointed_ -" Dick was roaring at his embarrassment and Clark, unable to take any more, hauled them up, shaking his head. "Shower, you _reek_ , we'll get you sobered up, and then we'll go out for a good meal or three."

"You old prude, you, afraid of a little nut-cracking on ma _happy mcslangin'_ -" Dick teased, winking at him in a rather provocative manner, and Clark _threw_ a nearby shoe at the man, mock disgusted.

"Shower, now!"


	65. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred helps Damian with his research. Diana pays Jason a visit, and Shayera drops by to see a friend.

_Manor_.

Alfred studied Damian carefully. "It might be wise, Master Damian, to begin with the things I've compiled here. I think you'll find it _complementary_ to the little research you've done so far."

The young boy in question glanced at him quickly, and then averted his eyes. "Thank you, Pennyworth."

Alfred had been referring to Master _Jason's_ old room, the one that was to generally remain undisturbed. The fact that Damian knew this, and still went in nonetheless, was a sign of something far more than "curiosity." A little like Master Timothy; the boy's obsession with the boy, his robin, meant that his elder brother's room was indeed a valuable source of insight into Todd. The butler had listened to his young charge beside him, a few nights back, close to tears as he struggled to explain just _why_ the mystery of Jason, the man, and _Jason_ , the boy, was so pertinent to him. Alfred continued to survey the child, watching Damian's hand glid across books, several thick notepads of messy handwriting, and boxes stuffed with Todd's personal collections. Almost as if the younger boy was _afraid_ , somewhat, of the things he might discover. That the Todd he'd known, what he knew and had concluded, was incomplete in its history. That there was so much _more_ to Jason than he gave credit for, hidden, but it was all _there_ , if one knew, no, _dared_ to look. Part of Bruce's difficulty in reaching Jason was his inability to piece the boy with the man, that they were one and the same - His son tended to focus too much on the child he lost, rather than the man who had come back, three times in total now, and it was frustrating, on Alfred's behalf, that a man so _perceptive_ could be so dim-witted to this obvious fact. Alfred, of course, had been well aware of the man's denial of anything other "fine" - _I'm fine, Alfred, there's nothing to discuss._ _Work, Alfred_ \- Work, whether WE or Batman, was Bruce's natural choice of escape. Whenever things became too personal, too deep, far too raw to handle - Bruce would shut down, walls drawn up, and throw himself into work. No, not a distraction, and certainly not avoidance, of _course_ not, and Alfred would leave him to it, holding his tut, but they both knew what he was doing.

"Alfred." Damian's voice drew Alfred out of his musing, and Alfred turned his attention to the child, whose eyes held uncertainty. 

Ah, then. The boy either didn't know where to start - one couldn't blame him- or more aptly, was unsure of whether he even _wanted_ to begin, not with his hand hovering like that. For Alfred knew, once a start had been made, there was no going back. He watched as Damian eyed the pile steadily, and then swallowed, before making a decision, and reached for one thickly bound folder, _A brief dissection into rights, equality and change, by Jason Todd_. Ah - that particular piece had been a cause of quite some stress back then; fourteen year old Master Jason had spent several nights in a row, for weeks, holed up in the Manor library, and when he'd read everything he could manage on class divides, the impact of British colonisation amongst their subjects, the fall of the African American: slavery 101, Jason had begged for _more_ \- the library in downtown Gotham did not have a great enough depth on such topics, and Bruce, recognising the opportunity to bond further with his son, had taken it upon himself to sit down with Jason, ordering everything the boy had asked for on Amazon, price be damned. Ms Prince too had lent several books for the boy; indeed, the woman had stayed over for a few hours one day to help Jason, much to his delight, and Master Bruce's quiet jealously, well aware of the special relationship between them. That piece alone, when submitted, caused quite a stir amongst the boy's teachers, so much so that the child was recommended to be placed in advanced literary and history classes, with children two years ahead of him, and Jason had entered the Manor at speed, tackling him into a great hug, bouncing all over the place, and after, torn around the house with delight at the prospect of challenging material. The three of them, he, Bruce and Master Jason, had enjoyed one of the most memorable dinners that evening. Jason had been unable to stop talking, mouth full and the words spilled over, and Alfred would never forget Bruce's proud smile, watching his son.

Less than a year later, Jason would be six feet under, deathly pale in a stiff, dark suit, and his father, too grief-stricken for words, staring as his coffin was lowered, frozen.

Damian was still looking at him now, and Alfred felt something small and warm slide into his hand, gentle.

"Pennyworth." His charge was quiet, understanding, and Alfred's vision grew hazy for several seconds. It took him a moment to find his voice, shaky when he eventually spoke.

"Dear boy, forgive me." Alfred turned aside to wipe his eyes, but his hands shook. The boy at his side opted to remain silent, and Alfred was grateful.

"I couldn't." His voice was solemn. "Your Father - when Jason died, he couldn't bear to read anything, not one single thing. Not so much as a look either, child, it was... it was too much for him, far too painful. For him, and for me. It was left alone to me to organise Master Jason's belongings, and for most, I kept them stored away in the attic, piles of books, folders. A few things I kept for me, just for myself, to hold and read whenever I could. Poems. Small things, like ticket stubs to the fairground, Master Jason was keen on rollercoasters, goodness knows why. Such things, the memories they would bring...it was all I could take from his death."

" _Tt._ " The sound was fond.

"Little things that I...I couldn't bear to lose. The tin which held the first cake we ever baked. The hankerchief I used to mop his tears a few weeks into starting school, when Jason told me a little of what had been happening. He had been keeping it to himself, and all your Father and I kept hearing from his teachers were bad reports, fighting with other children, older boys especially, that Jason kept giving them bloody noses, and it was the same arguments when he arrived home - a lot of yelling, shouting, slamming doors, and silent dinners. It was only one day, when I arrived to collect your broth- Master Jason from school, when he refused to enter the car, and took off into the grounds, near the trees, that we found out what exactly had been going on. When I arrived, there he was, curled up into a ball-" Alfred's closed his eyes briefly. "He shouted, Jason did, kept screaming at how much he hated the school, the ugly children, shouting and shouting, before he burst into tears, and just...Jason, the boy, he broke down. I held him in my lap, and finally, he told me all of it. The taunting. Mocking, so utterly vile, cruel, how the children made fun of his dark skin, calling him 'dirty', 'blackie', that he was an orphan because no-one wanted him, and Bruce only took pity on him because it was _charity_ , and it made him, Wayne, _look good._ That his accent was a clear sign that he didn't belong, not with them, much too poor and filthy for their tastes. All manner of things, too horrible to repeat." 

A small _hitch_ from his side, and Alfred chose now to look at Damian, who stared at him, both knowing that Damian had suffered similar mistreatment at the very beginning of his start at school. Thankfully, Bruce had intervened early, putting his foot down with the board, threatening not only to withdraw Damian, but his funding too, and that was more than enough to have Damian's tormentors withdrawn indefinitely, the prospect of losing _Wayne_ too great to risk. Dick too had stepped in, Tim as well, here and there, and Damian had soon settled in, enough to at least be invited to birthday parties, take part in the "arguably" mandatory school play, even be elected sports captain for his set on sports day, though the complaints about 'sniveling children and useless teachers' remained frequent, though mostly exaggerated.

A pity Jason hadn't received such support, but that was then. Mistakes, as painful, regretful even, as they were, were made to be learnt from, and when it came to Damian, Alfred made _sure_ that this time around, the youngest boy, so angry and vengeful like the one he'd lost years back, would not be left feeling alone.

"I..I did not know. It was that bad?" Damian asked, careful and quiet.

"Yes. We should-I should have picked up on it sooner, but we didn't. I could list several reasons as to why that was, but it in the end, all that mattered was a little boy, who felt too alone in the world to speak up, to speak out, and in essence, the failure of my duty of care towards my grandson, will I hold forever." His throat was tight.

Damian hesitated. "Pennyworth, you couldn't have-" He started, but a shake of his hand told him otherwise, that Alfred couldn't be swayed on this matter.

"If you need anything else, do not hesitate to ask." Alfred stood now, adjusting his waistcoat. The memories wouldn't stop coming, and lunch would need preparing.

"Pennyworth I-" Damian started, green eyes looking up, but understanding that it was too much, stopped. " _Thank you._ "

In a rare display of concern, Alfred looked up at the ceiling, swallowing for a moment, and then bent down to kiss his grandson's forehead, ignoring the slight pull of surprise, and waited as a small pair of arms encircled his person lightly.

"I must never fail you, my child." Alfred murmured into soft, black hair, and then he left the room rather hastily, silent eyes boring holes into his back. 

It would be late at night, when Alfred finally retired, that he would come across a finely crafted, dark polished box by his pillow, and inside, _A dissection into rights, equality and change, by Jason Todd_.

 

 

_Kent Farm._

" _Mom._ " Jason couldn't help but breathe deeply into the black hair, peaches, warm peaches and cream tickling at his nostrils. They'd been in the same embrace for several minutes now, still at the door, but Jason was in no hurry to let go. He held on tighter, and Diana's only response was to laugh softly, before bringing his head down to kiss him.

"My son." Her eyes _shone_ , and something tight constricted in Jason's chest. "How I have missed you, dear child."

Jason couldn't trust himself to speak, not with his throat so closed, and his eyes watery, so he opted to bury his head against hers, hugging her hard. She could take it, and that was one of the best things about her, Diana. Even as a boy - Jason remembered taking every opportunity to hug her whenever the chance arose, ignoring the way his thin arms would tremble with the strain, but it didn't matter. It never mattered, because Diana would return the hug with _just_ the right amount, enough that he was loved, treasured in her eyes, and it made her very special to him.

Behind them, Pa's voice was amused. "How many Mothers does this boy have? And why are they all so good-looki- _ow_ , what, it's the truth Ma! I have eyes you know!"

Jason let go now, smiling, and he and Diana managed to catch sight of Ma swatting at Jon, hushing him for being nosy. "Jon, let them be, goodness me. You men gossip more than hens, I tell you."

"Me? _Nosy_? Really Ma - _pot_ , damn _kettle_ -" Jon exclaimed, but Ma simply pointed in the direction of the swear jar, and Jon slunk away, muttering how it wasn't fair that _he_ be in trouble every time, and Jason failed to keep his laughter in, Diana too.

"Martha, how lovely to see you." The two women embraced warmly. "Has he been misbehaving?" Diana asked, an eyebrow raised at Jason.

"Well, lets see here." Ma began, eyes mischievous, and Jason began to protest his innocence.

"Ma, I've been good-"

"Don't listen to him, Diana, the boy lies like a fish spouts water-" Jon butt in, and Jason whirled round, clutching his chest. "How _could_ you, Jon?" He lamented.

" _Jason._ " Diana shook her head at him, mock disappointed, but the smile was there.

"He's been a good egg, that one. Nothing but high praise." The pride in Ma's voice was evident, and Jason felt his skin flush.

Pa guffawed at the sight, and Ma only took her husband by the arm, dragging him away. "You two go on. Leave me with this one."

It was now the two of them standing in the living room, and Jason, after a second's hesitation, reached for Diana's hand, smiling as she held on immediately. 

"I thought we could have a little stroll around first, just a bit, and then I thought- how bout a picnic? A little picnic, I set it all up already, cheese, wine, coupla dishes I made myself, got all of it down by stream - did you know we've got a stream up here? It's lovely, there's trees all around it and shit, and I've seen a coupla ducklings waddling past, they love it when I feed them bread-" He began, slightly anxious in case Di- but all Diana did was to pull him along, striding on ahead. 

"Anything you have in mind is perfect, Jason, you know that. It's been a while since I've tasted your cooking." The woman's voice was soft, reassuring, and it soothed him. "Besides, guess what I have?" Diana shook the small bag in her hand as they walked along in the grass. 

Jason gasped. " _No_ \- you remembered! The American one tastes so _shit_ , oh God its awful."

"How could I ever forget?" Diana glanced at him, amused, a twinkle in her eye. "You and your _Kit Kat bars._ , you were ever so picky when it came to chocolate. I never did understand why you were so enamored with them. By all standards, they're rather uneventful. And what's wrong with the American version? Is it not the same company?" 

Jason stared at her. "Okay, first things first, _Kit Kat_ bars are not "uneventful" - I love you and all but lets never do that again. _Uneventful_ my ass. Look, when it comes to chocolate, there's a standard ratio you just gotta follow, you gotta get it right the first time-"

"Of course." Diana's voice was dry, and Jason made a face at her before continuing, defence passionate.

"The UK one is how the bar _should_ taste like. Hell, a lotta their chocolates flat out trump their American counterparts. Gotta get right the mix of chocolate:crunch ratio, not too heavy on the sugar, melts just right, and leaves the perfect aftertaste. The American Kittie? God awful, I swear to ya. First time I tasted it, I spat it right out - waaaay too sugary, had this weird ass powdery milk taste to it, left a kinda gritty' taste in ya mouth afterwards, and on the whole, was just poor. Subpar, babes, weren't right." Jason declared.

Diana only hummed. "Personally, out of the two countries...yes, I find the British do fare better with their chocolates." She rolled her eyes at his whooping. "Less sugary overall. _But_ , neither the UK or the US stand in comparison to German, or dare I say it, _Swedish_ chocolate. Very rich, subtly flavoured, not overwhelmingly so and perfect with wine." Her eyes gleamed knowingly.

Jason's mouth watered. "Yeah fine, point taken. You and your wine-"

Diana swatted him. "I have standards, you know."

"The Princess- _standards_?" Jason flung a hand dramatically across his forehead, amidst Diana's laughter. "What has the world come to? But anyway, what's new with you? Feels like ages since we last, you know." His voice was quieter, and Diana, glancing over at him, linked their arms in so that they walked closely, side by side.

"Well, several things." Diana began, and they started talking- work, travel, her recent trip to Greece with Shayera. Later, Jason spoke too - he was enjoying the Farm, far more than he expected, and now every mention of him leaving, even the thought of it, caused something sad to settle in his stomach.

"It is indeed lovely out here." They'd reached the picnic now - Jason had decorated the area carefully, a crown of roses looping several branches, cushioned seats, a large plaid cloth on the ground, and a low lying table, holding several dishes. 

"Oh, Jason." Diana turned to him, blue eyes sparkling. "All this, for us? For me? It's so beautiful, child."

Jason only nodded, surveying the scene. "Fit for a princess, I promised you." He murmured, and Diana rewarded him with a swift kiss to the cheek, before settling in, and patted the space next to her. He sat down, and Diana stretched his legs across his. 

"Clark says you're doing very well and I believe him. Already, compared to last time, you seem much calmer. More settled." Diana helped set out plates and cutlery.

"Yeah, I feel...different, gotta say. I mean, the voices, they're still there." Jason's voice was hushed. "Nightmares too, and I-when they happen, I find myself just coming out here, outside, at night. Something about being able to see the stars in the night sky, the wind brushing against the corn field. Kinda like an idyllic fairytale, I guess. And Ma, Pa, they've been great. Really, honestly great. I..I was afraid of coming, a bit, cause C told me they didn't know about our history, not properly, but he says its okay, that even if they did eventually come to know, they'd be okay with it too."

"Yes, they will." Diana spoke, serving him. "I've known the Kents to be loving and forgiving, whomever Clark brings through the door, and it is clear to me that they love you, most definitely."

There was quiet for a while as they ate, birds whistling in the distance.

"I am glad that you and Clark get along so well. He is very fond of you, very much so. Lois too, she asked after you when we last spoke."

Jason paused from his eating to look at her, and then in the distance. The words stirred something warm in his chest. "Yeah, well." He could feel his skin reddening. "Clark's like that, irritatingly so. Can't help but like the man, even when you don't want to. A lot more to that Boy Scout, at least that's what I've discovered from being here. Lois is amazing., a real spice, that one. I like that she doesn't hold back, gives as good as she gets. They're good together."

Diana smiled. "I think it was J'onn, the other day, who caught _Clark_ , not Superman, in the classics section of the Watch-tower, early hours of the morning. Apparently Clark was quite sheepish, but J'onn mentioned the man had a stack of books in one arm, something about history of ancient roman civilisation, among other things."

Jason opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"J'onn said he didn't have to say anything, nor read his mind - it was obvious as to who the books were for. All he did was add a copy of _Ghostbusters: myths of science fiction, debunked_ , and went on his way."

Jason looked at the ground. All of this, all these people now in his life - he hadn't accounted for any of it, and it was...strange, to say the least.

Pity that of all the people he ever expected to... _Bruce_ , wasn't one of them. Not that he cared, no way. No, he didn't. 

"Jason." That was Diana now, and she lifted his head to assess him over, resting a palm against his cheek. "You zoned out. Care to share?"

Jason huffed. "Sorry. Just..thinking." He cleared his throat, and then paused. He shouldn't be asking, not really. Not after last time, when Bruce made such a mess of things, not after seeing him that time on the Island, and how that small but weird part of him that still held onto the idea of "them", "him", a child still craving his Father's affection. It was stupid, childish, and even after all these years, away from all he'd known, new experiences, _still_ \- no matter what he did, or how much he'd learnt, the fun, the tough times, whatever-

he'd never been able to get rid of _Bruce_ , not entirely.

The name alone, _Bruce_ \- it held so _much_. It bought up a hazy mix of joy, pain, so much hurt, anger, _disappointment_ , and a source of entertainment for the Pit. _That's_ why Jason tried so hard to avoid anything to do with Br- _him_. The Pit, in her monstrosity, knew how to distort his memories, manipulate them, force to the surface doubts and lies that he fought to remain hidden, and with each voice, each taunting, hateful whisper, nightmares that clawed at his flesh while he slept-

the memories would _change._

A trip to the fair became less _fun_ , less about "Dad", "son" and more about _pity_. _Charity_. Fucking _disappoint_ -

"Bruce." Jason blurted out, and the silence dawned quickly. "I know, Di, I know we don't talk about it, that, we made a deal, I know. I..." His mouth turned dry, and Jason looked up, at clear skies, warm sunshine, and green leaves. "I don't know what it is I'm trying to say here."

Another stretch of silence.

Diana waited.

"I don't care, I swear I don't. But I..."Jason clutched a fistful of grass. "Clark, he's...I'm sure he doesn't mean to, but in a way, its like he's becoming a ..I dunno, father figure, kinda, taking a new place, or an old one rather? Like, c'mon, he saved my life, twice already. He's always making sure I'm alright. We talk, we do, about stuff, deep stuff, and he gives really good advice. Checks up on me - we're meant to be going out this week too, like...I couldn't believe it at first, but when I did, I realised I was...I was really looking forward to hanging out, like seriously, and I dunno why I feel so...so _drawn_ to him, if that makes sense. He's been there, at my lowest sometimes, I've told him some things about myself that I haven't even told _you_ , or Tim or Alf. God, I miss Alfie, I really do. I-" Jason stopped, frustrated at why his thoughts were so difficult to organise.

"Clark is taking a place that a small, tiny part of you wishes _Bruce_ held." Diana spoke quietly, and for a long moment, Jason was lost for words.

How did she know?

"It's like..the more I get to know him, the more I...I can't help but draw closer. And closer, and I- its weird, but whenever he's around, I kinda get more relaxed, in myself, like I dunno, I don't have to try. It's comfortable for the most part, and it feels - I feel like in a way, I _shouldn't_ be so...like part of me still owes that sorta position to...Bruce." Jason managed, staring ahead. "Like I'm pushing one out in favour of the other, albeit slowly, and there's this, this-"

"Guilt." 

Jason whipped his head round, taken aback to see how intense she stared at him. "Yeah." He swallowed and looked away. "Yeah. Just a little. And its-look, its not that I don't, you know, I'm not that little kid or messed up teenager looking for a Daddy's approval or affection, I'm not, but Clark, Bruce, those guys are two peas in a pod, and I can't help... _comparing_ the two, and I don't want to. They're two very different people, different approaches, different experiences, so why...why is it that I feel so much-" Jason waved his hand in the air aimlessly. "Why do I feel so much....more _settled_ , that's it, with one, one that I'm really not supposed to, and the other, who, in an ideal world...." Jason stopped here, beginning to get frustrated, and Diana stepped in now, pulling him in close.

"Lie down."

Jason obeyed, and stretching out, he placed in head in her lap, closing his eyes as Diana began to run her fingers through his hair, just like she did as robin, whenever he struggled to get something off his chest.

"I can see where you're coming from, Jason." Diana began, voice thoughtful. "We've all picked up on it, in various ways, Clark and Bruce especially. Shayera said it a few days baclk: the dynamic has changed, between the three of you-"

"But that's just it, Di." Jason interrupted, turning to stare up at her. "It's not "three" - Bruce, he-he _isn't_ in the picture, _shouldn't_ be in the picture! I've gone all these years managing just fine without the B-word! And I don't care, I don't, about him - there's no "us" we've been through that tired phase already, and I can't- I just can't do it again, I don't wan...I can't, I don't have the strength for when it all inevitably falls apart. But Clark, he's...he's new. We-" Jason sighed. "I suppose its cause we _didn't_ know each other before. Weren't family, friends. Never hung out, barely said two words to the guy, the Hood included. And now, its like....I'm staying in his parent's house for fucks sake, I've got on his damn shirt, in his room, I-" 

Diana hushed him softly, and Jason quietened. She changed from playing with his hair to massaging his scalp, and Jason couldn't help but sink all of his weight against her, relaxing as the tension began to drain out of him.

"My little robin." He could hear the smile in her voice, and for a while, they were content for it to remain silent.

"Di. Am I wrong, for feeling like this?" Jason spoke a little while later.

It was a while before Diana answered. "No, you are not, Jason. You have the right to feel as you do, and neither me, nor anyone else, is asking you to apologise for such a thing. If it is Clark that you feel more comfortable with, then so be it. It is not a crime, Jason. You two have been there for each other at particularly vulnerable times and therefore, it is no surprise that you share a connection. You are right, in a sense - neither you nor Clark had anything to fall back on, so the relationship you have today is what stands for both, and is potentially why you are closer, because there is nothing in the past to compare yourselves to- no past failures and no disappointments. I will not lie, the dynamic has changed, and has taken some getting used to, Bruce especially."

Jason stilled for a moment. 

"Yes, Jason. Bruce has not taken the change well."

"Not as if he has any right to. Gave up me, called it quits, remember?" Jason muttered, and it was Diana's glower that stopped him going any further.

"You both had your reasons, I'm sure, we will not get into that now. I'm not asking you to step into his shoes, or to consider his feelings, no. Truth be told, Bruce is working through his own feelings, in private, and will do so in his own time. Your concern remains the same: to focus on yourself, your well-being, and if Clark is the person that can help you do that, then that is what matters, and I am glad that you both care about each other."

Jason said nothing for a while, clearly thinking on the matter, and Diana sat back against the tree, sipping a glass of wine.

"Di." Jason spoke after a while. "Take care of him. Bruce, I mean."

It was Diana's turn to grow still. 

"It...It wasn't until I left Gotham that I started thinking about things. The way things turned out, the fight, everything. And one day, by chance, there was this news segment on B, about him over the years, how he'd apparently gone from desirable bachelor or some shit to reclusive, doting dad. How he withdrew out of the spotlight for a long time after my....my death."

Diana's skin grew cold. Jason took her hand and held it to himself. "It changed him, completely, and in my...my anger, Pit notwithstanding, I didn't realise, I didn't truly understand just how much B had hurt too until I sat down to really think about it. And as I watched that segment, I saw a guy who went from fairly amiable turn into an absolute shell, lines furrowed, eyes so hollow i-it was _haunting_ , Di. That he apparently turned to...a-alcohol to cope, and he couldn't. Couldn't function, didn't go out, it...it messed him up, real bad, and as much as I hated him, as much as I blamed him, realising that it wasn't just _me_ who went through shit but B too...not that it suddenly absolved him of everything but it...it put things in a new light." Jason swallowed. 

Diana said nothing.

"Di, I'm....I'm asking you to just...just watch him for me, will ya? I...I can't, I'm not ready for that, I don't think, but all this, this change that you speak of - I know deep down, B won't be handling it well. He'll ask for space. Time. He'll withdraw, shut down any talk, and if you don't- it'll come out, the anger, he'll lose it with people, short temper, he'll become brash, reckless, till...til he runs the risk of hurting himself, and I can't have that Di. I can't, because Tim, Damian-" Jason's voice was tight. "They need him. They need their dad, they need him to be there, growing up, so they don't make silly mistakes, like I did. So Tim, Tim doesn't try anything stupid cause he feels isolated and unloved, that Damian doesn't...doesn't turn into _me_ , Di, a ball of hatred and anger, always so angry at the word and wanting "justice". They're too young to know what the world is _really_ like, Di, no amount of training or skills can prepare you for whats out there, the darkness, and if ya not careful, if they're not careful, the world, it'll swallow them whole, and I can't have that, I just _can't_." Jason wrung his and Diana's hands together, voice pained. "So please. Di, make Bruce talk to someone, anyone. Don't allow him to..to say its "fine" when you know it isn't, when you can see he ain't coping, ain't sleeping, looking all haggard and shit, cause trust me, once you start lying to yourself, that you're alright, its okay, you'll believe the lie, you will, you'll live and _breathe_ it, and then one day, it'll catch up with you in the worst way possible." Jason paused. "And if ya lucky, death will release ya from the never ending pain."

"Stop." Diana tightened her hold in Jason's palm but he ignored her. 

"And if not...then you'll live, but life will be nothing but torment, cruel and mocking, and-and I can't, not for the kids, I don't want them growing up with a....a dad whose not there, whose lost, broken, it...it messes with you, that shit stays for life. We've got our differences, sure, but if there's one thing being away has taught me, its this: holding on to all that pain will eat at you far quicker than anything else. So please, Di. Promise me that....Bruce, you, Clark, you guys just....watch out for him. Keep him afloat, don't let him sink. He needs his friends, he needs _you_ , you, Di, you make him happy, and...at the heart of it all, I want B... _happy_. Enough of the sadness, its... _enough._ " Jason finished, voice barely a whisper. 

Diana held the man's hand to her lips, pressing it firmly. "I promise, Jason. I will not allow Bruce to lose himself."

The man nodded. "Good."

 

 

 _WE, late afternoon_.

Shayera stared at the man bent over at the desk. All she could see was his back, and already, Bruce looked weary. The last time they'd spoken "therapy" style was a while back, and with Jason falling dead, again, then ill- well, Bruce hadn't been in any mood to chat whatsoever.

She gave a loud tap on the glass, not bothering to hide her smirk at the man's jump, nor at the way his eyes widened in surprise on seeing her, then frowned.

"Yes, yes I _know_." Shayera started as Bruce let her in, and she flounced past, knocking him on purpose with her shoulder. " _No metas in Gotham_ , we all know the rules. Waited till your secretary went home, that woman's a right bitch, you know." Her voice was grouchy.

"A longstanding rule which you have decided to break nonetheless. Sarah is a perfectly adequate secretary. Her...prickly nature detracts time wasters. And was... was that supposed to be me, just then? Because if so, try harder next time. Less gruff, don't force it so much." Bruce folded his arms and stared at her, but the glint was there in his eye. "God, that imitation was terrible."

"To _maytoe_ , To _mah_ toe." Shayera waved a dismissive hand in his direction and flopped onto the couch, making herself comfortable. "Whatcha doing, not-so-scary dark and moderately handsome?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow at her, and though face remained neutral, there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, lips tugging upwards, and Shayera grinned at the sight. 

"That's not how you use it-"

"Po _tayto_ , Po _tahto_." Shayera did her best to add a little Boston-Italian twist to the accent, something mobster like that she'd watched with Tim one time, _Godfathers_ , and Bruce groaned quietly, bringing a palm to his face, but she'd caught the smile, as small as it was.

"How can I help you?" His voice was flat, very flat, but Shayera paid him no notice, only to move to the corner of the room, where a small bar was located. She took her time in rummaging at random, Bruce's stare notwithstanding, and mouthing the words of one bottle, poured herself a generous glassful, throwing the whole lot back in one swift go. 

"God, so _weak_. Like Mallpresheitve _piss_ , that is." Shayera made a face, and held the bottle to the light.

"Vodka, Shayera. That's a four thousand dollar bottle of 85% Ukrainian vodka you've just tipped back. _Piss._ " Bruce stared at her, part irritated, part impressed.

"Fine, not piss. Sewage water, is that better for you?" Shayera eyed the flavourless drink suspiciously, and took a long swig straight from the bottle. "Ugh. Better ask for a refund, then."

Bruce continued to stare. "Let me guess: another fight with John? What has he done this time - forgotten your favourite brand of German achitek for breakfast? The _horror_." He deadpanned.

Shayera grinned. "No _p_ e. Out of the country, you should know that, we had a JL meeting just last week. Someone's not been paying attention, clearly. No, I've got dinner reservations in some place downtown New York and I can't be asked to go alone." She watched as Bruce went rigid, and turned from her, making his way back to his desk.

"As you can see, I'm very busy. If you don't mind taking your drunken shenanigans elsewhere - away from Gotham preferably, them that would be much appreciated. Some of us have to work for a living, unfortunately." Shayera didn't miss the dig at her, but she had a purpose in being here, so let it slide.

"That so? Could have fooled me. Thought Tim did most of the heavy lifting?"

"Tim is only VP-"

"Sixteen year old VP, Bruce-" Shayera crossed her arms, but Bruce wouldn't look at her.

"And as VP, there are certain things that Tim alone cannot sign off on, meaning that me, founder, majority shareholder of WE, has to step in." Bruce held a pen in his mouth as he tapped away at the computer. "Where is that report- oh, here it is."

Shayera watched him. It was clear Bruce was determined to ignore her at all cost, done out of pride, but Shayera knew the game well enough. Too tense in the shoulders, and the man had been more strict that normal at JL meetings, cutting short funny anecdotes as "time wasting, trivial nonsense", even harsh with Barry, and they all knew that the two were generally good friends, Bruce having grown used to the man's light-heartedness and jokey demeanor over the years. Nor had they failed to notice that Clark had remained silent throughout all this, not looking Bruce's way, and certainly not trying to reach out either.

A change of scenery, then, might be in order, and Shayera saunted over to the chair directly in front of Bruce's desk, though he purposely ignored her. 

"Smells stale in here, Bruce. I think we need a change of scene."

Bruce paused for a moment, then continued to tap away on his keyboard. " _Go. away._ "

"C'mon, up you get." Shayera would not take no for an answer, whatever the cost. They both knew her stubbornness could match his if she wanted.

"Shayera, I don't have time for this."

"Fine then, I'll just stay there till you do, have "time" for this. And we all know what that means." Shayera slumped into her chair, and put her feet up at the side of his desk.

" _Off_." Bruce didn't even look at her.

"Make me."

Bruce brought a thumb and forefinger to the side of his nose. "This is childish. You are a grown woman. Enough of this nonsense already- _go home_ , I have a lot to do."

In response, Shayera took out from a trouser pocket, a _gameboy_ , or more specifically, the one Tim had bought her as a birthday present, with a few added touches, courtesy of the boy genius. They played at least one game a week, whether away or abroad. She put the volume on medium setting, not too loud mind you, but enough to be a nuisance, and one that couldn't be ignored for much longer. She chose one of the Supermario games, one she knew Bruce had shown a particular dislike to several months ago, when Tim had played the game during a meeting. Shayera smiled as she remembered Bruce's irritation flare at the sound, directing his son to either turn the volume down or put it away altogether, and all Tim had done was to look up at him, big blue eyes, before mischief entered them, and the volume had risen, steadily, steadily, until the boy had somehow managed to have the room's speaks play sounds of mushrooms being collected, Barry joining in, Shayera too, and ending with Bruce eventually giving up to rest his forehead against the table, much to the room's laughter.

"Shayera."

The woman in question ignored him, concentrating on beating her younger nemesis's score. "Drat it, how the hell is your kid so good at everything, Bruce?"

" _Shayera_." The was real grit in Bruce's voice, but still, she ignored him, and to make matters worse, Shayera began to let slip swear words, the rudest kind, all sorts of profanity. A few creative ones, a mixture of English and Thanagarian, and Bruce's face turned pink on hearing them.

"You're not getting me to-"

" _Horseonmytit_ recrbaba!" Shayera swore furiously, gusto in her voice, and that one elicited something of a _huff_ from Bruce, an amused one.

"This isn't going to work, Shay-"

"Inbrednocockhaving _cunt_ , draymekan!" Shayera slapped her knee, and Bruce held two fingers at the sides of his temples, staring down at his desk.

"Stop-"

"Ipsiot _Humbuggingonadippy_ whore! Whorehresh _whore_!" Barry had just beaten her, the prick.

Bruce clamped his lips _tight_.

"If you could-"

" _Foureyedknobblybastard_ ion, see what he did, Bruce? Treboutafrog, orehekaput, drat." Shayera spat, unable to stop herself from even smiling, and now Bruce shook his head, smile creeping onto his face.

"Alright-"

"Hoopahoopa _danglyhobknob_ trus, optimus prime!" Shayera half giggled.

"Would you just-" Bruce choked on a laugh.

"Suckadeesuckado milkand _cookmyballs_ ofacow, battybooty." Shayera laughed out, and Bruce _cracked_ , laughing heartily into his palms.

"Really?" The man eyed her, voice incredulous.

" _Eatingmeout_ -" Shayera started, but Bruce cut her off, red faced and eyes creased. "Alright! _Fine_ , let's go already. God, I'm going to regret this, I can tell."

The man stood, leaving the report to one side, and switched off the laptop. "And how might we be getting to New York, might I add?" He stared pointedly at her wings, and Shayera threw him a winning smile. "You realise that you can't leave this office looking like that."

"I'm hurt, Brucie." Shayera mocked, sounding exactly like the young floozies that were usually photographed pining away at Bruce on magazine covers, or dangling on his arms, reeking of desperation. "What am I, a fool?"

"Well if you must-"

Shayera swatted him before activating her mask device, going from wings to a fitted, pink dress, heeled shoes, and a little clutch. She struck a rather seductive pose, tossing her hair back. "Well?"

Bruce only shook his head but she'd caught the appreciative glance, as quick as it was. "Horrible. Disgusting. The most _hideous_ thing I've ever-"

"Uh-huh. And to think, something complimentary and you'd have found yourself in a unique position, Diana included." Shayera waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Bruce turned _red_ , pulling at his tie.

"Alfred always does these blasted things too tight." He murmured, looking at everywhere and everything but her, and Shayera laughed loudly, stepping forward to link arms with him.

"Relax, awkward. I've got John remember?"

"Jay too." Bruce added hesitantly as they walked to his private elevator. "Practically flirts the whole house down. Why on earth do you entertain the boy?"

"It's fun, the flirting's harmless, and its just Jay being Jay. Besides, the kid's dead jealous of John's beard. Says he's an ass but has the most magnificent beard-" Shayera smiled as Bruce laughed. "Seriously Bruce, those were his actual words: _John's a stuck up bastard but I can't lie, that beard is fucking magnificent._ I mean, who says stuff like that?"

Bruce's laughter quietened. "That's Jason for you."

Shayera sensed the change, and squeezed Bruce's hand. "None of that tonight. Tonight is about sightseeing, _food_ , and if you're a good little Bat, we'll watch a play, ooh a movie maybe. We'll make fun of the shitty acting and predictable plotline; the one whose closest in the end has to buy drinks. Get handsy with me and I'll chop them off. Can't please Diana without those babies, can ya?" The woman winked, and Bruce flushed.

"No comment to that last part. I'll probably end up paying for everything, won't I?" He mock sighed, but the sound was fond.

Shayera only patted his jacket before the lift opened to the car park. "Only fair, unnaturally broad chested. C'mon, I'm driving." She held up his keys.

Bruce swiped them from her, leading them to a black, sleek Mercedes. "Its the vodka, darling. Gone straight to your pretty feathery head and knocked all sense from you." The man ignored her pout and went round to the driver's side, half getting in when he finally took note that she was still outside, arms crossed, feet tapping, and staring pointedly at the passenger door.

"Oh for fuck's sake." Bruce huffed loudly and went round to her side, opening her door. "Drop by unannounced, wearing _that_ , have to take you shopping, fucking food, drinks, have to drive all the way to goddamn New York at this hour in _my_ car, and yet, you can't at least open your own damn door?"

Shayera stuck a tongue out at him, huffing as she got inside. "Is this what Diana goes through each time? Where's "Brucie" in all this?"

"Brucie' isn't real, you know that. What have you two been gossiping about anyway? Do I want to know- you know what, don't even bother." The man half grumbled.

Shayera stared at him, then let a slow, predatory smile creep on her face, enjoying the way Bruce squirmed. "Oh, you know, the usual. Clothes, food. Our last holiday, where we're going next. That thing you do with your _lips_ when you're between her-"

"That's it, New York, lets go!" Bruce cut off, jamming the key in the ignition and the car roared to life, drowning out the sound of Shayera's cackling.

Several hours later, with a trunk full of shopping bags, random bags of food, Shayera had to admit: Bruce, heck, the both of them, had needed this. Bruce especially though, and she looked over at him, snoring away in the passenger's side. Tonight had been great fun - not "Brucie", just Bruce, walking arm in arm with a friend as they took on sight-seeing, large, fancy displays - heck, she'd even managed to persuade the man to take a few photos here and there, and he'd paid for several expensive dresses without hesitation. They'd eventually opted to see a movie of some sort, sappy, silly, one of those romantic subplots that was entirely predictable from the outset, but that didn't matter, not with all their giggling and laughing at the stupidity of the characters, and taking a drink every time they got something right. The night had ended on a high note, with Bruce having disposed of his tie a while back, sleeves rolled up, and a small smile on his face, tone much lighter. It had taken a little wheddling on her part to be the one to drive them back to Gotham - for one, human drinks were like water to her, due to her alien physiology, and two, after demonstrating sufficient awareness and orientation, Batman style, the man had finally given her the go ahead, though had spent the first hour into the journey with his palms over his eyes, practically screaming the Lord's prayer out loud, much to her laughter. No mention of Jason, of Clark and the changes Bruce was struggling to accept - just two friends on a night out, putting aside their troubles for a few hours. Bruce had begun to drift off not long ago, and the last thing he'd said before succumbing to sleep was _Thank you, Shayera_. It was a small thing, soft, but it was there, audible, and Shayera had squeezed her friend's hand before letting him sleep.

Shayera looked at the man once again before returning her eyes to the road.

_Gotham, 101 miles._

Her friend would be fine.


	66. Old hurts, New beginnings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Jason drive to Metropolis. Dick has an idea to bring the family together.

_Kent Farm._

Jason eyed the man beside him, and then focused his attention to the radio. "Really, Clark? We're doing this yodeling shit- you're actually gonna make us listen to crap. Grown men, _crap_." He deadpanned.

Clark only grinned. "What, you don't like? Blues' boys were _it_ back in my day-"

"But that's just it, country boy. We're not _in_ your day no more. Do better, old man. Here, let me hook you up-" Jason began fiddling with the sound system, but Clark slapped his hand away.

"Sorry, Jay. Since I'm driving-" Clark gave him a helpless shrug, almost clueless in a way, but Jason knew better now, and he glared at the older man, whose eyes were _definitely_ full of mischief. 

"Bull and you know it. Everyone knows the rules of riding shotgun-"

" _Rules of riding shotgun_ -" Clark's eyebrow was raised, and Jason crossed his arms, defiant.

"You heard me, Fanny May. Shotgunner's code 101: the one which is to occupy the passenger side is required to take on several responsibilities, including acting as that of the navigator, if necessary, no-dozer ie ensuring the driver remains awake, and arguably, the most important of all - _The DJ_ , you dick."

Clark laughed loudly. "Name-calling isn't helping your case, Jay. Don't think I misheard _Fanny May_ either."

Jason humpfed. "As designated Shotgunner, my role as the DJ means I have the right to exercise what is _universally known_ as a "music dictatorship"-"

" _Dictatorship_ , Sweet Mary, is it that serious-" Clark rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

Jason's only response was to lightly punch the man on the shoulder. "Damn right it is. The rule states that _The Shotgunner is responsible for controlling music selection and volume_. A roadtrip is made most memorable by two things: conversation, that's one, and b, the _music selection_ that accompanies such a journey."

Clark stared at him. "And what if I, dare I say it, _as the goddamn owner AND driver of this vehicle_ , I have my own preferences? Am I not allowed to at least put forward a few-"

" _No_." Jason spoke coolly.

"Not even a couple here and there-"

"Not even, dunno why you're prolonging this, mate. It's part of the rules, I didn't make it up." Jason cocked his head at the man, daring him to call him out on it.

"Uh-huh, okay, I see - and where might one find this particular list of "rules-" Clark started, mirroring his movement.

" _Shotgunrules.com_ " Jason cut back, smoothly.

"Well isn't that just _great_ , really handy." 

"Amazing, ain't it, having the world's resources at ya fingertips."

" _Wonderful._ Are there any other ridiculous things I need to know about thou shotgunner and one's duties?" The voice was dry, but Jason ignored it, stretching out his legs.

"Glad you asked, big guy. So, lets see: we've got DJ, keeping your slow-ass awake and focused, pointing out directions -never driven to Kansas or Metropolis so you're on your own there, squat. Churro, did I mention about the churro? Basically, say we're famished and gotta get something to eat, so we stop by the drive-thru. It's my job to, and I quote: "proactively unwrap and prepare the driver’s food so that it can be eaten with minimal driving distraction"- heck, in heavy traffic, I might even have to hand feed ya, toddler style. Danging fries in front of ya face and all, so get ready."

"That...that's not happening." Clark's lips were tugging upwards, clearly struggling not to laugh.

"Gotta do what the shotgun's gotta do, C. What else - oh, _text/call by proxy_. I make ya calls, text whoever ya need to text. Look up stuff, reviews maybe, cool things to do, that sorta thing." Jason reclined back into his seat, comfortable. "God, this is the life." Out of the corner of his eye, he heard a quiet groan, and watched as Clark briefly rested his head on the steering wheel. 

"What I have let myself in for?" The older man muttered, and Jason slapped Clark's back rather heartily.

"Can't back out now. C'mon, get a move on it. You're meant to be taking me out on the town, wining and dining, tryna impress me. So far, _not_ impressed." Jason fished out a pair of sunglasses from his front pocket and put them on, but Clark snapped them away, putting them on his own face.

"Hey! What gives?" Jason shot the man an incredulous look, but it was Clark's turn to look smug, ignoring him as he started up the engine.

"Driver's rules 101, hell, highway code: the driver of the vehicle must ensure proficient visibility _at all times_ , regardless of weather conditions, traffic flow-"

"But you don't even _need_ glasses! And I look- it goes with my outfit!" Jason gestured to his clothes, a light blue shirt, khaki slacks, boat shoes, but all Clark did was to lower his glasses, then peer at him, giving a slow, snobbish lookover, nose in the air, smirking. 

"Well, _I_ didn't make the rules, Jay, and unlike "shotgunrules.com", the highway code is, in fact, real, valid, and extremely well documented. _Amazing, ain't it, having the world's resources at ya fingertips._ " Clark imitated, voice _exactly_ like his own, and Jason stared, flushing red, before turning to face the window, peeved.

"You're so damn annoying. Stupid checkered shirt and all." He muttered.

"Didn't you wear a pretty darn similar shirt the other day, you little _shit_ -"

" _Ahem_." Ma Kent suddenly appeared next to Clark's window, an amused smirk on her face, and Jason quickly sat up, beaming at the woman.

"Ma! Did you hear that?" He ignored Clark's wide -eyed look, and Ma turned to her son, palm already out.

"Honey."

"But I didn't- Jay, he said- just now Ma, he too- we're not even _indoors_ , Ma." Clark protested, but it was of no use, and he gave in, fishing out loose change to hand over. The woman only gave him a look, a fond one, before bidding the two of them a safe journey, and to "behave themselves."

"Keep ratting me out Jay and I'll have no choice but to do the same...but to _Diana_." Clark spoke as they made their way down the road.

Jason paused, eyeing the man carefully. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

Jason kissed his teeth, earning himself a swat on the back of his head in the process. "What was that for?" He grumpily massaged his head, and on the other side, Clark smirked, concentrating on the road.

"Don't test me, short stuff. We've got about two hours ahead, give or take. Might be more, I don't think roadworks will have finished in time, sorry. Doesn't take this long usually, about an hour or so, but they closed the junction by Sailsbury, so we're taking the scenic route instead."

Jason nodded, and took out a book, beginning to read. For the next half an hour or so, it was peaceful. Windows down, fresh breeze drifiting in, and with the warmth of sunshine on his neck, Jason found himself dozing off, jolting awake every so often.

"Clark." His voice was a little drowsy after up some time later. "When you and Lo came to the house...after finding out Lois was expecting and all, you...you had this _look_ on your face." Jason felt the man glance his way, but Clark kept silent. He continued, staring out into grassy fields and clear skies. "Yeah, you did. Like you were happy and...scared, if that's the right word, at the same time. Which I-I mean, I dunno jack about, you know, being a parent and shiz, but I... I just wanted to say that you guys, _you_ , are gonna be just fine. Can't imagine how anxious it must feel like and maybe it might be a first time kinda thing, first time parents, you know, that scramble when you're trying to get things in place, read all the right books, all that, but from what I can see, Clark, you'll be alright. All I wanted to say, I guess."

A shift from his side, but still Clark said nothing.

"Let me know if I'm overstepping it, big guy." Jason decided to glance over, and he saw how Clark stared ahead, knuckles tight on the wheel. He sighed, sitting up, and began to apologise.

"Hey man, I'm sorry, I just thought-"

"Lois had a miscarriage." Clark's voice was deathly quiet, and Jason let his mouth hang ajar for a moment, before shutting it, the _click_ audible.

"It-" Clark's knuckles blanched white, before pinking, and Jason waited, watching as Clark slumped back in his chair a little. 

"It was a long while back, long while. We...we'd been trying, and finally, one day, Lo, she calls me, that she's pregnant and we're over the moon, truly. After so long, all the efforts, finally, we were going to have a baby, our first child, and we...we did all the doctor's appointments, scans, everything. All good, everything looked fine. One month, two months, three months, and then-" Clark swallowed.

Jason went still.

"Close to the four month mark. Lois, she was showing now, her frame is small, so the bump showed. God, Jay, we were so-" Clark gripped the wheel tighter. "Excited. It was a _girl_ , and we-I'd never....a _baby girl_ , of my own, my little girl. Maybe we got a little too ahead of ourselves, I think, I can't be sure, but with each passing day, as she grew bigger, it just - we were so _ready_ , you know? When we weren't at work, we were browsing catalogues, all that new baby stuff, cots, cribs, prams, baby proofing equipment, diapers, little...little bibs and T-shirts, socks. Talked about names, a lot, we made lists everywhere, stuck them on pretty much every surface you could find. Would stroll past a few and put little ticks or crosses next to those we liked or hated, it was just so...overwhelming. _New_ , and though we didn't know every thing, though we felt like there was still so much _more_ we had to learn, to get, to prepare for, it felt...it felt _right_." Clark's voice was shaky.

Jason thought about reaching out, a hand, but at the last minute, chose not to. Clearly this was something the big guy needed to get off his chest, and Jason couldn't blame him.

"My parents-" Clark paused here for a moment. "Ma..Pa, they'd been waiting too, and when they found it they'd be having a little grand-daughter, the tears, Jay-" Clark bit his lip and turned aside. "Ma got...that day, when we told them, Ma, she and Pa went to town and Ma, she bought as much wool, yarn, all the material from the whole damn store, Ma hoarded the _lot_ , and she started knitting winter clothes for..for our little winter girl. Pa, he kept going on about how much he was looking forward to his 'winter miracle', Princess, and- I'd fall asleep, every night, to the sound of my baby's heartbeat. It became routine, something I just _had_ to do: doze off to those quick little thumps, and it was all so perfect, it really was." Clark broke off here, and the car slowed down, slower, till they were barely moving, road empty, eventually pulling over.

"And then it all came crashing down, one night. Lois and I, we'd..." Clark glanced his way, and then quickly looked away. There was a sheen to his eyes, and a lump formed in Jason's throat.

"C, you don't have to do this." He laid a hand on the man's arm, as tense as it was, but Clark didn't pull away, and so Jason left it there.

"It's alright-" Clark brushed his eyes with a sleeve. "I-it happened so fast. So, so, fast, we...we'd had an argument of sorts." Clark's face turned pink, but it quickly subsided. "Nothing major,- well, in retrospect-, honestly, I can't even remember what it was about, but I remembering feeling that it might be best to sleep in the guest room for the night, give us some space to cool down a bit, and I-I just before I left, I made to kiss her but I thought better of it, that hopefully things would be settled in the morning, so off I went. And then sometime around two am, two thirty ish, Lois, she..-" Clark shook his head, and took off his glasses. His hands trembled with the movement.

"Clark, let me drive, alright. We don't have to do this-I'm sorry I asked, let me have the keys-" Jason started, reaching over to turn the ignition off, but Clark shook his head, gently pushing his arm away.

For a while, there was silence, and it dawned on Jason then _just_ how much Clark had needed this outlet. It was likely the first time Clark was talking about his loss, and now with a new baby on the way, well, the poor man was bound to be feeling rather apprehensive, to say the least. Part of Jason wondered if Bruce knew about this, but Clark started talking again, and the thought disappeared.

"What happened." A small invitation to speak, and Clark turned a pair of grateful eyes on him before staring out onto the fields, wheatish and wispy.

"I flew as fast as I could, I-I wasn't even thinking about Superman, or secret identities, not with Lois...she was in my arms, and she was scared, so scared, and she kept-she had her hands, her red hands, they kept moving all over her belly, delirious, saying my name, over and over, and I-...it was only when they took her from me that I realised."

Jason knew what it was, and he was too afraid to ask.

Clark nodded once. "I couldn't hear my baby girl's heartbeat. Like it was...just empty. And-just like that, it was all over. Our little girl....gone. Lois...inconsolable."

The air was still for a long while. 

"Clark, it wasn't-"

" _Don't_." There was a danger in Clark's voice, a warning in his tone, and Jason felt his hairs stand on edge.

"Don't what - tell you that it wasn't your fault? _It wasn't, C_. You couldn't have known, couldn't have predicted-"

Clark's only response was to grip the wheel so tight the stitching began to unravel. "I _know_ that, Jason. I know, and yet, I should-I should never have left her that night, not for any reason. Never should have argued, if-if only I had just _stayed_ with her, that night-"

"Alright, enough." Jason sat up. "Clark, listen to me. No-one is to blame here, _no-one_. Whether you stayed with Lois that night or otherwise-" Jason shook his head, and squeezed Clark's arm. "Unpredictable, alright, it was. I can understand holding yourself to blame-

"No, I don't think you can, Jason." Clark's voice was tight. "Until you have kids or expect kids of your own, your very _first_ , then you can't possibly "understand". You don't, you can't, not this time."

It was Jason's turn to grow still, and his arm felt cold all of a sudden, because- though technically, Clark was right-

he _did_ understand, what it was like to feel responsible, what it felt like as his baby sister, Chloe, shut her eyes for the last time, with Catherine, dearest Mom, passed out in the other room, still on a high, face still swollen from the beating Willis had given her, and Jason had held her in his arms, knowing that it was just too late. She'd only lived a few weeks, and he'd tried, goddamnit, Jason had tried his hardest, his very best-

but it hadn't been enough.

Little Chloe. He'd given her that name, because Mom, back then, had refused to name her. Touch her. _Hold_ her. That she was Willis', unwanted, a product of something horrible, detestable, unfightable, and despite Catherine's attempts, the smoking, the drug use, alcohol, Chloe had made it, made it out into the warm polluted air of Gotham, though several weeks early, and though her own Mother couldn't stand to be around her, Jason would always be proud of his little fighter.

A few weeks before the dead of winter, that's when Chloe gave up. Those big brown eyes, fluttering shut, then open, then shut, open a little more, and then, for the final time, closing shut. A small inhale, and then - _nothing_. Her skin remained warm for a while though, and Jason had sat there, in the dark, his cheek pressed to hers, eyes full, but even then, he couldn't bring himself to utter a word. Not a prayer, a plea for help, a cry, because they all knew it had been coming. All of them - the neighbors knew and they kept to themselves, those bastards, deaf and blind apparently, but they _knew_ , knew that Catherine suffered under Willis, near constant creams and broken cries, the dull _thud_ as her body would fall limp across the floor, baby Chloe's cries that, as time passed by, grew fainter, weaker, because despite all of Jason's efforts, he never could provide it all his sister needed to make it through infancy. Not enough milk, diapers, blankets - no money, no funds, a mother who was out half the time or when around, too dejected to bond with her baby. Mounting medical bills, no family, just himself, an eight year old, a useless Mom, abusive Father, and a six week old burden to care for, but goodness, she was precious, Chloe was. Small features, even smaller hands, nimble treasures, those eyes that would stare up at him in wonder, round and innocent, and Jason would cradle her to his chest for hours, talking to her quietly, muttering- Chloe always understood, she did she _did_ , even with the hunger, her fragility, Chloe knew him, and Jason knew her a-and-

He'd never called for emergency services when she'd breathed her last; there had been no point. He'd buried Chloe in the nicest spot he could find, the _Garden of St Mary's, just behind the wall_ , a small patch of undisturbed land, peaceful, a place where Jason has accidentally stumbled upon one day and would serve as a respite of sorts for years to come. They hadn't received a health visit by anyone, because the midwives, or whoever should have come- they didn't _care_ , or worse, were too afraid to venture into the heart of Crime Alley, so it had just been the three of them, four, when Willis could be bothered to show up, beating his live-in cook for money, food, and if necessary, a good shag whenever he felt like it-

"Jay?" Clark's voice suddenly drew him back to the present, and Jason blinked, and again, realising just how fast his chest was beating.

Clark must have known it too, because now the big guy was in his face, arms on his, repeating his name, and Jason, pulling away, opened the door to take a walk, brisk.

"Jay? I'm sorry, I didn't mean- God, I should never have even said anything, I was being selfish, venting all this to you when you clearly have some experience in..... Jay, come back, I'm-" Clark came after him, and Jason held his palm out for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. Wisely, Clark stopped where he was, though his face was full of regret.

"Clark." He spoke after a while, and Jason found it important not to look at the man, but at the field, concentrating on the crunching of wheat and corn beneath his feet. It wasn't Clark's fault for what he'd been through as a child - the man had issues of his own, and lashing out at Clark's poor choice of words - that he couldn't possible understand what it was like, to feel responsible, even when all the odds said otherwise- would be detrimental to the father to be. So Jason focused on his breathing, slow and steady, at the way the breeze tickled his skin, lifted his clothes, the light sting of salt at the corners of his eyes, the little tremor in his hands, pushing down the urge to deck Clark in the face, and he waited, till things weren't such a _rush_ , heavy and painful, before speaking again.

"I know, its not the same. I can't understand, not truly, and I accept that. I'm sorry that you and Lois had to go through something so painful, I can't imagine how crushing it must have felt, and I know such a thing like that, it changes you, for sure. Your first child, that little girl was your first, and she can't ever be replaced. This kid you have on the way, however - its an opportunity to move forward. Not that you're dismissing or forgetting the past, no, but this kid of yours, he or she is your _future_ , alright, and take it from me, you can't let what happened stop you from living and _enjoying_ the present. I get that you're scared, I knew something was off when you gave us the news, and look mate, from what you've told me, I'd be pretty scared shitless too, honestly. Don't think anyone in your position would feel any differently, so its no surprise that you appeared...apprehensive, of sorts, cautious even. If you feel-if you and Lois feel that you gotta be that way for now, then absolutely, you guys have the right to feel that way. It's alright, its understandable. But-" Jason found the courage to look at the man in the eye. 

"I'm saying this man to man. You're gonna make a great Father, I can tell. I've only gotten to know you over the past six months, but I don't know of anyone, save Talia, who I've pretty much broken down in front of, whose seen me weak, sick, and a near mess - you've seen shit I'd never willing let anyone other than Tals see, and believe me, for someone like _me_ \- if I can say all this, that you're _it_ , then you know its legit. You'll be fine, I know it. So-" 

Jason walked up to the man, placing a hand on his arm, ignoring how cold he felt. "Go for it, Clark. Don't be afraid to be excited, to make plans, pick out baby shit, choose names, the nine yards. Do it all, and don't be afraid. Besides, we all know ya little runt is gonna be called _Jason_ , anyway." He smirked, and Clark huffed, amused, before nodding.

"We keep doing this, don't we? Heart to hearts, and here I am, supposedly the adult in all this, married and all, getting a _pull yourself together_ from a barely 21 year old overgrown kid." Clark's voice was quiet, and Jason nudged him gently.

"Still twenty, actually. Being an adult doesn't mean diddly squat. Getting your shit together is hard, whatever the age. Takes a pretty humble person to accept help and advice from someone several years younger, and I respect that." He stood for a moment longer, ignoring Clark's glance and changed the subject abruptly. "Seems we need to get a move on, Clark. Keep staring at me like that and we might have to tell Lois the truth about us. I mean, you ain't too bad, and I'm sure Lo won't mind." He raised an eyebrow at Clark, suggestive in nature, and grinned as the man turned a deep shade of red. "What, you don't think we look good together-"

"Nope. Just- _nope_. Just had to go there, didn't ya?" Clark started walking back to the car.

"Then what - am I not good enough for ya?" Jason crossed his arms at the retreating back. "Is that it? I mean-"

"Not today, nopeity nope de nope, gotta a nice drive ahead of us, lots to see-" Clark deliberately spoke over him, scarlet, but Jason only increased the volume.

"Seriously - is it the beard? I mean, we can talk about shaving if you want. Four months on, three off, that sorta thing. And aren't my eyes pretty? I've been told they're gorgeous! We'd be pretty great together!" Jason shouted after him, palms outstretched. "I'm wiling to negotiate, we're the same height after all!"

" _Get in the car, Jay!_ "

 

 

 _Gotham_.

"Seriously." Tim starred at his older brother, who was practically riveting with glee. "Dick. Sit down, and think this through." 

To his left, strangely enough, Damian was silent. Silent, and watching him, and it was unnerving.

"I-" Tim stared at Damian again before shaking his head. "Dick, for the love of- _Bruce_ , now would be a great time to step in and _say something_!"

The man in question paused from his paperwork to look up at him, voice thoughtful. "I think its a good idea, actually. I've missed my children, and I'd like to spend some quality time with them, even if it's in the middle of nowhere."

Tim stared at Bruce.

Bruce stared back. 

Tim narrowed his eyes at his Father, but the man remained calm, and it infuriated him.

"Alfred." The teen suddenly whirled round. "Please, we need you and your infinite wisdom. You can't possibly-" Tim waved his hands at the remainder of his family, who only watched him. "I mean, _c'mon_! Alf, please!"

The butler raised an eyebrow at him. "Master Timothy, the dramatics are rather necessary for 10.30 in the morning, wouldn't you agree?"

A stuffed giggle from the room had Tim glaring at his eldest brother, who only moved to stand behind Bruce's chair, as if _Dad_ could save him.

"This will be good for all of you." Alfred spoke, voice prim. "A chance for some fresh air, and what better way to spend time than with family, dearest boy?"

Tim stammered. "You can't- you've gotta be _kidding_ me, I-are we- am I in the right dimension?" He checked his watch, then the clock in Bruce's study, and finally his phone. "Fucking hell."

A cough from Alfred had Tim flushing pink, and finally, the brat decided to let himself known.

"If Drake feels... _intimidated_ by the task-" Damian began, voice strangely cool, and Tim bristled at the insinuation.

"Intimidated my ass - why the hell are you okay with this? We hate each other, remember? And what, you think that a week-end away doing God knows what-" In his gesturing, Tim missed Damian's flinch.

"Camp activities and family bonding-" Dick helpfully piped up, withering a little under Tim's intense glare.

"- Flowery _bullshit_ that Dick likes to come up every once in a while on the pretense of "family", like we're all gonna just magically get along, no fights, no arguments, and we return as close as pie, like the last year never even happened. The fuck were you thinking, _Dick_?" Tim's voice was vicious, but as he surveyed the room, the atmosphere seemed to shift, heavy and guilt laden, and his chest mounted with the pressure. Bruce hadn't looked away from him, but there was something...wounded in his eyes, _hurt_ , and Tim's throat suddenly closed up. Dick too, had stopped bouncing on his feet, and even the man's posture seemed to curl in on himself. Damian was the only one who remained motionless, seemingly unaffected, and Tim forced his fist to uncurl.

Dick rubbed his neck, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Tim. I thought it would be something we could all do, just us. It's been a while." His voice was smaller, and now Tim's stomach coiled in knots at the sad sound. He closed his eyes, rubbing one side of his temple.

"Dick, I-" Tim sighed, and tried again. "Dick, I, I-thank you, for making the effort. But-"

"But what, Drake." Damian moved, lithe and graceful, and Tim couldn't help comparing the child to a predator, sizing up its prey.

"I'm not talking to you-" He retorted, a little on instinct.

"But you _are_ , aren't you?" The younger boy challenged, and Tim didn't, well- he didn't know what to say. 

Damian continued. "It _is_ about me. Grayson, the possibility that you might be left alone and isolated. Father, who you fear might choose a side not aligned with yours, and rather than risk taking a chance on us, you shut down any and all attempts. We are here, all of us, willing...and out of everyone, the person who hinders you most, is _you_ , Drake."

Tim opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

Damian gave a short nod, as if he'd known all along, and spoke again.

"What Grayson has suggested, though childish and far beneath our standards, is an activity with the hopes of bringing us together, and if it will make him happy, and Father happy too, then I am willing to...acquiesce, for this weekend."

"You want to do this." Tim deadpanned, staring at his brother. Who was this kid and where the hell was the real Damian?

Damian only shrugged, the movement oddly foreign on him. "Want, of course not. But for the sake of....of others, not myself, then yes, if it will please them, and greatly so, then I will do my best to ensure things remain civil, from my end." Damian glanced at him, biting the tiny corner of his lip, and then looked away. "I understand where you are coming from, however, and if you truly do not wish to join us, then...it shall be left as that, and your decision will stand, though it would be..disappointing."

It dawned slowly on Tim. 

Damian would never say it outright, but the brat _wanted_ him to come. The kid was going out of his way, to do something he was clearly going to hate, because it would make Bruce proud, Grayson very happy, and he, Tim, a chance to start making _amends_ , and now Tim remembered Jason's advice: _give the kid a chance_. The brat had tried once, going out of his way to strike conversation, to be civil, and Tim, in his own right, had thrown the efforts right back in the boy's face, trodding on them in the process. Yes he had the right to do so, but it had driven a greater wedge between himself and Damian, far deeper than before, and now, looking at the child at his front, asking but not quite asking, willing to spend a whole _week-end_ together-

Tim knew he'd be pretty damn heartless to make the same mistake again.

After all, he'd given Jason a chance. Several chances, many times over, and even when Jason threw it back in his face, the fights, mocking, hurtful, cruel taunts - Tim had never stopped trying to reach the man, and this was Jason, the _Hood_ , trigger happy and emotionally unstable.

Damian was a _kid_. An angry little assassin, sure, but since his arrival almost two, two and a bit years ago, the kid had come a long way, Tim had to give him that. To hang out in the same space, the art exhibition, without killing each other, to have dinner, as awkward as that was, but no threats, no daggers thrown his way, just requests for vegetables to be passed? Much better, and Tim knew, once again, that he was being put to the test. Big brother, be the bigger man, all of it, and if he could give Jason chance after chance, if _Jason_ could let him in, then Damian deserved an opportunity too. A kid who'd grown up in the League of Assassins for God's sake, Ra's heir, to leave all who knew and was taught to end up here, with a family who didn't know him, who even _looked_ different to him, different foods, accents, a whole, strange culture to adapt to- didn't excuse his actions, no, but they weren't completely baseless either.

Tim swallowed, and forced himself to look at Damian square in the eye. "You won't try and kill me?"

The room was hushed into silence.

"I will not. I have not, for several months, Drake." The boy answered him steadily, as if the other members of the room were no longer present.

"No sabotage, of any kind? Messing up my equipment, poisoning my food, weird ass shit in my room, pushing me off a fucking cliff or what not-"Tim grew a little heated at the prospect and he couldn't help but let his anger bleed into the tone.

"You have my word-" Damian's voice was determined but Tim cut him off.

"Because I-I'm not in any mood to tolerate any shit you might or might not pull. I don't care how bad it sounds, I've had it up to here already and I can't take any more, never again. I'm sick of feeling like...like second best, third rate, the outcast. Misfit. I don't have to, honestly I don't, and I-"Tim ran a hand through his hair. "Look Damian, I'm not expecting us to be friends right away. Barely expect two words of conversation, but if...if you can at least-"

"Nothing bad will happen untoward you, Drake. _I give you my word, as heir to that of Al Ghul, as the son of Wayne_ \- no harm will come to you, not of my doing." The small voice grew bolder, and Tim felt moved, that Damian would make such a statement in front of them all. Without thinking, he knelt down on one knee to look at the child, right in the eye. Damian's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't move away.

"Damian." Tim's voice was softer. "I don't have the strength to go down this route if it isn't genuine."

Did Damian understand what he was getting at-

"It _is_ , I swear it, on my _Mother's_ life." Tim was taken aback, the room too, but Damian continued. "If we fall into disagreement, then I, we shall endeavor to try out what Grayson deems a "time-out": separate and give the other space. Father said, with you-"Damian glanced to Bruce before looking at him. "Baby steps. That you cannot be rushed. I am trying, Drake, but I cannot do it all alone."

All eyes were on him.

Tim said nothing.

There was something in Damian's voice that seemed a touch desperate, maybe, to convince him that he wanted to right his wrongs, and Tim stared at the younger boy once more before nodding, straightning up.

"I'm going to regret this, but _fine_ , I'll clear my schedule." That was all the warning he got before he was tackled into a giant bear hug by Dick, whose long-ass arms began to squeeze the life out of him.

" _Dick_ -" Tim wheezed, chest being crushed and face turning purple. " _Can't. breathe_ -"

" _Dick_." Bruce warned, though the fond tone meant he made no effort to help him.

"Whoops! Sorry kiddo!" Dick hastily removed his arms, and instead planted a fat, sloppy kiss on his forehead, slinging an arm over his shoulder, and Tim could just about make out Bruce's smirk in the background, along with Alfred's stiff but firm _hmpf_ , approving of the situation.

By the time Tim managed to untangle himself, Damian was gone.

 

 

 _Metropolis_.

Lois watched the two men carefully. It was a rather endearing sight; clearly comfortable to joking around, Clark, more carefree than usual, and it made her chest warm. She held her glass to the light, silently grumbling to herself as she sipped the plain liquid. _Water into wine, my ass_ , she thought.

In no time at all, Jason had made his way into the kitchen, apron on, and was currently cooking up a _storm_ , by the smell of things. Lois took another sniff, closing her eyes in the process, and missed Jason's smirk at her, Clark too. 

"Smells great, huh?" Jason spoke, tossing a stir fry with ease, whilst Clark crushed chillies, and Lois felt her face turning pink at being caught. 

"I mean, its _okay_. Nothing special - probably could do it myself." Lois snarked, and Clark laughed loudly, causing her to blush even more.

"Honey, you haven't cooked in five years. It's alright, Jay's an amazing cook, he's _so_ good."

"That I am, handsome. You can thank my worldly travels for such talent." Jason winked at her husband, and it was Lois turn to laugh, Clark pink. "Here babe, try this." The man dolled out a small bowl containing noddles, shrimp, mixed peppers and various beef assortments, and pushed it towards her. On a separate plate came a small piece of bread drizzled with a light layer of olive oil. "Oh, nearly forgot." Jason stood before her, slicing a thin layer of Halloumi cheese onto the bread, and Lois watched the cheese melt, something oozy and delicious, and her mouth watered.

"I mean, I guess it'll be-" Lois took a bite of the bread, and for a long second, forgot how to breathe. " _Ohmygawd_." She took another bite, and then a large forkful of the colorful stir fry. "Seriously Clark, if I had to choose between sex and this-" Lois gave a low, breathy _moan_ , and continued to eat, ignoring the laughter. "Fuck me. Just bloody hell, Clark, I'm sorry, but its-the food- I _can't_ babe. I'm giving you up, ever so sorry."

The younger man's eyes seemed to sparkle with the praise, though he glanced at her bashfully before averting his eyes. "If it's not up to scratch, just say so. I mean, apart from you guys, Pa, Ma, Tim and one or two others, I've never really cooked for anyone else. So don't lie and big me up necessarily, it won't help."

Lois held in a _coo_ , and instead, reached up to kiss Jason's cheek, much to his delight, cheeks red. "Honey, I don't think I've tasted anything quite as good as this, I mean it. You should be proud of yourself - ridiculously handsome _and_ a makeshift chef? Should be beating girls off with a stick by now."

Jason flushed. "Yeah, well, life doesn't always work that way." He turned back to the cooker, expression unreadable. Lois glanced at Clark and the two shared a look.

"Jay." Her husband nudged the man's shoulder, and Lois marveled at how they were almost the same height. "The museum. Tell Lois what happened."

"Oh shit, right." Jason perked to life, and once again, a pair of dancing green eyes were fixed on hers, alive and well, and Lois couldn't help warming to the sight. "Alright, so here goes; hold on, was this after we had ice-cream or before the park? And the lake and yeah, the metro, that was sick-"

"Before the hot-dogs, lake, then museum, water park and finally, metro." Clark gave the man a smile. "Chilies done. Where do you want them?"

Jason glanced over. "Thinner. Mix the red and green, one pinch of the tumeric, not so much- yeah, that's fine. No, not like-" Jason mock sighed, and Lois stifled a laugh as Jason helped Clark hold the knife correctly, just like a pro. "Lawd, if not for your looks." Jason ducked a swat from her husband. "Better thank the heavens you're pretty."

"I'm this close to kicking you out-" Clark shook his head, failing to hide a smile.

"Concentrate, Clark, or I'll make you start again. Sorry about that, violet spice. Where were we-" Jason flirted, and Lois felt her cheeks redden. "Yeah, so we're in this museum right, and its pretentious as hell, posh as shit pieces all over the place, and you've got all these people, a mixed bunch really. Think homeless turn hipster but secretly loaded, basically Tim-"

Lois laughed out loud. "Tim isn't _that_ bad-" she tried to defend the younger Wayne, but Jason wasn't having it.

"Lies, he's worse that one. Sneakers, shirt, cap, man-bun, damn kid looks a 90s reject and yet walks around with a bank account greater than the fucking Sun, no mercies from me. So - hipsters, and then you've got those pretentious, faux snobby pricks - you know the types with odd clothes, air kisses-"

"Very good, _dahling_ " Lois mock imitated, and the two of them air kissed on the cheeks rather dramatically, Clark chuckling in the background.

"Yeah, you've got it on the money. So picture all these guys walking around, gossiping like hens over a piece of paper on the wall with scribbles on it-"

" _Scribbles- come on, Jay-_ " Lois laughed.

"Yeah man, scribbles! Bits of wood stuck randomly, chewing gum, coins and shit, I dunno, but it was so fucking weird, and for the most part, me and Clark managed to hold it in right, and then yeah, oh my God, listen to this-" Jason glanced at Clark who'd come over to join them, and the two of them suddenly started laughing, gesturing wildly.

"Alright alright, so we get to the end of one exhibit, and round the corner, we hear the sound of this kid start randomly laughing. Like, proper laughing, high pitched kinda laugh, and we look at each other like "what the hell" before moving to check it out. And-and-" Jason and Clark were slumped on each other now, faces red, cracking up, and Lois felt her own smile widening.

"Jay! What did you see?"

"Sorry-" Jason was clutching his chest, and Clark had tears streaming down, still mid laughter. "Okay okay, so we walk to the sound of this kid right, and we get there, and see this lil ass kid, probs no more than five, six at the most, and he's on the floor _dying_ of laughter, and his Mom, his Mom is tryna shush him, like " _Johnny, be quiet, stop it!_ but the kid ignores her, can't hear her probs because he's laughing till kingdom come. So at this point, we're like wtf, and more people are coming to look right, so we ask the Ma what the jig is. All she did was to to sigh and tell us to turn around, and we do." Jason paused, and then he and Clark, making eye contact, broke down again, slapping the table.

"Ok ok, so this Lois- this is what we saw. It's a painting by some guy named _Botero_ , _Fernando Botero_ , called "Sailor Boy" Just look at this." Jason fumbled with his pockets, bringing out his phone, and after a few moments, gave her the screen.

"I mean, I'm sure it wasn't-" Lois took the phone, and then looked at the screen.

And promptly burst out laughing.

For the next few minutes, the three of them laughed so _hard_ their kitchen shook. Heck, Lois could have sworn that a little pee came out, her sides hurt that much.

Clark lifted his glasses to wipe his eyes, flushed. "Lo, when I tell you - we couldn't, couldn't hold it in, and we-Jay, he was the first to go-"

"The hell? It was _you_ who broke first, not me. There was a whole exhibit of that guy's work, and w-we-" Jason was overcome with another bout of laughter, and began to show Lois a few other paintings from the same artist, setting the three of them off yet again.

"We went round that whole exhibit laughing our heads off. Had to be escorted out by security." Clark chuckled, and Lois gasped before smiling. 

"It was so weird - like it was just us two and this lil' kid struck dumb by laughter, and everyone else was just staring at us, or pretending to be all above it and everything with their noses stuck in the air-"

"Oooh, remember that one guy though, by the entrance. Grey hat, jacket-" 

"Yeah! Yeah that guy, ohmigawd, apparently he was some professor guy, and like he stood at the painting, and I _swear_ Lois, the guy looked like he was close to cracking up with laughter-"

"He seriously was - he kept turning away and every so often, his shoulders would shake! I don't know why he couldn't just _laugh_ , I mean, I'm pretty sure _Botero's_ paintings are meant to be taken light-heartedly. I imagine the guy would be honoured to see people laughing freely over his paintings, they're funny, and that's one of the best things about them. Kids, adult - anyone can laugh at them." Clark reasoned.

Jason nodded enthusiastically. "Man, the next time I travel, I think I might deliberately check out a few places that have his work. Says here the guy's got a couple sculptures all over, think it might be fun. Me, Tim, you- how bout it?"

Lois watched as Clark glanced over at Jason, smile shy at the invitation. "Sure, Jay. I mean, only if-" He turned to her now, and both men looked at her, one smirking, the other bashful. 

"Yes Clark, _you can go_." Lois ground out, mock sighing, and Jason punched the man lightly.

"She really wears the pants around here, don't she?"

"I swear if you don't get back to cooking _right now_ -" 

"Bootstraps pulled up real tight, I'll bet." Jason turned to Clark, voice morphing into something low and seductive. "Cutlery, babe, dinner's ready." 

" _You little shit._ " The younger man just about managed to duck Clark's swat, and winked at her, green eyes full of mischief.

Lois couldn't resist the temptation, and she too joined in the teasing. "Don't forget the whip Jay, gets things straight." She led Jason over to the plates.

"Boots, too?" He joked, a stack of plates in one arm as he followed her out to the dining room.

"Thigh high, leather patent, six heeler, you know the drill." Her voice was snarky.

"Aint nothing like a bit a dark lippie and a busty waistcoat to boot." They laughed loudly, and Clark put his palms in his face, muttering.

"God, there are two of you. What have I done?"

 

 

 _Next morning_.

Clark stepped back to give the two space. 

"Visit soon, Jay. We love having you here." Lois hugged the younger man tightly, and Jason's faint blush, along with a quiet nod, indicated he felt the same way too.

"Thank you for having me. Hope it wasn't too much of a bother, crashing your place for the night."

"Don't be silly, of course it wasn't." Lois hugged him again once more, and then let go.

Both Jason and Lois had gotten on like a house of fire, especially when Jason had admitted to writing an entire piece of work based on an article, or expose, rather, Lois had written several years back, as a fairly young journalist at the start of her career. That particular piece, _Tony Bordatello and three missing houses: Politics, Wallstreet, and Broken America_ , was the end result of several months work of research into the double life of Bordatello, a slimy politician who was famous for under the table deals, rampant corruption amongst his party, bribery, and enjoyed the company of young, dubiously young women. The man had risen steadily to prominence, greasy black hair and small eyes, and Lois had focused early on the man, noting various "meetings", party donations, and so on. She'd done it all under wraps, herself being the only person who knew the exact nature of her project, and when she'd written the first draft, Lois had sent it to _everyone_ she could think of: big names, paper heads, editors, journalists, but none of them wanted any part of it, not when Bordatello had a habit of making people _disappear_ , to say in the least. But Lois hadn't given up, not one bit, not with every frank "no" thrown in her face, doors slammed, being laughed out of the room, until finally, Lois struck gold with a small firm outside the city, the only ones who'd agreed to publish the article, but under certain conditions - names, for example, being redacted, lots of "allegedly" sprinkled all over the place. The journalism world was and still is small, and so Lois, aware that word was spreading about her, the "black mark" against her name, unhappily accepted. A compromise of her journalistic and academic integrity, that's what it was, but with career opportunities quickly diminishing, editors hanging up phone calls midway, Lois saw no other way out.

At first, on print of the article, the world was uninterested, and the city of Metropolis even less so. A few rumours floated about, here and there, but with no big names behind the article, no major backing, they were easily dismissed, put to the side, and that was that.

But Lois wouldn't give up, not when she knew she had something worth gold, and so, if newspapers and city firms didn't want to hear her story, then she needed a new media. 

_Radio._

_Television._

After much persuasion, a dinky, small radio station gave her a ten minute slot, and Lois had argued her case passionately, unafraid to spill names and detail out accusations. 

Rumours grew a little more, but still - so long as no-one noteworthy wanted to touch her, not with that story, then Lois had nothing.

Still, she persisted, and after a long, tiring day, she found herself demanding to meet the editor in chief at the _Daily Planet_ , that she had something _big_ , huge, enough to shake those "leaders" into accountability-

but the editor in chief was "unavailable", and Lois had sat in the Planet's lobby, having been dismissed by some floozy in heels and brash lipstick, drenched wet, wondering what to do, when she came to a snap decision: if they didn't want to see her, then she'd _make_ them. Taking a lift back upstairs, she walked into the nearest office she could find, past gaping employees and open cubicles, and slammed her article down, ranting to a much younger, more bemused looking _Perry White_ , assistant to editor in chief, who apparently sat frozen in his chair for a a good minute or three whilst the mad woman with wet hair shouted at him, all as calls to security were being made. Once Perry had gotten over the shock, however, and began to actually _listen_ -

and _read_ the article-

Well, the man had taken one look at the short woman with a fierce temperament, and halted security. The article was good, very good, but to _sell_ , to make people stand to attention- it needed refining, just a little, and with a few edits, corrections, and with a little persuasion on his part, the article was re-released, and Lois's future, hell, the Planet's own, was changed for years to come.

Jason had sat riveted, fascinated by Lois's re-account, her determination to print the truth, whatever the cost, and Clark had listened quietly as Jason revealed just how much work he'd poured into studying that particular article. Checking each and every reference, discussing interviews his wife had done at the time, the threats made to her well-being, and it was amazing, really, seeing Jason talk about something he was so passionate about: a voice for the people, the ability to speak on behalf of another. It dawned on him, that that was _exactly_ what the Hood had represented to the people of Crime Alley, Latin America's favelas, rickety shanty towns, thin, malnourished children with poor prospects, even poorer surroundings. To Superman, the Hood was a vigilante, a serious threat to proper justice, a mockery of the law, but to the people the Hood represented, the Hood _was_ justice, he _was_ the law, _their_ vengeance, their recourse for action, and Clark, as he sat there listening to his wife and Jay argue passionately about ethics, literature, was taken aback by how much he'd....underestimated the man. Superman, to the people, was a distant, unobtainable icon, but the Hood wasn't - he was someone, like them, who'd taken the law into his own hands, who was making a big difference, and they loved him. Rallied behind him. They were the reason why Jason continued his exploits, despite international manhunts, warrants for his arrest. Why crowds chanted his name, _Hood_ , communities protected him, refused to give away his location, hide outs. Teens who had tattoos of that red helmet, children who would mimic the roaring of his motorcycle, the click of his gun.

The Hood was their advocate, and the thought was...unnerving.

Unnerving, because if the _Hood_ was who and what people felt could fight for them, who heard their cries, their pleas, and tried to help them, by doing what the government, their cops and law officials, "couldn't" or "wouldn't", a combination of the two-

then that meant that he, Superman, the very embodiment of justice, law and order, representing fairness and equality, promoting transparency against discrimination and hidden practices-

he and all other institutions claiming to stand by such measures - they had _failed_ their peoples, and the realsiation was _sobering_.

"C, you okay there?" That was Jason now, and Clark found that both he and Lois were staring at him, concerned.

"Sorry Jay, just thinking." The lie wasn't very good; it was obvious neither Jason nor Lois bought it, but they didn't press him on the matter.

"Clark, can't we keep him?" Lois pouted, but Jason only laughed, reaching down to kiss her hand, before holding it tenderly. 

"I'll send you the recipe for that cake I mentioned, I promise."

"You come again soon, you hear? I mean it, Jay. Soon I'll be waddling instead of walking- and it won't be pretty, I'm warning you now." Lois started, joking, but Jason cut her off, tone serious.

"No, you won't. Sure, your feet might get a little swollen, but regular massages will help ease the pressure. Trainers instead of flat shoes, they're less likely to fuck up ya feet in the long run, and they distribute weight more evenly than flats, sandals. Back massages, Clark will be happy to do them all, keep those feet elevated when you can, a little crate or box or stool should do the trick, pillow on top so its nice and soft and doesn't dig into ya heel. Don't forget, a layer under the mattress sheet makes sleep a whole lot easier. Windows open at night, Clark will tie your hair back in the day so it doesn't feel like you're molting, worse thing is that feeling of being all hot and sweaty with bits of hair plastered to ya damn neck. If ya get morning sicknss, fluids for sure, sit up and graze on dry toast, crackers, nice and slow, ita keep ya tummy settled. I-" Jason started, then paused suddenly, clamping his mouth shut, and they stared at him.

"Jay." Lois's voice was quiet. "How do you know all this?"

Jason didn't answer right away. "Dunno. Read it somewhere, I guess."

A _lie_.

It was far more than that, and Lois grabbed hold of the man's hand, but Jason couldn't quite meet her in the eye.

"Whatever its worth, Jason - _thank you._ " She shook the hand, and Jason found it hard to speak, focusing more on the floor.

Clark decided it was time to go. "Jay, c'mon." The man in question seemed relieved by the distraction, the out, and he took it, hugging Lois one last time before settling into the passenger seat. Clark gave his wife a quick kiss, holding her to himself.

"He's a good boy, Clark. Promise me you'll look after him." Lois voice was soft, and she looked up at him, eyes imploring.

Clark kissed her forehead. "I promise. Inside, Lo, rest up. I'll be back soon."

 

 

 _Kent Farm_.

"Have a good time, son?" Pa released Jason from his hug, eyeing the boy carefully. He seemed drained, just a little, though he managed a small smile for Martha, who fussed over him, clucking as she smoothed his cheeks, reaching up to straighten his collar, before taking him by the hand.

"Hot cocoa, hmm? I've got a loaf of hot buttered bread on standby. You have something to eat, and then off to bed with you, could do with a few winks." 

Jason only mildly protested. "But Ma, its the morning, I'm supposed to be up and there's stuff to do-"

"Hush, you. Eat, then sleep. We'll have lunch later, you hear? This way now."

Ma turned to smile at Clark before leading Jason out to the kitchen, and Jon, making eye contact with his son, followed him outside.

"How's ma girl?" Pa started.

"Lois? Oh you know, a _hoot_." Clark smirked as Pa nudged him. "She's fine, Pa. Coming along well, everything seems good so far. We're keeping a close eye on things, appointments, etc."

"Atta boy. You take care of her, you hear?" Pa grinned at his son, before heading to the door, and stopped to place a comforting hand on Clark's arm. "Son, it'll be alright this time. Things will work out, you'll see. Remember, whenever and wherever, we're here, ready to help. All you've gotta do is say the word."

"Thanks Pa." Clark's voice was quiet, and Pa, nodding, led them outside.

"How was he?" They walked out to the edge of the drive, and Pa took a swig of beer.

"Pa! It's only past 11am." Clark admonished, before glancing over his shoulder quickly. "Gimme."

Pa snorted back a laugh, and drew another bottle from his jacket, holding out to his son with a stern look. "Remember, you're driving."

"Doesn't affect me, but fine, I know." Clark sighed, but he was mindful to take very small sips, and Pa nodded, satisfied.

"It was good, Pa. Honestly, we had a real blast, I think Jason really enjoyed it. He did start to flag after a while though, I think the city, seeing all those spots, was a bit too much for him. Overwhelming." Clark glanced at his Pa, who hmmed in agreement. "Much like Bruce, actually."

"They're all like him, son." Pa humphed quietly, and it was Clark's turn to give him a look before taking another sip, a small smile on his face. 

"He's..."Clark started, and tried again. "He's got a lot to work through, he does. Knows an awful lot about pregnancy, kids, I'm not sure how exactly, but its obvious he's had some past experience with that sorta thing, and I-" Clark shook his head, then stared out into the field. "I just know it wasn't good. Awful, and I don't want to ask. He...there's a haunted look in his eyes, like something dark that he tries to keep hidden."

Pa grunted. "I understand, boy."

For a while, they drank their drinks in peace. 

"You know, Damian is pretty curious about Jay."

Pa lifted an eyebrow, surprised. "Bruce's youngest? Is that so? Didn't seem like the type to pay dust to a guy like Jay, if I'm honest. Boy has...certain standards, put it that way."

Clark took a sip. "They have history, those two. You know Talia-Miss Al Ghul, the woman who I brought-"

"Can't forget her, I'm afraid. She leaves quite an impression."

"Yeah, well, she's Damian's Mother."

Pa stared, open-mouthed. "Well I'll be damned." He spoke, eventually. "Makes sense now that you've pointed it out. Eyes, skin- the voice, the way they carry themselves. All his mother, that boy. Barely seen any Bruce in him."

Clark nodded. "It's there, trust me."

"Wait, didn't the Al Ghul woman call herself Jay's _Mother_? So that must make him and Damian brothers. But Diana, Jay too calls her Mom, so how-its a little confusing son, but I'm not judging, I swear." Pa held his palms up.

Clark shifted, crunching gravel under his feet. "It's a long story, Pa. I wasn't around when Jay was a kid, growing up at the Manor, but I know that back then, he and Di were really close. Super close, she loved him as her own, and he loved her enough to call her _Mom_ , at least until he died. With regards to Talia, and how their relationship sorta happened- Jay is pretty tight lipped about the whole thing, and Talia obviously, but those two are close as well. Jay calls her _Ma_ , _Mother_ sometimes when he's getting a telling off from her. I know Talia looked after him for years; the Pit made him really unstable. That's all I know about them. When it comes to Damian, well, that one that I barely know anything about to be honest, but the basic gist is that the two boys, Jason and Damian, actually spent time together when Jason-when Jay was brought back to life. It's all complicated, and we don't really know what happened during that time. From what I can gather, Jason, whether he's aware of it or not, intentional or not, has a deep connection to the kid. They go way back, enough that Jason used to really look out for him as a brother, that kinda thing."

Pa shook his head. "It's like the more you poke around, the more tangled things become."

"Yep. Lots happened when Jay came back, and Damian only found out about Jay knowing his Mom and growing up together not long ago. Since then, the kid's been curious, about a guy who loved or loves him, the same guy who tried to hurt him and his family - I suspect he really wants to know, like sort the missing pieces, but on the other hand, is maybe _afraid_ of finding out the truth, possibly hurting Bruce and Dick in turn. Like his loyalty is with them, not Jason. It's....well,its a lot to take in, I suspect." Clark blew out a breath.

"Basically, I asked Damian if he'd like to come to the Farm one day."

Pa looked at him, an eyebrow slightly raised. "Think that's wise, son? Two strong personalities, under one roof?"

"I...I can't be sure. Might do them both some good, give some closure, understanding, heck, forgiveness maybe? Hell of a stretch, though." Clark traced the ground with his feet. "I know, they're not my family. Not my kids, but I care about them. I care about their dad, he's my friend. And if I...they've been through so much Pa, together and apart, and if, as a distant sort of Uncle, I can help them find their way together, help bring them closer, because it's there, Pa, the familial ties, the connection, its there under the mess, the confusion, all that past anger and hurt."

Pa took his time in answering. "Families are a tricky business, son."

Clark chose not to answer that, swallowing quietly, and Pa let him be.

"Well, if you think its a good idea, then I'm on board, and you can bet ya ass Ma is too. All you gotta do is see how Jay feels about it. Ease him into the idea, don't spring it on the man."

"That's if he's still here, Pa. I think he wants to go....part of him wants that, his independence, his own life, but its as if he keeps drawing back. Kinda like saying "oh, just one more day." Next day comes and again, its "one more day."

"The country can do that to ya. Make you take several steps back and evaluate where you are, and where you wanna be. I figure Jay is doing just that, trying to figure out what he wants from life, whether he's happy, and your Ma and I are in agreement - whether its one more day or ten, the boy's welcome to stay. If being out here helps clear his head, then so be it. Besides, the man's a hoot, and a hard worker. Looks good, much better than he first came."

Clark smiled gently. "Seems like the air out here really agrees with him."

"We're about to start work on ramping up _Maury_ -"

"That old girl's still around? Haven't ridden her since I was a teen." Clark joked, grinning at his Father's eye roll.

"That's what you get for taking off to the city, boy. Miss all the good stuff. Anyway, why don't you drop by, help me and Jay out? Helped us, when we going through a rough patch." Pa swallowed a little, aware that Clark had turned aside. It was hard to believe that at one point, Father and son couldn't stand to be in the same vicinity without coming to an argument. "It did, and hopefully it might help you two, help Jay to be a little more open to sharing if he wants, and then you can broach the idea Damian coming over, eh?

"Sounds good, Pa."

It was now Clark looked back towards the house, noticing Ma with a basket of goods in her hands. Muffins probably, a pie or two if they were lucky.

"No peeking, you."

"Wasn't peeking, honest." Clark grinned back, and the two men steadily made they way back to the house, Clark bending to kiss his Mother's cheek.

"He's sleeping."

Clark nodded. "Good. I know he didn't get much, last night. Could see him curled up into a corner on the floor, staring outside the window."

Martha touched his arm. "He'll be alright, dear. If there's anything, we'll let you know. Now, you-" 

Pa smiled as his wife thrust the basket into his son's hands, fussing over him. "Ma, stop already-"

"Hush, boy. Give Lois our love. Bring her soon, I want to spoil her rotten."

They waved their son goodbye, before retreating to the kitchen, and for a while, Pa worked in silence next to his wife, helping to dry and put away the dishes.

"Anything I need to know, dear?" Martha glanced his way.

Pa thought about how best to phrase it all. "Honestly, too much to tell now, but I'll tell you later. What's important is that our home is a safe space, and that's the best we can do. Now then- I'm off, going to see Hattie and the kids, before stopping by at Maurice. Apparently they have a new litter of pups."

"Oh, how _exciting_. Have fun, I'll see you just after two." A quick peck on the check, and Pa was out the door, cap adjusted, whistling to himself.

Soon, this place would be full of toys, a child running about, high pitched squeals filling the air, and Pa settled down comfortably in his trunk, starting the engine.

Nothing quite like the joy of a full house.


	67. Camp Mountbatten: part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family travel to Camp Mountbatten.

_Highway 34._

Dick made eye contact with his Father in the rear view mirror. 

A tilt to the right, followed by a small, brief smile. _Hang in there, bud_ , Dick correctly interpreted, and he gave the man a smile of his own before surveying the remainder of the car's occupants.

At the front, Tim was sat, legs outstretched, eyes glued to his phone as he furiously texted away, head bobbing to music. The boy had a habit of sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth whenever focused on something, a little pink slither thing, and Dick resisted the urge to flick it. He watched as Tim let out a grin, a small shake of his head, and a tiny snort the boy emitted had both Dick and Bruce making eye contact with each other again at the sound, amused. It was probably Jason his brother was texting, and Dick's smile lessened, turning sad and forlorn. He switched his attention to Damian, who sat across from him, distantly staring out of the window, a novel of sorts in his lap. He too was listening to music, but it was more of a distraction that anything else. They'd left the Manor on time this morning with minimal fuss, Tim barely looking at his younger brother as he took to sitting next to Bruce - Damian had opened his mouth to protest, but seemingly remembering what he'd promised, allowed the manoeuvre, sitting behind with only a _Tt_ to his credit. Dick had tried to liven things up by games, _I spy_ , that sorta thing, but he struggled to maintain the facade, and eventually conceded defeat, staring out pf the window. They knew he was trying, but once again, Dick swallowed - it wasn't enough, and he'd spent the last half an hour twiddling his thumbs, devoid of reading material. Yes, he could have listened to music, but Dick had hesitated, not wanting to unplug from the world just in case one of his brothers wanted to strike conversation. Alas now he sat, wondering if this was just one big mistake. Tim had called him out on it, hadn't he? _Flowery bullshit...."pretense"_ , and Dick, swallowing, turned away, missing three pairs of eyes watching him. 

God, he was _such_ a disappointment sometimes.

It was a wonder why Barbara put up with him, even with their tumultuous history. His off-again, on-again girlfriend was currently at physiotherapy, and wouldn't be around til next week at the latest.

Dick closed his eyes.

Did they really need him, truly? It didn't seem like it - more like he was the one clinging on with every ounce of his might, but his brothers remained slipping through his fingers. Even Damian seemed...Dick wasn't sure - tired maybe? Immune to his hugs, or had he developed such a numbing tolerance to satisfy him? He'd been so wrapped up in carving out something of his own independence, a life, that returning to the Manor nowadays felt more and more _foreign_ , and Dick had found the shift frightening, enough that he oversupplied hugs and cheery smiles to make up for his absence, but Dami, his baby brother, was growing every day. More and more settled without him, just like Tim, who was practically an adult all by his teenaged self, fucking Vice President for crying out loud, and it was all so...so disorientating.

They were part of him, his identity, what _made_ him, _drove_ him, and Dick knew he was losing, bit by bit, till there'd be nothing left but fragments, threads, scattered. That's why this little outing he'd painstakingly organised _had_ to work, it just _had_ to, or else-

Something small and lithe was suddenly in his hands, and Dick turned his head, blinking back tears.

Damian stared at him, hand in his. "Grayson. We've been calling your name." His voice was quiet.

Dick laughed awkwardly, brushing his eyes with a sleeve, embarrassed to have been caught out. "Sorry, just-" He waved his hand aimlessly, unable to look at them directly.

"Dick, you alright?" That was Tim now, and suddenly, all attention was on him. Dick shifted, tugging at his collar. 

"Just-" He wound down the window, taking in a breath. "Fresh air, that's all I needed."

Tim wasn't convinced - those eyes said it all, and neither was Damian. Dick squeezed the hand in his before letting go. "I'm fine. Might actually take a nap, if you don't mind." He slouched back into his chair, not waiting-or wanting, rather- to hear their response and closed his eyes, pretending to enjoy the breeze, but his throat felt tight.

A shift indicated that they were leaving the matter for now, but Dick could feel their eyes on him, and he turned away even more, willing himself to hide.

Never had he felt so lonely.

 

 

_Camp Mountbatten, several hundred miles away._

They all knew it couldn't have lasted. The peace, that is.

Damian _struggled_ against the hands holding him back, ignoring Grayson's pleading. "You _stupid_ , fool! Look what you've done!" He let loose a stream of the vilest curses he knew in Arabic, and continued to reach for Drake, who equally shouted back at him, long spindly limbs held back firmly by Father. "Idiot! Waste of space- _unhand_ me Grayson!" Damian paid no mind to the other families who stared at them, clearly shocked at the antics.

"What, in the actual _fuck_ is your problem, brat? Let go of me, B- no, seriously, you need help, mental fucking help. The hell is wrong with you? It was just one little sheet!" Tim fought back, red faced, a dark bruise appearing on his cheekbone, shirt dirty and torn.

"Dami, Little D, calm down, alright? It was only a blank sheet, there was nothing on it, I promise-" Grayson started, a poor attempt to somewhat pacifiy him, voice in his ear, arms across his chest, but Damian lashed out, pounding against the man, furious. 

How _dare_ Drake do such a thing. The boy had _no_ right, absolutely none at all. Damian had been helping his Father set up the tents when Grayson and that useless idiot, _Drake_ , returned from the woods, laughing about something or other. He'd taken a few minutes from writing in his notepad to watch them attempt to start a fire, holding back a smile at their clear lack of survivorship skills, quite entertaining, before Father had called him over. At one point, Drake had looked his way, noticing his amusement, and the two had shared something light-hearted for once. Upon his return however, on seeing Drake, of all people, tear off a sheet from _his_ notepad and light it, before throwing it on the log pile, tossing the item back to where it came from - Damian had lost it, and without thinking, had _lunged_ at the older boy, a flurry of punches all at once.

Plain sheet or otherwise, Drake should not have touched his possessions without permission, and in such a careless manner too. Worse than that, however, was this: that notepad was the _same_ notepad that Damian had so far been using to jot down the simple thoughts, ideas, and themes he'd derived from his research surrounding _Todd_ , and it made him angry. Angry, because neither Drake nor the rest had any idea of what he was up to, or how much that notepad meant to him. He'd been writing in that pad nearly every day now, multiple times on some days, jotting down little bits here and there, and the more he wrote, the more this... _connection_ , whatever he'd once possibly shared with Todd, came to life. An understanding that had been growing, gradually, steadily, about the boy who made the man, why literature was his ultimate escape, what drove him, his morals, his passion for others, and the more Damian read, the more drawn he felt to Todd. It was new, very strange, and yet it felt long overdue, this discovery. He'd brought the damn thing along because it was a chance to try and step into Todd's shoes, the boy, who had to fend on himself in the world, in all manner of conditions, and Damian wanted the experience, as close as he could emulate. But the family - Grayson- would not understand, would feel hurt by the betrayal, Drake who might try and stop him, and so Damian had been careful to keep his notepad to himself, away from prying eyes. Ans now Drake had ripped away a page, just like _that_ , not thinking of course, and the thought enraged him once more.

" _Imbecile_ of the lowest order." Damian hissed, unable to stop himself. "Do not _ever_ lay a hand on my possessions again- believe me, should you and your empty head fail to comprehend-" Damian lunged at Drake again, but this time, it was Drake who cut him short.

"God I _hate_ you. I-I _hate_ you, _so_ much." The viciousness in the older boy's tone caused the camp to hush, and Damian found himself suddenly still, chest thumping as the words filled the clearing, a voice so level, so determined, but eyes of ice and hatred. "I- I can't _believe_ I thought you were capable of change- you're _not_ , Damian. You're the same as always, a spoilt, selfish, stuck up little brat whom nothing is ever good enough for, and I-I wish _Bruce_ had never taken you in." Drake spat.

Damian froze.

"Alright, that's enough Tim. _Enough_ , you don't mean that-" Father cut in, something angry in his voice, and shook the boy firmly by the shoulders, but Drake slapped Father's hands away, prying himself free.

"Tim, stop, please stop, alright -Dames, we're sorry, it was a mistake, a misunderstanding little brother. C'mon Timmy, don't be like this, alright, Dami is sorry, he's just protective about his stuff-" Grayson pleaded, but Drake paid no attention to him.

"No, I _do_ Bruce. I hate that I have to share you, you and Dick with _that_ creature, fucking joke that is, I-I _hate_ that we all have to bend over for that demonic piece of _shit_ , I really do. He's not worth it." Drake shook his head, advancing forward, and Bruce pulled him back. 

"Tim, listen to me. We are a _family_ , Damian is your brother, and you don't mean this son, none of this. I know you're angry right now but just _think_ about what you're sayi-"

"I wish _Jason_ were here, instead of you, I, I wish it was just me and him and Dick, not _you_ , not anything to _do_ with... Hell, I...I wish you'd _died_ instead of Jay, that we'd buried _you_ six feet under, _not_ Jay, that-that- I mean it with every _fucking_ bone-" Tim choked out. "Hell, that you'd never even been _born_ -"

Bruce _slapped_ the teen round the face so _hard_ , the slight _crack_ of the boy's jaw cut into the clearing, and the camp went deathly quiet.

Damian couldn't move. His stomach plummeted, and his face felt numb. His arms, they were so cold, so cold and heavy, responsible for a weight too burdensome to bear, and his eyes stung.

The air was still.

 _No-one_ moved. 

Even's Grayson's arms around him had gone completely slack.

Drake's eyes were wide with shock, one side of his face _red_ , and the boy's lean frame trembled as he stared up at Father, Father who seemed to be in shock himself, far too pale, staring at Drake.

"Jesus. B, what...what have you done. Oh. On no." Grayson's voice was unnaturally high, and now Damian detected a ringing in his ears, a low pinging in the background. He tried to swallow, but his mouth, it -it was dry, his throat wouldn't work, and now there was this hollow sensation in-in his tummy, circling his belly button, eating at him, gnawing and chewing. Without warning, his body moved, lurching forwards, stumbling, moving of its own accord, and Damian did move, past trees, snapping branches under his feet, head light all of a sudden, dizzy, shouts drowning from behind as the pace increased, faster and faster, wind whipping in his ears a-and-

Drake-

wished him _dead_?

That he, to have died-

buried-

 _not_ Todd-

Drake wished h-he him to have never-

 

 

"B, B, fuck, _Bruce_ , for fuck's sake-" Dick was suddenly in his line of vision, eyes wide, mouth moving, but for some reason, Bruce couldn't understand what his eldest was saying. 

How the hell had they ended up like this?

They'd arrived at the camp a few hours ago, meeting a few other families of similar ages, who seemed pleasant enough, respectful to keep their distance. Lunch too had been rather nice - Alfred had kindly packed them a generous amount to see them through till dinner time, upon which Bruce, and his children, would face the daunting task of preparing, cooking, and eating the work of their _very_ inexperienced hands. Conversations between the boys had been kept fairly genial, Tim had smiled a few times, managing to sit next to Damian without much bother, and both Bruce and Dick had shared a relieved smile, though his eldest couldn't quite hide the tiredness in his eyes. Bruce had made a mental note to spend time with the man sometime during their stay, and for the rest of the afternoon, after a short tour of the area, they had decided to set up camp, hoping for a quick rest before dinnertime.

And then things had gone straight to _hell_ , with his two youngest children missing as a result.

The look on Tim's face...and _Damian's_ -

"B, we need to find them! Fuck, _Bruce_!" There it was, that voice again-

"Bruce, snap out of it, alright! Shit shit shit-"

It finally registered - Dick- _Dick_ was talking, and though he was trying to not to draw more attention to them, already too late anyway, it was obvious he was panicking.

"Dick." Bruce opened his mouth, then closed it again. He couldn't do this as Bruce. " _Dick._ " Batman spoke, and his son seemed to subconsciously register the change.

"You look for Damian, I'll find Tim. Somewhere high up, try the Moon trail first, then Harehunt." Dick nodded, map in hand, relieved for some direction. "It's getting darker, take a flashlight. Is your phone working?"

Dick checked his phone, swearing quietly, and Bruce nodded once. "Talkies, green backpack, Robin gear is at the bottom. Find Damian, and radio in. We'll come to you. Mark where you've been - if you get lost, radio for mountain rescue, don't wait for us." 

"I'm not going _anywhere_ without my little brothers." Dick's voice was fierce, and Bruce only nodded as he movved past, mind assembling the itinerary he'd need. He looked up from their tent, noticing whispers in groups of twos, threes, and in the distance, two mountain rangers were fast approaching. "I'll brief them, you go on, get a head start."

"We have to find them, B." The tone was hard, and Bruce knew that the man was blaming himself. Time was of the essence however, and the "it wasn't your fault" speech could be given later. Bruce straightened up, map under his shoulder, and squeezed his son's shoulder before leaving.

"We'll find them."

 

 

 _Just after 7pm_.

Tim stumbled back onto the nearest tree trunk, cursing as hopped about on one foot, leg stinging.

This was the third time he'd cut himself, courtesy of the forestry, and he clenched his fists, fighting down thoughts of home, Alfred, warmth and safety. 

"Fuck fuck _fuck_ what have I done?". Tim slapped a hand to his forehead before bending to examine the cut. Three, maybe four inches, less than a mm deep for sure, so fairly shallow. Not near an artery, good, but the bleeding would continue for a while. Thankfully he'd worn long sleeves today, and Tim store a strip of the material, bunching it up to hold against the wound whilst he figured out what to do.

He knew it wasn't too late in the evening, but the mountainous area, along with dense foliage in parts, meant that it was getting darker far quicker than normal, and- just his luck- his phone had died not long ago, battery drained by the use of his torch. 

Shit, he hadn't realised just how _badly_ he'd lost control until it-it...until Bruce-

It was the shock, it had to be, and Tim couldn't blame the man. No Father would want a son wishing another son dead, after losing one, all that pain, the grief, and Tim swallowed painfully, remembering just how shaken Bruce had looked, right down to the core. Eyes empty and...and _lost_ , like the memories were assaulting him, picking out flowers for a dead kid, a ghost of a room-

Tim took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, but _Damian's_ face wouldn't leave him, those big wide, green eyes, they kept staring at him, so _open_ to read and clearly _crushed_ by his words, and acid rise in his throat, _bilious_ and punishing, rightfully so. It took a few moments to force it all down, having to focus all his concentration on _finding_ Damian, bringing him back. That he'd said all those things....even in the heat of anger, to wish Damian _dead_? To state his preference for Jay to have lived, instead of a twelve year old kid?

Tim knew there was no forgiving what he'd said, no way.

Yeah, Damian had lost it - why, he couldn't be too sure, but it was clear that the notepad, or rather, the _contents_ of that notepad were important to him. It wasn't as if he'd looked anyway - all he had done was to take a sheet from the back and light it, figuring it was no big deal, but he'd been mistaken, and his mistake had cost them all dearly. Now, instead of laughing over burnt spaghetti and tasteless soup, Damian, his so called younger brother, was alone in the woods, fucking missing, and neither of them knew the area in detail, or had access of a map, light, food, help. The longer they were out here, the worse the dangers would become - wild animals were known to the area, predatory natives - the rangers had emphaised the necessity of putting out fires before bed, clearing their sites of rubbish to discourage foraging from the animals, and now he'd done it, crushed his little brother's heart and demolished his self-esteem, shell-shocked Bruce, Dick's whose voice was so high, disbelieving-

In his anger, Tim took his mind off the path.

A patch of wet mud sent him sliding, and Tim fell, hard, _a crack_ , blinding pain, then a _whoosh_ , rolling downhill fast, till his shirt miraculously snagged onto something, stomach scrapped raw, and he _screamed_ -

 

 

Damian looked up sharply at the sound. It was getting darker by the hour, colder too, and he curled himself from the cliff face, stepping forward.

It was small, but he'd heard it nonetheless- sharp, fearful, _familiar_ , and his heart began racing.

"Hello?" He called out, cautiously, one hand wiping his face quickly.

No response.

His chest beat faster. Wild animal? He knew of a few animals who'd developed the ability to mimic human sounds. No doubt they had the advantage out here, with him devoid of materials and equipment. His family maybe? Yes, Father would be looking for h-

 _Would_ he? Would _they_? Why even bother? After all, Todd had been treasured before his death. Accepted too, by Father, Pennyworth, Drake, who'd looked up to him as his robin. Why was he any different - Todd bore no relation whatsoever to Father, and yet, any mention of the man's name brought all sorts of emotions, confusion, memories, and worst of all, _regret_.

Another sound this time, a cry, broken and pained, and Damian tensed all over, for he _knew_ that sound. It was the same one he'd heard one night hours after finishing patrol, and Red Robin had limped in, cradling a broken arm. He'd looked so... _defeated_ walking into the cave, half dragging, and the boy had collapsed into Pennyworth's arms, shaking, before these-these _sounds_ , sobs- broken, dejected, and back then, Damian had smirked at the teen, weak, pitiful, a waste of his Father's name, before retreating upstairs to Grayson, who insisted on reading to him before going to bed.

"Drake?" Damian called, voice shaky, but he'd never admit to being scared.

No response.

Damian felt a shiver of fear now. What if it wasn't- " _Drake_?" He tried again, persistent, and this time, a groan rang out, unintelligible, before the teen finally called back, words slurred. 

"D....d-Damian?"

Something cold entered his bones, and before he could even register moving, Damian was running, whipping through trees, focused on reaching the older boy. If anything were to happen-

_No._

No, nothing would happen, because Damian refused to _let_ it. He paused, tracking what little light was left. 

"Drake? Where _are_ you?"

A groan, more groaning, and Damian forced himself to _not_ roll his eyes - it sounded like Drake needed help, incompetent boy. Or maybe medical attention, and now Damian felt a little guilt creep in.

"Dami? I...I can't move, I don't think. My head...hu- _hurts_." Unease rose in his chest, and Damian picked up the pace. "Hold on, Drake. You must keep talking if you want me to locate you in time."

Drake mumbled something and then the voice became more drowsy, which was alarming. Head concussion? Those things could easily take a turn for the worst, and Damian swallowed. "Drake! _Talk_!" He ordered.

"Sorr...Dames, I'm s-so.... _sorry_. Sorry...I'm-I'm _sorry_." The voice hitched, regretful, and Damian pushed down a flare of anger, concentrating on reaching the older boy. The path took a sharp turn however, branches heavily entwined, and Damian stumbled, then fell, and kept falling, wind rushing past his face. He put out an arm blindly, hoping to snag onto something, and thankfully he did, but a sharp _yank_ , a sudden _slam_ into something hard, then a _twist_ at his ankle, and Damian _clamped_ his lips shut, or at least he tried to, but the shriek came out nonetheless.

"Damian? Dames, is that you?" Drake's voice was suddenly clearer, firmer, somewhere above him, and Damian forced himself to take deep breaths, slow and steady, through his nose, but the _pain_ \- his ankle, it was on _fire_ , and he winced, eyes tightly shut, head dizzy. To his mounting horror, the sound of water lapping beneath entered his haze, and Damian opened his eyes, realising, heart dropping into his stomach, that he was only mere feet from certain death, stuck on a cliff ledge. He shifted, aiming to adjust his grip, downplaying his panic, but the move only caused him to _slide_ further, just a little, and Damian gasped, wet mud slicking to his shirt, seeping into his shorts.

"Damian. Where-I'm coming, han- hang on, aah fuck-" Drake swore, closer now, and Damian tried to keep his voice level when he next spoke.

"Drake, I am not far from you; I estimate no more than a few feet east from your position." 

"Ok-ookay, gim- gimme a minute." Drake's heavy breathing became louder. "Where-oh fuck. _Fuck_. Fuck, Oh God, ok-aay, D- don't look down. Fuck fuckity fricking -"

Wet plods, branches snapping, and eventually Damian made out a muddied, lean figure, bottom shirt missing, stomach raw, eyes roaming quickly. The older boy's movement were jerky, a little disorientated, disappearing from view then reappearing, and Damian swallowed, throat tight. It was likely that in this state, and if they remained here much longer, rescuers would find _two_ bodies to find at the bottom of this cliff edge. 

"Drake."

The older boy mumbled incoherently, hands shaking as the moved up and down.

" _Drake_!"

"Hmm? D, Dm, Damian I'm comi, I'm-hold on, I'm c-coming." Drake seemed to speak on autopilot, and began lowering himself down.

"No- _no_ , no! Drake! _Drake_! Listen to me, just _stop_! Remain where you are, you'll have us both killed you _fool_." Damian shouted, desperation leaking into his tone, but the teen seemed deaf to his basic instructions.

Drake continued his incessant mumbling, agitated, incoherent, and Damian's stomach twisted further. _Delirium_.

They were in serious trouble now.

"Drake! For the love of- Drake! Stay there - _DO NOT COME DOWN._ DRAKE!" Damian tried in vain to reach the older boy, but Drake paid no attention. To make matters worse, the boy's movement began to shift the mud beneath him even further, thus pushing _Damian_ down and ever closer to the cliff edge.

"Must...nearly there Dam- hold on, I'-I'm coming. Won' w-won't let you go, can't can't can't I'm there, there, h-hold." Drake chanted, and now Damian flailed around, undeniably panicking, because the sledge was too wet to maintain a firm hold, and there was nothing - no rock or branch or groove to deep a heel in, a hand to wrap around and keep the both of them steady.

" _DRAKE_! Please, _listen to me_! Stop moving - we're going to fall, fool, stop! _Stop_ _**MOVING!**_ " Damian shouted.

"Mov-moving, moving, coming _I'm coming_ , Dami, coming coming, gonna get you, won't let...let you go..."

Drake had stopped directly above him, sneakers less than a ruler away from his face, and Damian didn't dare look down, heart in his mouth. "Drake, stop, we're too close to the edge, too close-"

"Climb, Damian." Drake's voice was oddly steady, and the man twisted somewhat painfully to look at him, face half bloodied already. His abdomen looked raw, and Damian imagined just how much moving made the area sting.

" _Climb_?!" Damian swore his eyes were _this_ close to popping out of his head, and he swore harshly in Arabic. "Have you lost your mind, Drake? Climb _where_ -"

"Up, Damian." Drake's voice was soft. "C...Climb up, me. _Up_." 

Damian stared at the man. "Drake, stop this nonsense right now." He looked around desperately, but it sank in quickly that this was the best way out.

Drake was staring at him, waiting.

"Drake." Damian shook his head, dizzy. His mouth felt dry. "I-please, don't. I cannot."

The man's eyes were soft. "I'll be right behind you. Prom-"

"No, _no_." Damian barked, not caring how harsh he sounded. "Do not- _don't you dare_ , don't- do not make promises you cannot keep, I _forbid_ it."

Drake smiled, a silly thing, and it only made Damian more frustrated. "Up, Get back up _now_ , Drake. You have a head injury, your thinking has been compromised-"

"I'm fine, t-thanks for ass-asking." Drake closed his eyes briefly, but it felt longer than that, and Damian's heart stopped. 

"Drake, eyes open. Open wide, and keep talking. We need to-" Damian went for decisive, commander, but the mud, it kept sludging on his face, beneath his stomach, shifting him down bit by bit, and the waves became louder. He moved again, and this time, they jolted, Damian only just managing to hang on, though the movement caused him a great amount a pain.

"Dami, I'm sorry. I'm so _sorry_." Drake whispered, heartbroken, and Damian couldn't look at him, at those eyes, not with the way his own were close to spilling, and he ignored the man, looking for vines, something thick, sturdy, anything-

"I don't h-..hate you, I swear on my..on my d-dead pa-parent's graves. I don't I don't. It-"

"Hold on, I think I see something-" Damian used one hand to dig into the mud to his left, but the cliff face was smooth, and he cursed silently.

"Jay- I....not, I never...I never meant to say any of....Jay, I would _never_ want him-h-him and you-you." Drake struggled with the words, and Damian pushed it all away, forcing himself to think, to look to-

"He-J-J-Jay, he loves you, I know he, he-...h-he _loves_ you, so-so much, I can tell, ev-...even after-...still after. He regrets h-hurting you...and I..I do, I do, it looks like I don't c-care o-or ...-but I-" Drake's words became more slurred, and Damian fought to remain calm, ignoring just how much his hands were shaking.

They- he, and Jason, they... _him_? But- Drake said an-and _Todd_ , the man had tried to-

"You...you make it _hard_ , Damian, to-to love you sometimes-s, but..b-but that doesn't mean- it'-" Drake closed his eyes again, nodding off, and Damian shook the boy's leg, forgetting the fire at his ankle. 

"We'll sleep once we are free from this hell, _open. your. eyes._ " His tone was abrupt, but his panic couldn't be masked adequately.

"I...it-it doesn't mean I don't _love_ you, Damian."

Damian stopped moving.

Drake watched him for a moment, and then closed his eyes. "I do, you know. D-...desp-de...despite everything, I do. I...it's in my blood, pro _tect_ you. Look-look out for _you_. A.............always. Al-always has been a-an...and will. Will...be."

Damian's chest was tight. "Of all things to be rambling on about-" He looked up and instead found Drake's eyes shut, mouth slightly parted, and Damian's heart rate _tripled._

"Drake. Drake! OPEN YOUR EYES, DRAKE-" Damian shouted at the boy, shaking his leg, pinching him, but Drake made no response, and he-everything-everything _slowed_ down, like-

"Drake!" Damian shook the boy as hard as he possibly could. " _Drake_!"

No response.

Damian gave up all pretense of calm, voice shaky. "Drake, answer me! _Drake_!"

No response.

Damian cursed, blood rushing through his ears. " _Drake_!" His fingers fumbled for a pulse in the teen's leg, but the mud- it was too much, too thick, slippery, and Damian cried out as he shifted, twisted ankle jolting.

"Drake please, please, open your eyes. _Please, Drake._ " Damian's vision was blurry.

No response.

Damian reached up to grab the boy's hand, ignoring the screaming of his muscles as they protested the strain. Cool, too thin and pulse, pulse, God, it-it was or wasn't he- Damian gulped and shook it. "Drake, Drake, stop this maddness, just stop this and wake up, wake up!"

No response.

"Brother, I..I cannot, I cannot let you go, you cannot go, th-this- Grayson, this will kill him, kill Father, Pennyworth wil-will- Drake, _I beg of you_ \- OPEN YOUR EYES." Damian pleaded desperately.

No response.

Blinking through tears, Damian began to blindly recite how to do CPR, teeth clattering. "A..a-alert, no, no response to voice. B-breath..breathing breathing, I-I don't know I can't _see_ -"

"Damian! Tim!" Grayson's voice suddenly cut into the air, and Damian slumped against the teen above him, thanking everything under heavem for the older man. 

" _Grayson!_ " Damian screamed with all his might. "We're here! Hurry!" He didn't care how young or childish or _desperate_ he sounded - Drake needed attention, and _fast_.

"I'm coming! Oh God- where are you guys-" The voice became louder, and Damian did his best to shout, aware that Drake's now unconscious form was pushing the two of them further down the cliff face. A couple more centimetres and his feet would be dangling freely.

"Drake! He's-" Damian's voice was strangled. "Concussion, most likely, I cannot...I-I cannot rule out a head injury. Superficial abdominal wound, leg too."

"Hang on lil D, I'm coming, I'm coming. Okay-Okay I think, yeah, I'm here! I see you-" A flashlight was suddenly in his face, and Damian winced, the source blinding.

" _Shit_. Oh shit shit, okay hang on!" Grayson was directly above them, and Damian closed his eyes in relief on hearing a _thud_ of something fairly heavy being put to the ground. Emergency gear, thank heavens for Father.

"Okay Dames, I've got some rope, its secure. I need to you _climb up_ -" Grayson called out, but Damian cut him short.

" _No._. Drake, he must go first. I-I cannot leave him." Damian glanced at the older boy, who did not respond. "Drake." He muttered quietly. "Help has arrived."

Drake's eyes remained shut.

"Damian! Up, now! There's not enough for the both of you - I will get to Tim, I _swear_ , I won't let him go. You need to trust me, Dames."

Damian hesitated, unwilling to move. " I don't care- Drake must go _first_. Father, where is Fath-"

"Damian!" The tone was sharp, uncompromising, and Damian knew it was _Nightwing_ talking. "You're too close to the edge. I have only one safety harness, and I cannot get to Tim until I have your guaranteed safety. The ledge is unstable already and this is all the rope I have. B's on his way, but we don't have any more time to waste, alright? Now - _climb on up_ , **now**."

Damian swallowed, taking a look at Drake. "You must not leave us. You cannot, and you musn't." He swallowed painfully, and began to climb up his brother, trying as hard as he could to be gentle, light, but the mud weighed him down, and he had no choice but to put his entire weight on the teen if he wanted to make it back up. His ankle was another matter, however, and moving it had him gasping out in pain.

Another light suddenly appeared. "Damian, its me. Are you alright?" Father- no, _Batman_ 's deep voice came through, and Damian took a moment to catch his breath, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Fine, Drake, he's-" He gasped out, but Batman was brisk.

"Injuries."

"Drake. Potential Head injury or concussion, currently unconsciousness. No prior vomiting but delirious and disorientated. Left leg: shallow 3-4 inch linear wound. Large, abdominal, superficial contact graze-"

"Yourself."

Damian heaved himself up and gasped out, heart thumping. "Ankle. R-right ankle. Sprained, not broken. Unable to weight bear." He tried to move again, but his arms trembled with the strain, and he flopped down against the ledge, Tim's head by his knee. "Father." He moaned out, exhausted by the efforts he'd exerted to keep him and Drake stable on the cliff ledge.

"Hold on, Damian. I'm coming." Something else was being strapped, a wire, rope, he wasn't sure, but Damian no longer had the energy to care, and he sank his face in the ground, eyes heavy. It wasn't long before a strong pair of arms encircled him, carrying him firmly, and Damian curled in tighter to big, warm chest, cologne faint. He felt a pair of lips press at the side of his temple, then at his head. 

"Rest, son. I've got you now." The voice was low, soothing.

"Drake." Damian tried to turn, tried to look at the teen, but a hand behind his head prevented such movement. "Damian, I've got to take you up first, before I can reach Tim. Don't worry, Dick is with him. We'll have him up in no time." Damian was too tired to fight back, cold, in far too much pain, and even nodding a great effort, and so he held onto his Father, climbing higher and higher, till they were met with a small number of individuals, lights flashing, and Damian felt himself pawed off gently onto a trolley before being wheeled away.

"My..my brother." He could hear himself saying, but someone shushed him, a female voice. They-they didn't understand, and so he tried again, louder, but hands, they kept pushing at him, to stay back, to cal- _calm down_ , and now something fearful pricked at him, that-that _Drake_ , Drake was still down there, still hurt and it-it was his fault, his own fault for lashing out at the man so unnecessarily, that if-if-if- _ififif_ only, if only he'd demonstrated self control, basic, self _control_ , then Drake, he wouldn't be- wouldn't be down there, bleeding, hurt, wouldn't have come looking for him, and the guilt, it _ate_ at him, and Damian cried out, _I'm sorry, I-I am, I am so-_ "

 

 

 _Mountbatten medical centre, early hours of the morning_.

Damian frowned, and then shifted.

What on earth- 

He shifted again, and tried to sit up, but something warm at his ankle had him moaning, a dull thunder of an ache, warm, and then hands, hands were on his chest, a voice, a-

"Dames, its just me." 

It was too dark, dead eyes, lips pale and bloodless, rivets of blood an-an-

"Damian, wake up son." 

_Father_.

Damian's eyes flew open now, and he gasped, panicking a little, but Bruce caught him, and held him, rocking him gently.

"Son." The voice was audible even through his panting. "Calm down. Focus on the sound of my voice."

Damian held on tightly, trying hard to place himself. "Where- what- _how_ -" His voice was hoarse.

"There was an accident. You've got a sprained ankle and a few bruises-"

It came back to Damian now, _Drake_ , and he immediately began to set himself free. _Drake_ , he had to see him, those eyes, they-they never opened, and the blood, all that blood against pale, deathly white skin and cracked lips and an-

"Shush, _shush._ " Another voice, younger, familiar, and a pair of intense blue eyes met his. "Dami poo, its just me. Dick, its me. It's alright, I promise, I know you're-"

" _Drake_ " Damian gasped out, and he struggled to break free. "He-he was hurt, I have to make sure he's okay-"

"Damian, look at me." 

Damian opened his eyes, and for a moment, there was silence, Bruce's hands holding his. "We're in the local medical centre. Tim suffered a concussion. They sent him to the hospital earlier, the one not far from here for a CT scan, and it came back normal - no bleeding, no fractures. Your brother did need several stitches for a nasty cut at the back, but apart from that, he should be okay. They want to monitor him for a few hours before giving the all clear."

Damian slumped against his Father. "I-" He tried, meeting two sets of concerned eyes, and looked away again, at the far wall. "I. I never meant to-"

"We know." Grayson gave him a small, sad smile, dark purple circles under his eyes, and Damian swallowed. All his eldest brother had wanted was for them to spend time together this week-end, and now he'd made a mess of things.

"Hey, kiddo." Grayson tapped his knee gently, but Damian couldn't look at him. "Not your fault, alright. Don't go blaming yourself for any of this-"

"It _is_ my fault." He whispered. "If only...it was just a sheet, just one and I...and now Drake, as a result of my immaturity, lack of self-control and-" His tone turned bitter, and it was Father's turn to stop him, hugging him tight.

"Why did he do it?" The sound was distant to his ears.

The question hung in the area for several moments.

"What do you mean, Dames? Why wh-"

"Why did he come looking for me?" Damian stared at the wall. "He...he was so _angry_ , and yet he- Drake- he _came_ for me. And even when I-" He swallowed, looking down at his fingers in his lap. "Even when I told him to stop, to go, Drake wouldn't listen. He refused, he kept coming down, and I-I don't understand, Father, I-" 

Grayson took his hands, but Damian pushed them away, pushed himself from his Father's embrace, and began to limp to the door, ignoring the pain. "Where is-I need to see him."

"Damian, sit down. You need to rest that ankle, and Tim is still sleeping."

"D, listen to Dad alright? Here, how about we read something before getting some shut eye-" They moved towards him, but Damian backed out.

"Drake. _Where_ is he? I-I _need_ \- Father, please. I...I must see him."

The two men looked at him, and then each other.

"Alright." Father eventually countered, and Damian felt guilty, seeing the man so weary and dire in need of rest. "We'll take you to see him, but then its off to bed, no excuses."

Damian nodded dumbly.

They made their way down a series of rooms, finally reaching a small side room. Damian stayed by the entrance of the doorway as Father and Grayson entered, smoothing pale sheets over the even paler figure, unnaturally still apart from the slow rising of his chest. Drake seemed smaller than usual, more vulnerable this way, and it made him afraid, somehow, that this boy, one with him he'd spent so long at odds with, had come so close to-to...that Drake had been willing to give it all up, for him, because-

"Damian?" Grayson knelt in front of him and after a pause, offered a hand.

He swallowed and began reaching for the man's hand, but whether it was fear, or-or the fact that Drake had- Damian withdrew, suddenly all to aware of how _real_ \- how close this all had been, that they'd been close to burying-

"Damian?" Grayson reached for him again but Damian flinched, and Grayson stopped, eyes confused and hurt. 

"Grayson, I...I didn't mean to-" Damian stammered, wanting his brother to understand that it wasn't him, it _wasn't_ , not Grayson, but Grayson quickly masked the look, plastering on a fake cheery smile, but the eyes said it all.

"It's okay Dami poo, I understand. It's a lot to take in." His brother nodded, but Damian didn't buy the act, and out of the corner, with Father watching their interaction, Damian knew he didn't buy it too.

"I-" Damian shook his head, staring at the bed, bandaged knuckles, and then- the _walls_ they were closing in-

moving, they wouldn't _stop_ -

faster, the air become tighter, and now Damian felt it, that strain, the effort each breath drew from him, and he backed out now, slowly, slowly, away from arms that tried to grab him, to his room, slamming the door shut, lights off, and scrambling into the corner, Damian curled into the darkness, thoughts racing.

_Why?_


	68. Camp Mountbatten: part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick gets some much needed encouragement. Tim tries to make amends.

_Canteen_.

The deer looked back at him, almost curious. Small, sleek, a little wobbly on the legs, but those eyes bore into him, searching, as if- as if it just _knew_ what he was thinking.

Dick stared at the creature.

The deer regarded him a little more, and then bent its nose to the ground, antlers brushing the grass. Quietly, another pair of legs came into view. Stronger, much sturdier, and Dick realised that this was its parent - that frown, posture firm and confident. It too stared back at him, calculating risk, and without so much as a grunt, the older deer turned away, the younger scrambling to keep up.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" A murmur from across him, and Dick remembered to blink now, salt and sting at his vision. Bruce was watching him, that much was obvious - probably taking note of the tension in his shoulders, how he held his jaw tight, dark circles under his eyes. Not that he'd tried to hide it from the man - it seemed as if all his troubles were catching up to him at once, and Dick closed his eyes, heavier than he'd realised.

Something brushed his hand gently, and then a firm pressure could be felt. _Bruce_.

Dick didn't have the strength to squeeze back, not like this, so he left the hand there, waiting for the tight band around his head to dissipate. Bruce let out a non-committal sound, but waited patiently nonetheless. They both knew Dick was always the first to start when it came to these things.

"I...I'm not doing well, B." Dick glanced over to the man, whose eyes were fixed on his. He worked his jaw from side to side, before running a shaky hand through his hair.

God, he was tired.

He tried again, but something stuck in his throat, and Bruce nodded, squeezing his hand once before standing up.

"Let's go for a walk."

Dick gave a tight, grateful smile that didn't quite reach the eyes, and leaving the canteen, they made their way outside in relative silence, coffee mugs still in hand. They continued walking, listening to the chirping of birds as the branches crunched beneath their feet. Where they were going, Dick had no idea, but it was a comfort following Bruce's steady lead, who walked at a comfortable pace at his side, not too fast, and not too slow either. Eventually they reached a small clearing on a hilltop, and Bruce came to pause here, taking in the morning view.

Dick sat down, and brought his knees to his chest. It wasn't cold - the breeze was light enough to feel rejuvenated, along with the fresh air, and yet Dick found it necessary to protect himself, as if bracing for the worst. Bruce took his place next to him, gently brushing his shoulder before making himself comfortable, a small grunt as he shifted.

Dick grinned at the sound. "Old age is a bitch, huh?"

Bruce grumbled, but the sound was fond. "I don't know what you're talking about. You're the one that's old, not me." 

Dick looked away, a small smile on his face, but it melted away soon after. "I'm not doing very well." His voice sounded distant, even to his own ears.

Another grunt from the older man. "I wanted to say something, but I thought you would appreciate the space." Bruce picked his words carefully.

Dick didn't reply straightaway. He gazed at the mountains ahead, absently picking at his shirt sleeves. "Thank you, for that. And it..it helped, a bit, but the longer I keep holding it all in to myself, the worse it gets B, and I-I'm not sure how much more I can take. Can't remember the last time I had a good nights sleep."

"I'm here, Dick." Bruce glanced his way, and then returned to the view ahead. "It doesn't matter the time, place, or whatever that's going on - I'll always be here for you, no matter what." The voice was soft, reassuring, and Dick let himself be swayed, but only for a moment.

"I..." Dick took a few breaths and then tried again. "I feel like I'm losing you guys, one by one. You're here, but you're not... _here_."

A pause, to see if Bruce would interrupt, but the man remained silent, and Dick, somewhat relieved, carried on. "It's...It's been like this for months, B....it started with simple things. Tim, God Tim - he kept withdrawing and withdrawing and I just-I didn't know what to do, it seemed as if no matter how many times I called him or-or tried to reach him, he was either busy or just...so closed off and I swear B, there was a time when it was just-" Dick curled his fist and then released it. "Me and him, and we were fucking inseparable. Like, I knew that kid like the back of my hand, and he-Timmy was-is- the most important person, thing, and I-I don't think I'd ever loved anyone as much as-as...."Dick made a frustrated noise and buried his head in his knees.

"I knew what was happening." His voice was low. "I did, I knew it, I could see how much Damian anatognised Tim, and I...I dunno, I think a part of me automatically assumed that Tim would be fine, alright, that he was already such an independent kid, he'd take care of himself, you know? And lil D, I didn't try hard enough to make him stop, cause I realised that his attacks were rooted in insecurity. Feeling like he had to prove himself worthy of a place here with us, and I- I didn't want that, and I-I didn't want it to seem like I was taking one side over the other, so I just...I let it carry on, in many ways. And with each-" Dick swallowed. "With each insult, Tim, he'd shut down, every time, till he became this...shell, I s'ppose. Like he just morphed into something dark and-and cold when he was around us, and it-I couldn't blame him. And then- then came the revelation that he and...Jason, they'd been in contact. For _years_ , all this time, and none of us had even known, we had no idea that Tim had gone to the extent of reaching out to a guy who'd.... man, and then to realise that the two were close as hell, like proper close, that they were in each others lives and I just...I'd lost him, I knew it then, B, and Tim had found someone else, and I know, it shouldn't be like that, but that's what it is, seriously, that's the truth, and I've been avoiding it for a long time. I overheard you guys talk last year, that night when Tim came to the Manor, and I sat there, just listening to how this skinny twerp of a kid managed to reach out to the Hood all by himself, never gave up, never gave in, and how...how- that they were there for each other in shit we, I never even knew about, and it. And now Dami, God, I can't figure out what's up with that kid-"

Dick tugged his hair, and Bruce pulled his hand away gently. 

"We've talked about it. Timmers, he made me talk, tell him the truth, and I did. That I was- pissed, angry, frustrated, confused.. _jealous_ of Jay, yeah - I was, hell I still am, just a little, but Tim and I, we've hashed it out, and we're better now, better than before, but still a long way off. I-I guess I'm just not the type to be patient, you know? Like I want us back to how we were, right _now_ , but life doesn't work that way. None of this-" Dick waved a hand aimlessly around. "None of it happened at at once - it was a little at a time, and the change was gradual. Time and space, both Tim and Jay said the same thing, Alfred too. And this trip, it was supposed to...be the first step to healing. Smoothing things over."

"Jason said that?" Bruce's voice was quiet.

Dick nodded. "Confronted him at the watch-tower one night." He looked over at Bruce, knowing that his Father knew exactly what he was referring to, and Bruce didn't try to hide otherwise. "I was...convinced he was planning something, I couldn't stand the idea of the guy having anything to do with Tim. Turns out, I was wrong. So very, very wrong."

Bruce stared at him, and then it dawned on him. 

"Definitely misjudged him, and I...I know there's bad blood between us and all, but for Tim and for....for your bestie, well, I owe the guy an apology." Dick smiled ruefully and shook his head. "A year ago, I would have laughed myself silly at the _thought_ of apologising to the Hood, and yet here I am, thinking of doing just that. I..I didn't understand why you guys were so hung up on him. Di, Alfie I get, but Clark, Shayera....it baffled me, but I understand now, I do."

"I'm sorry." Bruce spoke now, looking at him sincerely, and Dick was taken aback. "B, what for-"

"Ever since Jason came back....I was preoccupied, put it that way, on finding ways to reach out to him. I was desperate, and to see him die again-" Bruce swallowed and closed his eyes, pained at the memories. "I made so many mistakes with him, and letting him go-it was the hardest thing I've ever done. He told me, one night in Gerebeta, that him leaving, me not following - it had been the right thing to do. Painful, but right, and I-it gets to me, that I gave up on him. Let him down. I've been focusing so much on Jason that I neglected all of you, my sons - probably because you were here, with me, my own, and yet I had one missing. Took you all for granted, and I'm sorry, Dick, for having not been around. I..I hurt Tim, so much in the process, I barely spoke to you, to Damian, I...I've pushed away friends and-"

Dick reached over to squeeze his Father's hand. "It's okay, B. We know you love us, alright? I don't think any of us can fault wanting you to try and reach Jay, we get it."

"I made a mess of things, Dick, and I'm sorry." The man's face was solemn, and now Dick moved, bringing one arm over to rest across his Father's shoulders. "You're human, B. You made mistakes, but they were out of love more than anything else. I guess the same advice applies to you and me both, time and space huh?"

Bruce chuckled lowly. "God, I hate that phrase."

Dick smiled. "Same here big guy, but its all we've got right now, as wishy washy as it is. Your friends love you. They get it, C gets it. Just...don't push them away too much, you hear?"

There was quiet for a while. "What were you saying about Damian?" Blue eyes watched him carefully.

Dick stiffened. "He...He's been kinda closed off, ever since Bolivia and all that. I guess finding out about his Mother and Jay kinda did it. Like, I can't figure out what's going on with the baby bat right now and I kinda pride myself on being the unofficial bat whisperer. And for the last couple of days, he's not really answered my calls, texts, you know? Just monosyllables, doesn't want to go out, keeps making excuses. I was gonna mention it to Alfred before we left but I got distracted with a couple of things. You...you notice just how close Dami kept that backpack to himself? I mean, the kid loves his stuff, sure, but that back there was a _major_ overreaction. Waay past possessive, if you ask me."

Bruce nodded, slow and thoughtful. "The notepad, yes. As a matter of fact, Damian has been spending a lot of time in his room lately, more than usual. Even out on patrol, he followed almost all my instructions to the letter, no arguments. He's usually more defiant, vying for independence, On the last patrol, as soon as I had called it in for the night, Damian took off without protest, and by the time I arrived at the Cave, he was already upstairs in his room."

"What do you think's going on? Is he keeping something from us?" Dick couldn't quite mask the worry in his voice.

"Possibly. I'll have to speak to Alfred to find out if he knows anything. It's the notepad, or rather, his reaction to the notepad that has me interested."

The two men glanced at each other. _What was Damian up to?_

"Dick." Bruce looked him in the eye. "You're doing okay, I promise you. You're not losing any of us. I know things are a little disjointed right now, but understand that the boys love you, and I love _you_. I'm proud of you, son, for organising this trip, for wanting us to grow closer as a family, but listen to me carefully: Bringing this family together is _my_ job, _not_ yours-"

"But-" Dick tried to protest but Bruce cut him off swiftly, tone firm.

"Listen to me: it is _not_ your job to put the pieces together. It never has been, and as long as I have breath in body, it never will be. Yes, it _is_ easier with you around, because we all love you, and you being around reminds us to look past hurt and mistakes, and to love each other, but let me make it clear: This is my family. My children, my boys, and you, Dick, are my eldest son. You are my _child_ , not parent to your younger brothers. It is _my_ job, as parent, as the head of this household, to ensure we connect and remain a family _above all else_. So, this is what I want you to do - not for me, or anyone else, but for _you_."

Bruce took both his hands in his, and there it was, that damn welling in the back of his eyes again. "B, you don't have to- I mean, I can handle-"

In response, the older man shook his hands, then held them, _tight_. "Live, Dick. Go out with your friends, with Barbara, and I mean it: visit them, visit each other. Hang out - whether its watching football or having a few drinks, relax. Visit your brothers, take them out, and remember to smile. Laugh. Eat ice-cream with them, go out to festivals or the park, it doesn't matter. What matters is that you're _there_ , you're making the effort, and that's the best you can do. That's _all_ I want you to do, you hear? Enough of this "fixing" business, behaving as the glue that binds us all together - no, the love I have for _all_ of you is what will keep you together, regardless of background, personality or differences."

Dick held a sleeve to his eyes. Something heavy was being lifted off his chest, and it- it felt like a fucking _relief_.

"You are my son. My first born. Behave as such."

"But I feel like I've let you down, all of you." Dick whispered, tears escaping, and Bruce paused, reaching over with a thumb to wipe his cheeks, movement gentle.

" _Never_. That can _never_ happen. Whether I'm here or not, I will always be proud of you, son. I know, I place more responsibilities on you. I'm harder on you. I push you more, and I hold you accountable, but that's because I know as the first, the rest look up to you, and I want them to see you as I do: strong, yes Dick, strong, secure, and _loved_. Confident-"

"I'm not, B, I'm not, I'm not any of those things, how can I be? I've messed up-" Dick broke off, palms to his face, and Bruce held him to his chest, one hand on his back.

"You _are_. You may not _feel_ it to be so, but that's what you _are_ , what I see, what your brothers see, what Alfred and Clark sees, what we _all_ see. You- you carry all these things alone, and I have never asked you to, never. You bury it in, plaster over the cracks with a sunny smile and cheery disposition, but inside, you're hurting, and it....Dick, it kills me that you feel you have to hide these things from me. That you have to _pretend_ , when the truth is the opposite. Dick, when- when you feel like its getting too much, that you don't know what to do, or even have the words to describe it all - talk to me. _Talk_ , to _me_ , Dick, I'm your Father, and I will always listen, _always_. I don't care how silly you think it is, come to me."

Dick held on, listening intently to the timbre echoing in the bigger man's chest. 

"It took me losing one son, Dick, to realise this." Bruce's voice was hushed. "Years of questioning how things had gone so wrong, the mistakes I'd made, the things I should have done or said. As a parent, all that stuff never really goes away. You're constantly asking yourself - am I doing enough? Should I be doing more?"

Dick stilled.

"I lost a child, my son. I lost Jason, and it broke me, completely. I was a dead man walking, and when I wasn't having nightmares of his broken body, then I daydreamed of his smile, his eyes, his laugh. All the things I should have said. That I loved him so much, that he was _mine_. That I was so sorry he felt he had to _prove_ himself, prove himself worthy of my love, prove to be as good as you, when the reality was that you were mine, both mine, and in my eyes, there was never any competition. I cannot...I can't lose another child, I _can't_ , Dick. I don't have the strength to go through that again. We...lost Jason, in Bolivia, and my world, it turned to ash. And now, that he's back, alive - I...He's mine, too. My son, but I can't force him or any of you to see that, not with all the mistakes I've made, and that's on _me_." Bruce shook his head slowly.

"Happy. That's all I want for you, for all of you: to be _happy_. Live, settle, and be happy. It's my responsibility to make sure you all achieve those things, not yours."

Dick listened to the heart beat against his for a long time.

"I love you." He curled a hand in Bruce's shirt, and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of old leather and wooden oak. 

Bruce's response was to hug him even closer, resting a chin on his forehead. "Not as much as I love you."

 

 

_Mountbatten Medical centre._

"Drake! _Please_ Drake, wake up! Open your eyes! Grayson will.... _please_ brother, I cannot..."

The high pitched, panicky voice faded as Tim groaned, a dull pounding in his ears.

"What the fuucccckk.." He ground out, wincing at the dull ache radiating from the back of his head.

He tried to sit up too quickly, but that only made things worse, and he hissed, forgoing the movement.

"My head." Tim reached back to touch the area gingerly, but his stomach suddenly tensed, and he coiled over, hand drifting over his abdomen.

"Ah! Nice to see you're awake!" A rather loud voice came bustling through, and Tim flinched at the sound. The voice belonged to a round, smiley nurse, who beamed down at him, all teeth and big eyes. "How are you feeling, sweetheart? The names Gracie."

"Weird." Tim admitted, taking in the room properly now. "What-what happened? And where are we? Do you know where my Dad is-"

"One question at a time, cutie." The woman fussed over him, tucking in sheets, and Tim couldn't help feel like a kid again, not that he'd had the doting experience, but whatever.

"My dad-"

"Hush, sweetling. Once I'm done here, we'll let him know you're awake. I think he's with your brother- quite tall, dark hair, the most gorgeous blue eyes I've ever seen. A real dish, that one" The woman gushed, admiration evident. 

"Yeah, that's him." Tim's voice was flat. No need to sit here with a headache and some woman lusting shitless after his big brother, nuh-uh.

"Oh okay. You've had a little fall, a nasty cut on the back of your head, and your tummy is a little grazed- we've put some ointment and bandages on it. Your head scan didn't show any bleeding or fractures, just a concussion - you've been out for the last few hours, so its good you're awake. let me just take your temperature, a couple of other vitals, and then we'll get them here, hmm? I think they popped out, shouldn't be too long." The woman seemed eager at the prospect of making the phonecall, and she hurried through her tasks.

As soon as she left, Tim let out a long, irritated sigh. "Just great." He half muttered, sinking back into the pillow, and after a minute or two, he found himself dozing off, not helped by the sunlight streaming in, warm and lulling. Unfortunately for Tim, it wasn't long before he began to hear voices, or more precisely, _giggles_ , whispers, more giggles, and Tim rolled his eyes. Women fawning over his brother - what else was new? The door opened, and soon enough, Dick motherfucking Grayson sped into the room, practically launching himself at him, and Tim let out an _oof, Dick_ as his brother collided with him, octopus limbs all over the place.

"That's what the girls say." A breathy voice was by his ear, low and sensual, and Tim blushed as Dick cackled, trying to push the man off, but Dick held his weight, and Tim had no choice but to sink into the older man's embrace. They stayed like that for a good minute, even with Bruce standing watching, an amused smirk on his face. 

"Don't _ever_ do that again." Dick's voice had changed into something _raw_ , desperate, and Tim tightened his arms in response, that he wouldn't, not to Dick. Finally, his brother let go, and Tim saw the watery sheen, how Dick turned away for a moment to wipe his eyes, frame taut. He reached over to take hold of the man's hand, squeezing it gently, and Dick turned to give him a brief, shaky smile before moving off the bed, giving way for Bruce, whose eyes were fixed on him.

God, why was Bruce staring like tha- _oh_.

And then, it all came _flooding_ back. Being held back from attacking Damian, something about wishing Jay were here, that Damian had died - _fuck, he'd said that shit?_ \- a _slap_ , hot, stinging red, Bruce looking horrified, Dami, something about his voice, scared, young, hurt, and the pounding in his chest began, racing, catching up speed-

"B, I-" Tim began, but was cut off by a giant, almost crushing hug. He felt a firm press against his temple, a hand rubbing his back, and whatever he'd planned to say died in his throat. 

"My little boy." The voice cracked at the end, and Tim swallowed thickly, holding onto Bruce's shirt.

"Dad, I'm so sorry, I- I swear, I never meant to hurt you or Dami like that, I didn't think a-and I was just so mad-" Tim stuttered, but Bruce only hushed him, holding him tighter. 

"If only you knew how much I loved you, Tim." At that, Tim forced himself to calm down, that his eyes, they weren't stinging, oh no, not even as Bruce momentarily let go to gaze at him, something warm and soft in his expression, _treasured_ , a palm thumbing across the cheek which was struck, and Tim, the words, he couldn't-

"Awww. Look at the sweetiepug and his Paw, isn't that lovely." That loud voice again, _Gracie_ , and Tim shared a look with his Father. _Irritatingly amused_ , and Bruce cleared his throat, wiping his eyes. Tim did the same, also smoothing his sheets, and the two of them tried to ignore Dick's mega-watt beam at their front.

"It is, isn't it? They're honestly so _cute_ together." Dick played into the cooing, and he bent down a little to nudge Gracie's shoulder, much to her blushing delight. "Two bets on the bigger one proposing later tonight."

Gracie laughed loudly, the noise grating, and Tim blushed furiously, already hissing at Dick. "Cut it out, _dickhead._ "

Bruce only raised an eyebrow at his eldest. "Very funny." He deadpanned. He turned to the nurse, voice cool, and Gracie managed to smother her laughter into a professional hmpf. He turned to the door, where a few nurses stared back in huddles, red faces and twirling hairs, and catching sight of his look, they scattered, sheepish.

"Mr Wayne is it? Well, my name is Gracie, I've been looking after your son, Tim-"

"Are the results back?" Bruce cut off, bluntly, and Tim elbowed the man's side, though he struggled to contain his laughter. Dick held a palm to his mouth, lips quirking.

Gracie bristled. "I'll have to ask the doctor about that. Excuse me." She walked out quickly, clearly embarrassed, and the three of them let out short, amused huffs.

"God, the news has spread. Practically swarming." Tim made eyes at the door, where there were at least ten young nurses at the nurse station, glancing to his room every now and then. 

"It's the hair, billy boy." Dick grinned, and gave a small wave, eliciting a chorus of giggles their way. 

"The ass, more like. It's ridiculous, like a kardashian reject." Tim grumbled, and it was Bruce's turn to nudge him, a smile creeping on his face. 

"The attention or my ass? I mean, yeah, its pretty high up, don't cha think? Kinda perky too, I wonder why. " Dick twisted round to see the damn thing, prompting more ogling. "Kardashian though? Ouch, Timmy, no need to be so cruel." 

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. "Can't you be serious, even for a minute?"

"You don't think I look fat in these jeans, B?" Dick asked, still checking himself out, and admiring gaggles grew louder. 

Tim closed his eyes briefly, pushing back the irritation, and by the time he'd opened them, the door was shut, the curtains were drawn, and Dick was by his other side, one hand clasped in his.

"Sorry, Timbers." An understanding squeeze, and Tim looked at the two men before speaking suddenly.

"Where's Damian?"

The question hung in the air for several, long moments.

"Tim, I..I don't think its a good idea-" Dick started, but Tim cut him off, eyes sharp.

"Dick."

Dick paused, and Tim watched his brother lock eyes with Bruce.

"Tim. Not now. We'll discuss it at home." Bruce stared him down, but Tim wouldn't be deterred. 

"B, I need to talk to Damian. I-I need to talk to him." He began to sit up, propping himself on the pillows, but a sudden wave of dizziness had him slouching back against Bruce, slightly nauseous.

"I understand, Tim-"

"No, _no_. B, I messed up, I did, I-" Tim shook his head. "Dami, I messed up. I need to see him. Where is he?"

"Timmy, why don't you rest up, hmm? I- look, the doctor's here now, just take it easy." It seemed as though they were trying to avoid poking the bear, so to speak, and now Tim folded his arms, chin out, stubborn, staring at the door as it opened.

"Ah, young man! Good to see you up! My name is Dr Montgomery - how are you feeling, son?" The white haird doctor looked pleasant enough, clipboard in hand, but Tim had no time for pleasantries. He had to see Damian.

"Pains a 3 outta 10. Vision fine, no blurriness. No vomiting so far, mild, intermittent nausea. I take it the CT was normal, yes?" Tim's voice was sharper than he'd like.

The doctor seemed taken aback by that, but nodded. "Forward and straight to the point, I like that. Correct - scans and bloods were all normal. We'd like to keep you in for a few hours just in case-"

" _No, thank you_. I'd like to leave now." Tim pushed back the covers, ignoring the protests, and made his way to the edge of the bed, only closing his eyes briefly till the lightheartedness subsided.

"Timbo, listen. I know you're upset but you've had a nasty fall, a concussion which lasted ages, alright-" Dick tried to encircle him with long arms but Tim moved away, eyes focused on the door.

"Young man, I would strongly advise that you remain in the clinic under observation for a couple more hours-" The doctor tried again, voice stern, but Tim's own turned to steel, fed up of the coddling, and he braced himself to stand.

"I understand doctor, and I thank you for your advice, but I'd like to be discharged now. I am aware of the warning symptoms: sudden onset nausea, vomiting, visual disturbance, confusion, drowsiness, disorientation - if I experience any of these in the next twenty four hours, then we'll be sure to check in to the nearest medical facility. Until then, thank you for your help." Tim nodded at the man, before making his way to the door.

"Dick, could you-" Bruce directed through a sigh before turning to the doctor, and Dick hurried over to Tim at his back.

"Back's open, little bird." His brother tied the gown as he spoke, and Tim felt a hand on his shoulder. "You sure about this, Timmers? I mean, I know you're-"

"Dick." Tim rested his own hand on his brother's, glancing upwards before looking away. "If I'da told you that I wished you dead."

The skin under his turned cold. 

"Jay alive, and you dead in his place. You never to have been born - would you forgive me? Look at me in the same light?" Tim waited for the answer, and looked up to his brother, watching the colour drain from his face.

It took the man a while to answer. "I'd be crushed." Dick's voice was quiet, and Tim nodded, swallowing thickly.

"I thought so. I said all those things, and I said them to a _kid_. A child, the same one whose supposed to be my brother. I was mad, angry, and in the heat of my anger, I said things that I-" Tim shook his head, trembling. "If any of you had said that to me - I'd never be the same again, not truly. It would be like looking into a new light, harsh, brutal, and Dami- he doesn't deserve any of that. If-if I wait too long, then this is permanent, alright? I can't, I can't- D, I was- I ran after him, absolutely _terrified_ of losing him. Every fucking bone in my body was geared towards him, reaching him, bringing him home, and when-" Tim squeezed the hand hard. "When Damian was on that cliff, a-and I saw him on that ledge, it was like everything just stopped, like my heart was in my mouth and I-it was a damned miracle I didn't collapse there and then. I just remember thinking if-if I lose him, if he-he falls, then its game over, I go too, that- that a piece of me dies with him and I'll never be the same, none of us will-"Tim shut his eyes, and then straightened up, blinking back tears. "Let me do this."

Dick was silent for a long moment. "He's not in his room. He tried to help us pack the trunk but we refused. He's outside - there's a garden down the corridor and to the right, the one with the little fountain. We'll call you when its time to go."

"Thanks, Dick." Tim made forward to go, but paused, and turned to give his brother as big of a hug as he could manage.

"Tim? You-" Dick started, surprise in his voice, but Tim beat him too it.

"We see you, Dick." Tim whispered fiercely, and Dick fell silent again. "We all do. We know you're trying to keep us together as a family, we know, we understand, and we love don't be mad that it's not off to a great start - tomorrow's always another day. Small steps - Rome wasn't fixed in a day. Just remember that we're here, _always_ , and we love you, _forever_. We're so _proud_ of you, Dickie, and honest to God, I couldn't have asked for a better eldest brother."

Dick hugged him tight. "That....that means the world to me, Timmy."

"It's true. So stop - stop beating yourself up when we fight, or have an argument, or things go wrong - its not your fault. We'll get there - not in a day, and not for a a while I guess, but we will. Relax, and stop stressing over us. We're not going anywhere. Whatever we fight about, at the end of the day, we have you in common, and that is far more than enough, I swear. After all, who else are we gonna turn to for terrible fashion advice, even worse pick up lines, and a diabetes infused diet?" Tim snarked, and something in his chest _burst_ at the sound of Dick's laughter ringing loud and clear.

He looked up at the man, whose eyes were shiny. "I'm damn proud of you, big brother. Never forget that."

Dick nodded, voice choked. "I'll have you know, my fashion is with the current times. How dare you insult such a wonderful, legendary sense of style."

"Neon yellow prints and flaming pink leggings that outline the shape of your ass and balls is not- sorry to say but it had to be said- "fashion", dipshit."

Dick chuckled again, face flushed. "No-one asked you to look down there."

"Can't when its all up in my face, can I now." Tim's voice was flat, and Dick slapped an embarrassed hand to his face, eyes happy. 

"Go on. Get outta here, you little shit."

 

 

 _Garden_.

The directions were easy enough to follow - down the hall and to the right, and Tim almost walked past the entrance when he spotted Damian, hidden, just past the fountain, eyes faraway, and a bandage around his ankle.

"Damnit." Tim muttered to himself, unhappy at the sight. Bracing himself, he opened the door quietly, and approached the smallish figure. It was only when he was a few feet away that Damian looked up, clearly startled, and a mix of emotions flickered across his face - fear, confusion, anger, before it smoothed out to a blank, and Tim swallowed.

"Dami, I-" He stepped forward, but it was Damian who suddenly moved, limping from the bench and right past him, careful not to look his way.

"Damian." Tim reached out to stop the boy, but Damian moved away seamlessly, as if undisturbed, and Tim felt his mouth go dry. "Damian, wait!"

The boy continued walking to the door.

"Damian, I-" Tim sighed, frustrated, and he tried to hurry after him, but another wave of dizziness had him stumbling, and he began to fall-

only to find himself propped up by a pair of small hands, green eyes cool and distant. Once upright however, the child turned and began making his way back.

"Dami, I, no listen, wait." Tim grappled with the words, and then he blurted it all out, desperate to reach Damian. "I never meant any of it!"

The small figure stopped harshly in his tracks. "What." The voice was low, almost threatening, and Tim felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

"I swear, I didn't! It was just- I was mad, alright? I didn't get why you were so upset over the notepad and it-look, the things I said, they meant nothing."

A swivel, and then _Damian_ was in his face, fire and anger rolled into one. "Don't you _dare_ \- do not. You lie, Drake. So close to death and yet, the lying never stops with you, does it?"

Tim was lost for words. 

The voice was spitting, and Tim glanced down to see just how tightly curled Damian's fist was at his side, as if he was barely managing to control himself. "Damian, I'm sorry. I really am, I mean it-"

"You meant every word. If you cannot even admit that, then you have no business opening your mouth to talk to me. We're done here. Should have never bothered myself, trying to locate you." The fury in Damian's eyes was intense, very similar to that of _Jason_ , and Tim kept opening and shutting his mouth, flushed, because there was no smoothing over this, not Dick, nothing, and Damian only nodded, satisfied at his lack of response, before turning for the third time.

Tim, out of options, did something he'd never thought he would have done in a million years: he sank down on one knee _hugged_ Damian from behind.

"Damian." He tried to keep his voice calm, ignoring just how hard his own chest pounded, Damian's flurry fists of fury against him, demanding to be let go, words ugly and harsh, but Tim tightened his hold. Yes, he felt sick, and dizzy, and Damian's blows were conveniently landing on his grazed tummy, but every ounce of hold whispered at him, that he couldn't let this one go, not like this, so crushed and unwanted.

The movements were slowing, and Tim closed his eyes, bearing through the pain. "Damian."

"Why." By some miracle, Damian had come to stand still now, not hugging him back of course, but Tim's arms were around the younger boy, and Tim felt Damian's breath against his scalp. _Why_. It was so flat, so pained, and Tim swallowed, inhaling baby shampoo and a trace of sweat.

"Why did I do it -why come for you?"

Damian said nothing, but Tim knew he'd asked the right question. He breathed out slowly, beginning to rub the boy's back, and felt a small leaning towards him. It was by instinct really, and though his brain screamed at him to think, that this was _Damian_ for fuck's sake, Damian who probably had a knife or three hidden in his shirt, everything else felt...right, oddly comforting, and Tim continued to hold him.

"I...I can't- the words, it, Damian. It-" Tim shook his head. "I'm not sure if it even can be described. All I knew was that I _had_ to get you. Bring you back, home-"

"I don't have a home. I don't have a family. You wish me dead." The voice was tiny, and Tim shut his eyes, pained at the confession.

"Yes, you do. It's with us. I said some pretty stupid, hurtful shit that was designed and calculated to _hurt_ you, to play on your insecurities, but I-look at me, Damian." 

Tim released the boy by an inch to look at him, but Damian refused to meet his eyes. "On my life, I swear I never meant any of it. _Never_. Yes, our history hasn't been great, and there's been bad blood on both sides, but to wish you...dead? Not alive? _No way_ , you hear me?" Tim shook the small shoulders, but Damian refused to look at him, and Tim sighed, frustrated at himself. He brought the boy closer, and to his surprise, Damian wasn't as rigid this time.

"Todd loves you."

Tim stilled at the words. 

"He loves you and would do anything for you. You love him, I-I've seen you two together. It's as...as if you're the real _you_ when you're together, and I-" The younger boy shook his head. "I...admit I have made errors in my judgement towards you, and I-I have been trying Drake, to make amends, but you-" A small gulp. "You don't want to. You...you don't want _me_."

"Oh Dami." Tim pulled the boy in now, and a pair of arms lightly circled his neck. "I know you're trying. I didn't realise before, but I do now. I won't lie to you, its been hard, trying to figure this out. How to acknowledge the past without letting it get to me so much and I guess...I guess its habit, resorting to saying mean stuff. God I swear Dami, I never meant to hurt you like this, I swear, you've gotta believe me. Please, you- if _anything_ , anything at all were ever to happen and we..we lost you-" Tim's voice was thick. "Bruce, he'd never be the same again. Dick would go mad with grief, Pennyworth would probably have a stroke, and though you may not know it, Jay, he'd be pretty crushed."

Damian was cold against him. "He would not."

"I don't know everything, I don't know the full relationship between you and him and you know, League stuff, but what I know is this, D: Jay, at some point or another, was there, and you two spent some time together. I know he cared for you a _lot_ , and I think part of the difficulty he has when it comes to you is that his memories are kinda messed up."

"The Pit." Damian murmured.

"Yeah, that's part of it. The Pit, the brain damage at the time - it all adds together. He hasn't said much of what he remembered, he gets real tight and closed off."

"Then why did he do it? Hurt us, hurt...me, _you_ , Grayson?"

Tim took his time to answer. "I...I can't say for sure, but I know there are several factors at play, not just the Pit. I guess you've gotta ask him if you wanna know more."

A long pause. "The notepad."

Tim looked at Damian now, only to find a pair of green eyes watching him, and they stared at each other. "I know, and I'm sorry. I swear, I didn't read it, I had no idea it was that important to you-"

"It's research. On Todd."

Tim stopped at that. "Research? What do you mean?" The must have been something in his voice, a warning maybe, for Damian looked at his feet now.

"I..." The boy glanced his way, uncertain, and Tim, without thinking, rubbed the boy's arms. 

"You won't get angry?" There was that voice again, so young, and it made Tim's chest hurt.

"That depends." He answered, slow and truthful. "Should I be worried, Damian?"

The child bit his lip. "I don't think so." Damian glanced his way before averting his eyes, and stepped back a little.

"Damian, when it comes to Jason-"Tim couldn't mask the protectiveness in his tone, but Damian cut him off rather hurriedly.

"I just wanted to know more about him. About Todd, the boy. What..why he changed as so. Why Mother...cares deeply for him, why I cannot seem to get him out of my head. And I-I thought-"Damian stammered. "I thought that if I could somehow learn more about him, then- then I would maybe reach _you_ , too. A way for us to...connect, possibly, and I wanted to know how Todd did it. What...what made you two _work_."

Tim put his head in his hands. _Fucking hell, what a day_.

"The notepad - it has the names of places I've found in my research. Just names, things Todd talks about in his work. It's not much, but each time I read or look at something, I get something new, and- it is... intriguing, learning about Todd. I am beginning to see why you two are so...close." Damian finished, and stared at the ground.

Damian...was prepared to learn more about Todd partly in order to make amends with him too?

Tim's mind was being blown apart piece by piece.

"That's..."A mental image of Damian sneaking out from Jason's old room at the Manor suddenly flashed in his mind. "That's why you were sneaking out of Todd's room, at the Manor that night." He said slowly, staring at the child, but Damian didn't respond. He sat down now, on the grass, but Damian remained standing. "Dames." He pinched his nose in an effort to ward of the dull throbbing at the back of his head and missed Damian's concerned glance a him. "Dames, sit." Tim gestured to the bench behind them. "Sit down."

Damian glanced at the bench, then at him, hesitant, but seeing nothing hostile in his face, the boy obeyed, sitting down quietly, and for a long while, Tim's eyes were closed.

"Why didn't you say?" The pounding had moved to his temples now, and Tim massaged the sides gently.

Damian took his time to answer. "Todd brings out a variety of emotions, from all of us. Father is somewhat frustrated that Kent and Ms Prince have a far better relationship with Todd than he does. Grayson...I did not want to involve. I felt that he might feel....betrayed, possibly, that he may see it as _preference_ over him. I suspect it is due to your relationship with Todd - Grayson believing he has lost one brother to the man-, and if I were to reveal my...interest in the man, then Grayson might take that as another loss." Damian swallowed. 

Tim nudged the boy's dangling feet. "And me? Why didn't you try tell me? With Jason, you know I would have at least listened."

Another pause. "We were...at odds. I believed you would get angry. Defensive. That you might view it as me..."taking" another brother from you, and you already believed I had done so with Grayson. You were and are angry at him, believing he chose me over you, and I did not wish for you to draw a similar conclusion once again."

Tim forced himself to remain calm.

"I...I-" Damian broke off, and made to get up. "This is silly. You are getting upset - Drake, I only wish to repay my debt for-"

Tim reached out to gently push the boy back onto the bench. "We're not leaving until we're done here. Continue - why else didn't you want me to know?"

Damian held his hands in a tight clasp. "I thought you might stop me." The voice was very, very small, and it caused Tim to look up. "You must...you must understand, Drake - I did not expect this, any of this. Todd, my Moth....It feels like a part, a small but very important part of...of _me_ is missing somehow. Like I cannot-" The boy sounded frustrated. "I try to remember, remember him, but I can't, not clearly enough - I remember everything and everyone else at the League _but_ Todd. I get headaches when I do, and yet there are little things that strike a deep chord within me. Like...his laugh, for example. Or the way he..he looks at you, sometimes. As if once Todd had looked at _me_ that way, and I can't- I cannot shake it off. I-" Finally Damian looked up, and Tim realised just how difficult and strange Jason coming back must have been for the younger boy. "It's like the memories, they're there, but there's something blocking it. I entertained the thought of a memory dampener, magic possibly, but my research has turned up nothing so far."

Cogwheels began turning in Tim's head. "You asked anyone so far? Zatanna, maybe?"

Damian shook his head. "She is Father's friend. I cannot risk Father getting involved - he would just be upset, and I cannot- I will not stand for any more unhappiness."

Tim began putting it together. "That's why you lost your shit with the notepad - you thought I would find out? That I'd get mad and stop you."

The boy gave a small nod. 

For a while, there was quiet, and then Damian piped up, voice strangely shy. "You never mentioned _you_ , Drake, your reaction. What would happen if...if you were to lose me. Father, you said would never be the same again. Grayson, mad with grief, Pennyworth a stroke, Ja...Todd, crushed. But not you."

Tim listened to the air for a moment, and surprising them both, moved closer to rest his head on the boy's knee. His head felt heavy. His eyes, too.

"If we lost you, I...Damian, I would never forgive myself." Tim spoke calmly. " I know, deep down in my bones, that I would never again visit the Manor. Not the Manor, your room, your stuff, none of it. I wouldn't be able to. I'd have nightmares, and the day, it would pass me by, meaningless. The guilt- it would eat at me, that I-" Tim shook his head, the dull ache returning. "Let you down. Let B and Dick and Alfred and Jay down. Jay, he told me to give you a chance, he did."

"He did?" Curiosity lined the voice.

Tim nodded, wincing at the movement. "He did. Said that there was no-one who gave the same advice for him and Dick, and he didn't want what happened to _them_ to happen to _us_." He looked up at Damian, whose green eyes surveyed him. "Still feel like we've got a shot?"

Damian didn't look away from him this time. "It really depends on you, Drake. The past, I cannot change, as painful...and regretful it may be, but the present, and future, is largely in our control. _Your_ control." The voice was soft.

Tim held the boy's eyes for a moment before the tiredness caught up to him, and he opted to rest his head fully on Damian's knee. Something lithe and warm was placed on his head, oddly comforting, but neither boy acknowledged the action. "How much have you found on Jay?"

Damian spoke quietly. "Pennyworth has kindly provided me with materials to read, and has promised to take me to a few places that Todd has mentioned. I...I tried to do my own research, out of the Manor one day, but.." The boy's voice trailed off.

"But?" Tim looked up, and the _look_ on Damian's face - his eyes, something fearful and afraid, and he sat up straight, headache forgotten. "Damian, what happened?"

Several moments passed before Damian spoke again. "I got lost. Somewhere in Lower Gotham, East, I think. The Hillsborough Estate-"

" _Shit_." Tim hissed, shaking the boy. "You went to Hills by yourself? _Alone_ , Damian? You could have been killed! Do you have any idea what goes on down there - the shit Jay has told me about - heck, even as Hood he found it tough! What the _hell_ , Damian! How could you be so-so careless - what if something had happened, huh?! Do you know what happens to kids down there? The things I've read about - heck, we've had three or four cases from that place, and if you didn't already know, I'm telling you know - its some of the scariest, deranged, heck, demonic shit I've ever read, and I had nightmares for _weeks_ after reading just one! B didn't let me touch another after that! Jesus, Damian, what the- who else knows, huh?"

Tim couldn't help raising his voice, irritated as fuck, but he quietened on seeing Damian flinch and curl in on himself. "I know."

The phrase said it all, and Tim tapped the boy's knee with one finger. "Dami. What happened?" His voice was softer this time, and Damian, he had this haunted look on his face, like-

"Tim? Dami?" Dick's voice suddenly cut into the clearing, and both boys scrambled to their feet. "You guys..." The older man trailed off as he approached, taking in flushed faces, Damian who moved apart stiffly, vulnerability forgotten. "Hey, what's going on-"

"It is nothing, Grayson. Are we ready to depart from this decrepit place?" The tone was acidic, as if overcompensating, and Tim stared at the child, whose back was turned from him.

"Decrepit? Dami poo, c'mon, its not that bad. Do I detect a little _brotherly bonding_ in the air?" Dick mock sniffed, darting forward to ruffle the younger boy's hair, and Damian scowled as he slapped the hand away. 

"Do not be foolish, Grayson. We are keeping Father waiting." Damian started, and walked quickly towards the door, right as Bruce appeared, who watched them with obvious concern.

"Tim? What were you guys talking about-" Dick turned to him, but Tim barely heard him, eyes on his younger brother's retreating back.

"Actually." He spoke loudly, and all three looked at him. Damian had paused mid-stride, back taut, shoulders tense. "I'd like to stay. We still have all of this afternoon and tomorrow. Who knows, we can swap _stories_ by the campfire and shit."

"What?" Damian whirled round to him, furious, cheeks flushed. "You cannot be serious, the week-end has been ruined." His voice was a higher octave than normal, and Tim watched Bruce give them an odd look before moving closer. Dick, for his part, only threw his arms across his chest, squeezing him tightly.

"Really, Tim? You sure you're up for it - I mean, I know the docs have given you the all clear, but its probably best that we get you two home and rested-"

"Yes, my ankle. I can't possibly do anything that requires weight bearing of _any_ kind, Pennyworth will insist. I require immediate bed rest." Damian spat, and even Dick was taken back by the abrupt tone. 

"We could stay." Bruce spoke now, looking at all three of them before his eyes rested on Damian. Damian, interestingly enough, failed to maintain his stare and looked away, muttering angrily, eyes darting to Tim in the process. "We don't have to go far; not any of the trails and hikes, but there are other things we can do. Besides, the week-end is already paid for, and the weather is nice. Could try my hand at cooking something mildly edible for lunch." Bruce grimaced slightly.

"And poison us all, no thank you." Damian shot back, haughty.

"Dick's gone out of his way to put this together, and I'm not about to let by his efforts go to waste. Plus-" Tim piped up, ignoring the glare Damian levelled his way. "If I get any new symptoms- whatdaya know it, there's a medical centre down the road for me to stroll right into. You too, brat, you can get that ankle looked at as many times as you want."

"You are being entirely unreasonable-" Damian started, but Dick whopping cut him off. 

"Alright, alright! B, you and Dami can help with food stuffs, I'll start with the tents, Timmy lie down and catch a few winks. Oh, what fun fun fun!" Dick clapped his hands delightedly and threw an arm over his shoulder, steering him away, and Tim made eye contact with Damian.

 _Not over_ , and Damian looked even more pissed than he did before. 

"Damian, come along." Bruce steered the boy away, but not before said child in question had a chance to glower at Tim.

"What the hell was that all about? You guys looked so cute out there, I thought you two were making up." Dick led them through the centre and back to the camp site in order to find a spot.

"We'll see." Tim settled against a tree, thinking to himself. As much as he yearned for his bed, this was more important. He'd delayed things for a specific reason, and that was to find out as much as he could about Damian's research. The moment they got back in the car and returned to Gotham, Damian would close himself off, and the opportunity would be lost. More interestingly, however, was Damian's memories - there, but not quite, something about a memory dampner, and Tim was willing to out to the test just how far he could go with getting Damian to _think_ before those so called "headaches" set in. He knew from previous experience that Ra's was not above using magic or other measures to control his minions - he had little doubt Jason had suffered so because his brother failed to submit, both in mind and in body. Perhaps, if he could probe, just a little more, than they could find out just how far this thing ran - away from Gotham, the Manor, distractions, and Tim stared out across the clearing, putting a plan in motion. 

Time to get Damian's memories back.


	69. Bucket of dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Jason create a bucket list. Damian receives some bad news.

__

_A few days ago; Camp Mountbatten._

Tim watched the younger boy. Beads of sweat already lined his forehead, and his small fists trembled, clearly strained with effort.

" _Nothing._ " Damian gasped out, face flushed, and Tim swallowed, noting the disappointment in the boy's shoulders. This was their fourth session, and each time had ended in Damian close to exhaustion, panting, hair plastered to his skin.

"Alright. Rest up, we'll try again later." Tim spoke quietly, watching Bruce and Dick approach. Damian looked at him, and then looked away, voice thick.

"It is no use, Drake. I cannot remember him."

 

 

 _A few days later_.

Jason was bent over the hood when a figure appeared in the corner of his vision. "Not bad for a rookie."

He smirked, eyes still on the task at hand. "Rookie? Not even. Hand me that spanner, country boy."

Clark handed him the spanner and came to rest beside him, arms folded across his chest. "Lois says hi. She tried the recipe you gave her."

"Oh really?" Jason raised an eyebrow at the man, and Clark nodded, passing him a towel. "How did it go?"

"A little burnt, but on the whole - not too bad, and this is Lois we're talking about." Clark grinned, and Jason shook his head, glancing at the man.

"Cooking really ain't her thing, huh?" 

" _Not even._ " 

Jason stifled a smirk, and moved now to check the engine oil. "Ma's out, by the way. She's making pie later. Pa's at Johns I think? Wanted to borrow something, I dunno." He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and tutted to himself. "A real beauty, this one. Can't believe you guys had her all this while." He held a small oily part out to Clark, who inspected it carefully. 

"Too worn, I'll get a replacement later. Yep, Pa doesn't joke around when it comes to Maury." The older man had rolled up his sleeves and was now on the opposite side of the bonnet. "Wiring needs fixing too - you got a light over there?"

Jason passed a small torch over. "Not working today?" He wiped his hands on the towel before returning to the hood.

"In the middle of some research, thought a break would do me some good. Ah, I think we've got a couple of wires actually, back in a sec." Clark disappeared from view for several minutes, returning with a two large sandwiches, two beers, and a tool box of shorts, and Jason made his way over to look. "Sorry, t'was hungry. Made a pitstop in New York for these subs."

"You're actually going to make me fat, sneaky bastard. What are you working on exactly?" Jason fished out a pair of clippers and put them to the side, before helping himself to a sandwich. "Could help you out if you want."

"The rise of Brexit: nationalism, fear mongering and the Empire. That's what I'm calling it, anyway. It's a big subject, lots to read, but its pretty fascinating when you go into depth. Probably applies in this country too." Clark took out a few pieces and a screwdriver onto the bench. 

"Might as well follow up on the EU: Going forward. Personally, I think they'll be fine, if not stronger than ever. It's the UK that has the most to lose." Jason took out two stools from under the bench and sat on one, measuring out ring sizes for various tubing. 

"Pretty much. It's that isolationist culture that they and a significant proportion of Americans seem to revel in: the belief that they are all self-sufficient. Fact is, pretty much most of what the British and we have are imported, made elsewhere. We rely on other services, skills, peoples, resources from all over. Brexit, nationalism, all that - we're in for a very expensive, dearly expensive decline, and it wont be felt until years into the future. I'd love your input, absolutely." Clark sat down beside Jason, chewing thoughtfully.

"Then its sorted." Jason passed the screwdriver to Clark. "Gives me something else to do. You know I finished the books you brought over?"

"Already?" Clark cast him an impressive look. "That was meant to last you a while. Want me to get some more?"

Jason paused. "Maybe. I...I was kinda thinking of going home, actually."

Clark didn't answer straight away, and Jason could sense a little...disappointment, perhaps, in the air. "It's up to you, Jay." The man's voice was careful. "I mean, you know my folks love having you here, but they're also not going to stop you if you'd like to go. You know where we are now, if you ever want visit in the future."

Jason nodded absent-mindedly. "The only issue is....I...I kinda don't know what I want to do." He glanced over quickly to Clark, but the man wasn't quite looking his way. "I mean, obviously, I'd like to get back to work."

Clark made a non-committal noise. "And by work you mean-"

"Shit I can't talk about, and shit you'd definitely disagree with." Jason didn't hold back, and Clark only hmmed, still focused on his work.

"So what's stopping you?" The voice was neutral and Jason found it took him a while to find the words. 

"I.. its complicated. I mean, if I wanted, I could start right now, but we kinda agreed to a break, the people I work with. It's weird, part of me really wants to go back, get into the flow of things, but the rest is just not quite as in a rush to get started. S'uppose its the whole Bolivia thing, you know. I-argh, I'm not explaining myself properly, just forget about it-"

"You lack structure." Clark spoke quietly, looking at him for the first time, and it was Jason's turn to look away, not confirming, but not denying it either. "You mentioned it once, that your work, it gives you...structure, something to do, to focus your mind on. And now, without it, you find yourself sort of drifting, in a way. Not sure what to do in between."

"Yeah." Jason's mouth was dry. He stared down at his hands.

"Alright." Clark nudged him with one shoulder. "So work: when will that actually start again? You got a date or what?"

"I-we agreed on a break. No more than a few months I guess, but I'll need to clarify with them." 

"Fine." Clark put the tools in his hands down on the bench. "You go ahead and find out when its time to go back to work. _In the meantime_ \- you, Jay, need to set a few goals, targets, things to achieve during in the interval. Whether that's you here on the Farm, or back at your own place, wherever, think about things you can achieve within this time frame, and we'll work on them - a _bucket list_ , that's what it is. So come on, is there anything you haven't been able to do, achieve or complete yet that you might be able to in the space of a few months?"

It was a good question, and Jason found it...hard, to think initially. "In a few months? Well, I er, shit, I..I'm gonna need to think real hard. I mean, for the past two years, its just been work non stop, a few days break here and there, but just-just work, you know?" Jason rested his chin on his palms. 

"Wanna hear a few suggestions?" Clark proposed, and Jason nodded, flushing a little.

"Start small. Start a blog. Read, I dunno, 20 books a month. Start learning a new language. Join a club. Get a dog, or hamster, whatever." Clark reeled off. "Any of those sound appealing?"

A little." Jason admitted, rubbing his neck. "Maybe...I was thinking. It's probably silly but it-it was based on something Lo said. Like, we were talking and shit, and I was blown away by how much she knew, you know? And this- a tiny part of me thought about...how _cool_ , it would be, if I could one day get..get my _GED_ , cause I...I never got to finish school, and I...I really loved school. Learning stuff- I've always thought that one day, perhaps, if I ever make it out of the League and all that training....I'd take a few classes maybe. Do the courses online if I have to, and...and graduate, have that GED, I, man, I'd kill to have it in my hand, or framed on my wall, that I..I _made_ it, made it through so much. And who knows, afterwards I might even be crazy enough to think about college, a degree or something. I mean, as much as I love working with the Gho- working with my team, I..I can't say the same in ten years, twenty. Eventually I'd have to give it up, and I...I'd like something to fall back on. No good having money without the brains to do summin' with it all." Jason's voice trailed off quietly, face undeniably red, and it was Clark's laugh that had him look up sharply, startled.

"What? You don't think its-" Jason began, but was cut off by an unintelligible noise, a giant hug, and a clap to the shoulder.

"That's- that's _great_ Jay! Absolutely, go for it!" Clark had this big ass smile on his face, eyes wide and joyful, and it made Jason blush even more. 

"I-" Jason started, quickly looking to Clark. "You think I can do it? I mean, I only checked a bit out and it does seem like a lot to do in a few months-"

"You, Jay? Definitely - of all the people I know, you, Jay, can make it happen, you _can_." Clark squeezed his shoulder, and even Jay couldn't help a tiny smile forming on his face. "God, Ma, Pa, Lo - they're going to love this! Okay, we'll need to print out all the relevant curricula, search for courses, get you enrolled and-"

"Okay, alright, not so fast." Jason interrupted, heart quickening at the thought of it all. What if he wasn't good enough? Was a GED even worth something nowadays? Besides, Ghost work would always take priority. Nearly twenty one and he didn't have a single damn qualification to his name, how embarrassing-

"Jay." Clark was in his line of vision, and Jason swallowed, twisting his fingers. "I promise you - it's never too late to make a start. Whether its now, or part time- whatever it is, the fact that you're actually _considering_ getting a GED is cause of celebration, trust me. It's not always about the money - like you said, it's something that can be used in the future, a tool, something tangible, and its always a great thing seeing the results of your hard work pay off. You're a smart, highly intelligent guy - I bet all the money in the world you can do this."

Jason nodded shyly. "Yeah." 

" _Yes_. I'm sorry if I came on a little too much, I guess its a little overwhelming, huh? I'm-I'm just so _excited_ , but we'll take it one step at a time, alright. You go away and have a think about it, and when you're ready to move, we'll go from there. How does that sound, shorty?"

Jason smiled. "That...yeah, that sounds good Clark. Thank you." His smile faltered. "And...is it alright that we..we keep it between us? I mean, I know you mention your folks, Lo, I know they'll be pumped, Di too, but its-I don't wanna get ahead of myself and let the word spread, only to disappoint everyone."

Tim. Alfred. Bruce even - Jason couldn't stomach their faces when he finally-he closed his eyes briefly.

"I get it." Clark nodded. "You won't, I can assure you, but for now, we'll keep it between us if that makes you happy." The man dug out his phone, and accessing his notepad, he wrote _Jay's bucket list_ , and put down GED as first. "Okay then, first up: GED. Righty ho, what's next?"

"I." Jason's cheeks were warm. "Erm, gosh, okay, errr, God, we're actually doing this."

"We are. Next, Jay. Another goal to work towards." Clark waited.

"Fine. Alright. Fine, yeah, how....how about-" Jason looked up and held Clark's eye. "I swear, if you tell _anyone_ about this-"

"You have my word, Jay." Clark's voice was firm, and after brief hesitation, Jason nodded once.

"I...I own this company. Well, more of an organisation, really. It's-its called _HESTIA_ , probs never even heard of it. Its erm-" Jason swallowed and shut his eyes. "It was something I started back as the Hood. A.. women and children's kinda organisation. Like, women who've suffered domestic violence, abuse, running away, that kinda thing, with kids whom they're struggling to take care of. I-" Jason couldn't quite meet Clark's eyes. "I know what's its like. My ma, Catherine...she was one of those women, and she-she couldn't cope. Not with the abuse, not with me, and she...she turned to drugs, alcohol, to escape. It would only last a while, the drugs and bottles and shit, they'd give her brief respite from the hell Willis put her through, and then Ma-Cathy, she'd be back to reality again, in a tiny, filthy apartment with a kid she had to take care of, a...a husband who just-" Jason shook his head. "I felt for her. Half of the time, what she took out on me...I came to realise that it wasn't exactly _me_ per se, but rather, what I _represented._ Trapped, desperation all that. And-and instead of school, my days were filled with..with small jobs, tryna collect money here and there, help keep the roof over our heads. The erm, the neighbours, Les the shopkeeper on Michael Lane...everyone knew what was going on. We all knew, but you-look, as much as I _hated_ them for doing nothing, I...I couldn't blame them in the end, 'cause they had their own shit they were dealing with. The Patels, five kids, two autistic, one severely disabled, barely had enough government assistance to keep going, and the Dad, the last time I was there, ended up having a stroke of some sorts. Jaz and her Ma, Remsy, I think, they...they were street girls. Worked corners. Had a little sis who....she died. One of her customers got carried away, rumour had it. Loads of similar stories. I-"

Jason raised his head to the sky. There was something about the air down here, so clean, fresh, and it did a number on his senses.

"The point is, HESTIA - it's got a great team of individuals all over the place. I...I had plans, to start from Gotham, Crime Alley, the poorest and most deprived parts, but when I left, I couldn't carry on, I-I had to get out there, for-I just had to, Clark. And now, well, I'd like to start a little something, on the low. Start with the orphanages. They're run on donations at this point, barely have regular inspections. Kids run amok, no guidance. Better than before though, before it was a picking for old, perverted douche bags to have their pick. They'd pay the sister or matron, whoever could be swayed to look the other side - a few hours of fun before dropping the kid back like trash on the kerb." Jason clenched his fists. "You'd see the look in their eyes, empty, souless - hated anyone touching them. I....I wanna help. Don't want it known, not my name or nuttin', but if I...If I can maybe start with the orphanages, group homes. Pump a little money into them. Hire a cleaning company, get the rooms and shit spruced up. Then maybe books, reading materials. Away from the streets, give them a better focus. Hot meals, at least three times a day. Stops them looking to other...sources. Clothes, shoes. And from there, if words spreads and the homes get too many kids lining up, maybe...shelters, yeah. Get shelters set up. Women's only shelters, for instance. Food shelters. Clothing shelters. I...Maybe even a temp shelter, like, somewhere you can go to in am emergency to be kept safe whilst you figure out what to do. Stuff like that." Jason finished.

For a while, there was silence.

"Jay." Clark's voice was quiet. "That...that is a _wonderful_ idea."

Jason bit his lip and stared down at his lap. "Long overdue, more like."

"I'd be honoured to help in any way I can." Another squeeze on his shoulder, but still, Jason couldn't quite face the man.

"I wanted to approach Tim with the idea. Just some general advice, point me in the right direction, but at the time, we weren't good. Even now, I'm a lil' hesitant - kid's got loads on his plate and I don't exactly wanna pile on the burden of managing the welfare of Gotham's poorest on his shoulders, it's not fair, and there ain't a great deal he can do anyway. And Bruce-" Jason's voice hardened. "I meant what I said- I don't want any of them to know, alright? They'll get suspicious and shit and it'll just ruin everything." 

"I won't, Jay, I swear. We'll start small: orphanages, homes - supply them with the necessities. That's our number two on the list - see how that goes before moving on to the shelters. I-' Clark paused and looked at him. "Why didn't you tell anyone about HESTIA?"

"Same reason I don't want anyone else knowing about what this is." Jason waved a hand between the two of them. "Bats, they're a nosy bunch. I like my privacy, and I'm trusting that you won't go poking around and asking questions. You'll draw Talia's attention otherwise, and then I'll get a phonecall."

Clark smiled and tapped his nose. "Secret's safe with me, 6 foot _de nada_. Third goal?"

Jason scowled at the term. "Watch yourself. As pretty as you are, I will not hesitate to fuck your shit up." He warned over Clark's chuckling. "Alright, third goal - is three not too much, you think? I mean, the two we have are pretty big."

"It's up to you, midget." Clark ducked his punch and passed Jason a beer, before helping himself to one. "Actually, I might have one for you. More a favour than anything else, if I'm honest." 

"Shoot."

"Not sure how you'd feel about it but here goes: A few times a year, the Watch-tower receives a whole load of books, journals, and we usually have a few staff help to arrange them in the library. As it goes, we're a little short this year on staff and I just wondered whether you might consider helping out once or twice, or however often you fancy. If you don't wnt to do it, that's fine. If so, then it'll be great. An hour, more if you want, but we would appreciate the help. We can pay you and-"

Jason shook his head and took a long swing of his beer. "Books- am I allowed to borrow any?"

"No problem at all- you still got your pass from last time? If so, I'll ask J'onn to update your access, otherwise we can have a new one sorted in no time. And the pay-"

"Don't sweat it." Jason cocked an eye at the man. "I'm not hurting for cash. Yeah, its the watch-tower, but I'll get fresh reading material, long legs and shapely asses. A pretty solid deal if ya ask me." He grinned as Clark shot him a _look_. "What? I mean, I'm nearly a hundred percent sure you guys interview and select only the best, fittest looking women around - how that giant space baton isn't home to a full on orgy is beyond me. Gorgeous women everywhere, dunno how you lot do it."

" _Jason_." Clark's cheeks were pink but the warning was clear.

"Don't _Jason_ me. You have Lois - no one can tell me she ain't already a part time Leaguer. Have you _seen_ those legs? And those eyes, man what I'd give-"

"Just remember I can have you hurtling through space in less than 0.14 seconds flat." Clark spoke into his beer, and Jason ground out a laugh.

" _Fine_. Lucky bastard." He muttered, not too loudly either, and the other man let out an amused huff. "Cool, I'll do it. Might even take away a few GED reading materials if there are any?"

"Go for it."

"I- there's something I wanna ask." Jason paused. "C, I know your parents have already refused anything from me, but I-look, I want to show them my thak- _appreciation_ , without it feeling like I'm...paying them off, you get me?"

Clark smiled ruefully. "You don't have to-"

"I _want_ to." The tone was serious, and Clark recognisied the change, only giving a short nod. "What did you have in mind?"

"Renovations."

A raised eyebrow was sent in Jason's way. "Jay, you sure you're gonna have time for all this? How big are we talking here?"

"Not too big. Small stuff, like a little garden for Ma. Updating the kitchen a bit, like new fixtures, resurfacing the worktop counters. Painting the barn. Small tasks. It'll help break up the day, make it varied. I've never been one to stay cooped up in a little room for hours straight without mixing it up a bit. Too monotonous otherwise."

Clark seemed impressed. "That's mighty kind of you, Jay. I know my parents will appreciate it - probably give you a good earful for even going out of your way in the first place, be warned."

Jason laughed. "Yeah, they might. I-This is right." He spoke carefully. "I would- yeah, I want to do this. I've had a fair bit of experience in construction, so its not a problem."

Clark surveyed him before nodding. "Alright." He sipped his beer. "So far, we have: number one: ?GED, have a think and when you're ready, we'll make the next move. Two, orphanages and homes: find out what they need."

"I'm gonna drive out there sometime soon." Jason cut in. "Spend a day, two maybe, just going around, maybe asking a few volunteers of the things they really need."

"Great idea. Want me to come?" Clark's concern was evident.

Jason thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. Wanna go alone, if you don't mind. A lot of memories down there. Might even visit Alfred, if he's free."

God, he missed that old man.

"Not a problem- call me if you need anything. Number three: not so much a goal than a favour: makeshift librarian at your own pleasure."

"Can I wear glasses? Put my hair in pony tails, use a measuring stick to demand silence?" Jason grinned, and Clark only shook his head, cheeks pinking.

" _Number_ four. Farm projects: Update kitchen fixtures, paint barn, plant garden. That sound about enough for now?" 

"Yeah, it does." Jason glanced quickly to Clark, who had a soft look on his face. "Thanks, C. For the whole idea, feels like I've at least got things to fill my time. Gawd, this sandwich-" Jason finished off the last bite and stared at the wrapper mournfully, before gazing at Clark's, who shielded his somewhat protectively. He turned big eyes onto the man.

"Clark, you don't _need_ food, do you?" Jason added a little waver to his voice for effect, but the other man simply took a huge bite, smug.

"Can't pull it off like Tim does." The tone was haughty, and Jason let loose a colorful word, earning himself a mock swat. "I didn't do anything! I'm still hungry, though."

"Alright, hold on." Clark sighed.

Before Jason could even blink, Clark had disappeared, and Jason, though he would never admit it, let out a rather undignified girly shriek. Another minute, then two, and then Clark was back, two large toasty subs in hand.

" _Clark_! Give a guy some warning next time!" Jason felt his cheeks redden as the big man laughed heartily.

"I heard that little scream, by the way-

"You heard _nothing_." Jason denied vehemently, before grabbing a sub, and the two of them proceeded to eat.

"Jay, 'nother favour to ask." Clark spoke between mouthfuls after a short while."Just wondering whether you'd be alright if _Damian_ came over for a day or so."

Jason slowed his eating. 

"Not long. Kid's got a school project of some sort on animals. If-" Clark looked to the younger man beside him. "If you're not comfortable with that, just say. It's alright."

"That's fine." Jason eventually found his voice. Damian wanted to come over? It had been _years_ since they'd spoken, one sided insults and all. 

Sharp, green eyes, round cheeks, small hands, lithe and graceful, and Jason swallowed softly before looking away. The kid brought up a lot of memories, that was for sure. Many muddled, courtesy of the Pit and his brain damage, but there were several as clear as day, a-and-

Jason couldn't deny it- the thought of seeing that kid again-

it-it _did_ something to him, stirred a part deep within, and he forced himself to remain calm, aware of the silence between himself and Clark.

Didn't Damian hate him? He _had_ shot the kid point blank, chest range, terrorised his whole family, so why was he coming here? Why not research on the Internet, heck, the brat had a phone, the Farm was a couple of numbers away-

"Jay?" That was Clark again, and Jason shook his head slightly, mouth dry. "Kinda zoned out there, kid."

"Yeah." His voice was gravelly, a little rough, and Jason took a long swig of his drink, hoping to soothe his throat....and _panic_ , deep down, but the memories kept appearing, a tiny hand in his, a shout in something harsh and fierce, a _whoosh_ landing on his back, something _tearing_ , warm, sticky treacle trickling down his back, and the _howling_ good God-

"Jay!" It was Clark again, looking all serious and shit, and Jason found it necessary to jump up from his seat, blood rushing through his ears. He needed some fresh air. "Jay, talk to me. Your heartbeat skyrocketed-"

"I don't." Jason blurted out, and he clenched his fists, then uncurled them. "C-I _can't_. No, I-" He winced, almost bracing himself for another blow, another _lash_ , and now Clark too was upstanding, hovering by his side.

"Jay, what's going on son-"

"No, I'm sorry. No, I-" Jason forced himself to breathe. "Its not a good idea, I don't think. I mean, he hates me, what could he _possibly_ want w-with, I mean- if he has to, then sure, I mean this isn't my house, its your parents, and they have the right to welcome anyone who wants to-"

A pair of arms was suddenly on his, soothing, and Jason felt his thoughts drowning out. "Jay, it's not a problem. Just wanted to ask, that's all. It's not a big deal, I mean it. Damian will be fine."

Jason looked away. 

How could he even begin to explain to Clark what Damian meant to him? That Damian was another reminder of the _League_ , what they-they'd done to-

"Come on." Clark squeezed his shoulders and steered the two of them to the old truck, partly dismantled. "Let's get back to work, eh? Pa will throw a hissy fit if he meets Maury like this."

Jason tried to smile, but the feeling was hollow.

Antagonism aside, Damian didn't deserve to be hurt again.

 

 

 _Manor_.

Damian watched the older boy. Drake's eyes flickered to his, and then away. A nod, and the boy ended the call, tucking his phone into his pocket.

Even before Drake opened his mouth, Damian knew what he was going to say, and his stomach twisted painfully.

"Damian." Drake began, and Damian found it necessary to stare down into the page on the sheet in front of him. _Pride and Prejudice_ , one of Todd's clear favourites.

"That was Clark." Drake started, and then stopped, but Damian didn't need him to continue. It was obvious what the older man had called about. "He says that it's, um, it's kinda busy at the farm right now. Maybe next time. I'm...I'm sorry." He heard the boy's dry swallow, but still Damian tried kept his focus on the page. Unfortunately for him, it was difficult with how hazy his vision had become. Todd did not...did not care for him. Not that the older man had any right, mind you- it had been Todd who'd pulled that trigger that night, right into his chest, Todd who had taunted Father bitterly, spat at Grayson, beaten Drake close to death, but of course, Todd had all the honors nowadays, and Damian gritted his teeth.

Something light was placed on his hand, and without thinking, Damian pulled his hand away, remembering now to blink. How he and Drake, of all people, were sat in Todd's old room, without fighting, was a rare miracle indeed. "There is no need for apologies, Drake. This was a likely outcome." He forced himself to keep his voice level, but it was there, that deep, empty feeling, blossoming in his chest, gnawing away, and Damian bit his lip.

"I know, Damian." Drake's voice was unusually soft. "I know, but it isn't amiss to imagine that it might be a little disappointing that Jason-"

"Disappointing?" Damian barked rather harshly, and he shut his mouth a second later, rebuking himself for losing control. "Nonsense. Why on earth would I feel _disappointed_? This is Todd we're talking about, my expectations were fairly low in the first place."

It was a cruel thing to say and he knew it. Judging by the tense pause, so did Drake, and Damian could feel the older boy's glare on him.

"Jason just needs a little space and time to himself right now-" Drake started, voice very careful indeed, but Damian cut him off smoothly, shuffling various notepads and books in order.

" _Of course_. No explanation necessary." He found himself putting more force into the action, the _slap_ of books hitting each other, and Damian felt his chest grow tight. Todd, want anything to do with him? Preposterous thinking on his part. He'd been swayed by the thought o-of the older man for some reason, why there was something so _unsettling_ around him and yet, the intrigue, the draw - it was and had been a waste of time, Damian could see it clearly now, and he stood from the bed, stiff, refusing to meet Drake's eyes.

"Damian, look. How about I talk to Jay-" Drake made as if to reach for him, but common sense appeared to strike the older boy, and the arm remained in the air, lifeless.

"I have wasted far too much of my time already." Damian's voice was cutting. "There are more important matters that require my attention."

"So that's it? You're just giving up, just like that? Damian, there's something going on, I know there is. Okay, we couldn't get much at the camp, but listen- the fact that you can remember everyone and everything _but_ Jason-"

" _Enough_ , Drake." Damian spoke sharply. "I....Your attempts, as arguably well intentioned as they were, have proven unsuccessful. As a matter of fact, I have now developed a headache and thus wish to retire early."

Damian turned and made his way to the door, ignoring how his chest beat wildly. "Damian, you can't keep giving up like this, at the first attempt. I mean, you've barely even tried- if you knew what it took to get me and Jay sitting in the same space, sharing a bowl of popcorn? Or how long it was before we started actually talking? What we went through to get to where we are now? Kid, if you're gonna call it quits every time things don't quite work out your way, then-"Drake's voice bordered on urging, and it took all of Damian's strength to remain where he stood.

"Except, Drake, I am _not_ you." Damian swallowed, but thankfully managed to keep his voice cool and detached. "I am not one who, in order to seek attention and a misplaced sense of love from others, spends a ridiculous and frankly _pathetic_ amount of time begging a-and trailing behind someone who clearly does not hold an ounce of care nor concern. My time is valuable, Drake, not to be wasted on pitiful individuals like Todd." 

A short pause. The air felt bitter, and Damian he-his limbs felt heavy, like lead, and as _much_ as Damian wanted the opposite, the truth was that this- _this_ was a rejection, and it _hurt_.

"So we're back to square one, are we?" Drake's voice was strangely quiet, and Damian felt another painful twist in his stomach, coiled and unrepentant.

"Please inform Pennyworth that I shall be dining alone tonight in my quarters. Until then, I will remain undisturbed." Damian exited the dead boy's room quickly, not able to swallow, something warm and metallic brewing in his mouth. He entered his room, and ignoring the bed, opted for the corner on the far end of the room, where he settled against the hard surface, and finally, in the silence, allowed his vision to mist once more.

Of course, Todd didn't want him.


	70. Mischief over ice-cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shayera and Tim enjoy some ice-cream. Bruce makes amends.

_Watch-tower._

"Which flavour is this again?" Hawkgirl peered at the spoon, legs crossed on top of the table. Around them were several other pots of ice-cream, various flavours "inspired" by the League, crude slurs and cringeworthy colours. Her own flavour apparently did not sell as much as the others, at least to be found in mainline stores, but Shayera did not mind. Despite the efforts she had made over the years to redeem herself and her reputation, Shayera knew she would never be able to quite shake off the sense of unease and distrust as former ally turned traitor to restored founding member the League, not for some anyway.

Beside her, Tim had paused before swallowing, lithe limbs relaxed against hers. "Batknight velvet midnight. Kinda like a knock off cookie dough from Ben and Jerry's, only more chocolatey." The teen scooped another dollop of ice-cream and ate it in small bites, nimble and birdlike. Shayera smiled softly at the sight. Timothy was _adorable_ , and she reached over to "boop" his nose, something she had witnessed other humans do with their young, who would squeal in return. To her delight, her younger companion blushed furiously, only half heartedly darting away, voice high and embarrassed.

"Shayera!" Tim whined, rubbing at his nose. "It's all sticky now." 

"Want me to lick it?" Shayera glanced at the boy, eyebrow arched, and she winked at him, cackling as Tim reddened further, spluttering into his spoon.

"I swear you and Jay are one and the same." Tim muttered, but the smile, as tiny as it was, _was_ there, and it was endearing to see.

"Birds of the same feather, you mean?" Shayera grinned as a snort was emitted from her side. "Please. Jay would give an arm and a leg to be like me."

"Probably. You know, we watched you battle this guy one day, Outsider was it? Some villian, you know the ones with the speeches and all that, _take over the world and bring order to humanity_ , yada yada." Tim waved his hand dismissively as he leaned over to help himself to more of her ice-cream. "You did this flip thing, soared into the air, and with...a _roar_ , or battle cry maybe, you kinda pummeled him straight into the ground. Like, left a crater and all in the damn ground. Man, it was incredible to watch, and Jay, he kept raving on about it, like how he'd pretty much give up anything and everything to go out with you." 

Shayera laughed aloud. "Sounds like Jay to me."

Tim only smiled and shook his head. "God, I'm so glad we've come a long way past all that." His voice was quieter now, and he glanced at her quickly before looking away. "Took us a long time to get where we are today and I just....I just wish that-" The boy trailed off, and something in his voice gave away his frustration. Shayera, sensing all this, nudged her young companion gently, and Tim sighed, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, a gesture so very like his Father, and she resisted the urge to "boop" him again.

"It's...Gah, its so-" The boy struggled to voice his thoughts, but Shayera waited. "Damian. The more I learn about him, the more...unexpected he leaves me. He's been trying to learn more about Jay, and I'm still not totally sure what to make of it."

Shayera raised an eyebrow but said nothing. That was a surprise. Though she had yet to spend any real time with the youngest Bat brat, it was obvious, from the child's rare visits to the watch-tower, that the "Hood" in robin's exact's words, was a _madman and criminally unstable individual whom Father ought to lock in Blackgate indefinitely, though a more permanent solution would clearly be of great benefit to them all_. Batman had only glowered at Robin on hearing the words, but few, if any, had disagreed. Shayera, however, had felt a little empathy towards the object of Damian's derision - from what she knew of the the young Jason Todd, returning to Gotham crazed and all too trigger happy should not have been a total surprise given his...nightmarish death, and the man's vehement dislike of all things Bat related was no exception. 

The real turner, though, was when Shayera herself had taken the time to sit and study the Hood's movements. Violent, a penchant for loud, noisy explosions, unafraid to kill, seemingly enjoying the spotlight his public acts brought him, but as the acts grew darker, targeted to the very worst police, law enforcement, and all manner of "justice" systems in place _should_ have dealt with, Shayera soon realised that the Hood was not necessarily acting out of want, not that he truly enjoyed any of this, no, but his actions screamed _desperation_. A last resort, Frustration at not being _enough_. The attacks became more brutal, frenzied, harsh, but not once had Hood been caught reveling over the dead victims body, or taking sadistic pleasures in the destruction brought about. He would do the deed, yes, and leave it for all to see, but the man himself never stayed behind to watch the aftermath. A necessity then, on...behalf, of those who couldn't speak up, who couldn't fight back. Rapists and murders, drug dealers, pimps, paedophiles, all manner of vile filth - the Hood went after them all, and though Shayera had never said it aloud, nor would she, with some of the more , _graphic_ methods Jason had employed as the Hood, a small but significant part of her would always be in favour of the man's actions, or at least, the way such perpetrators were dealt with. After all, was she not a Thanagarian general of the highest rank? Had she not planned and actively participated in some of the bloodiest and brutal wars, finding no hesitation in striking her opponents to the finishing blow? She would be anything other than a hypocrite to stand up and protest against the Hood's killing policy.

Shayera tuned her mind to the little bird beside her.

"...so much, Shay, it took, man, I can;t even describe it. And Dames, he has this habit, right? Anytime something doesn't quite go his way. or isn't what he expected, what he planned, he just- its like he gives up. Abandons it, like a waste of time or something. I-I think he doesn't understand that life is full of _greys_ , that there is so much hidden between the lines, you know? He reverts to what he knows - facts, his own experiences, something solid, and it-" Tim shook his head, ice-cream forgotten. "It's frustrating, because I can see it now - it's there, and he, we both know there's something there but...I don't know, maybe he's afraid? Like, afraid that the truth might not fit in with his black and white view of the world?" Tim stared out across the room.

Shayera remained quiet, ruminating over the teen's words.

Damian sounded like his father. Bruce, whom she knew had somewhat struggled with Jason, the Hood, his no-killing policy, but then again, Robin did not appear as though he would refrain from a kill. The opposite, actually. Strangely enough, the two boys, Damian and young Jason, did have share quite the temperament.

"I..I was suspicious, at first." Tim's voice was strained. "I thought he was up to something, planning to hurt Jason, and I couldn't have that. I get that Jay's done stuff, but he's been hurt so many times, and I just- if it means protecting him, I'll do whatever I have to do." Tim looked at her briefly, and Shayera nodded, understanding. The League had hunted Jason down at one point, Superman in particular, and now with Tim's relationship with Jason well known among them, Shayera had an inkling that part of Jason's ability to evade capture was down to the little bird at her side. Tim had yet to be called out on it, but Shayera knew she wasn't the only one who shared the same thoughts. "But we got to talking, and it occurred to me that that the kid is..he might be going through an identity crisis of sorts."

"Isn't he a little young for that? Got a long way to go before he masters the balding top, beer belly and sports car." Shayera drew the boy closer to herself, and Tim only huffed.

"Not that kind of crisis." Shayera smiled at the haughty tone. "It's more to do with having a part of you that you've never really understood, or taken the time to figure out. And Jay showing up again, with his Mother - and realising that they're all connected, I get it now. The draw to Jay too, I pretty much went through the same thing. Jay was my robin, I looked up to him in many ways, more than Dick sometimes. Jay as robin was... _bold_. Seemingly invincible, even though I knew he got hurt, injured, but robin Jay had this sort of energy - raw, strong, no bounds, that sort of thing. Short and slight but when it came down to it, the kid had the survival skills not even Batman could have adequately taught. Just his awareness for his surroundings, being able to merge and blend in, understanding the kinda people we helped. I mean, B, as great as he is - he's never truly _understood_ Gotham, you know? Yeah, stops crime and stuff but even as Brucie, B sticks out like a sore thumb. Same goes for Dick, myself, Damian. And another thing too- Damian, the kid said that it wasn't just about Jay and his past - that me and Jay clicked, and Damian mentioned if he could understand Jay, that....that _we'd_ click, _too_ , me and him, and to think that he was willing to do that, to rebuild or-or restart or mend, fix, heck I dunno, whatever it is between us? I was-" Tim swallowed and played with his fingers. "I was surprised, for sure. Unexpected, yeah."

For a few moments, there was silence.

Shayera stretched out one wing, using it to cover Timothy, and she smiled as the boy snuggled into the warmth, curling up against her side. 

"You know, birdie." Shayera plucked a kiss to his forehead, and though Tim wrinkled his nose, he made no effort to move away. "There are two things you've neglected to mention: firstly, what _Jason_ feels about Damian, and secondly - how _you_ Tim would feel if Jason and Damian were ever to connect."

Tim stilled against her. "I..Jay, he doesn't talk much about it. Talia I get, she basically looked after him back them, but with League stuff? Easier to pluck hairs of a stray cat, Damian's part of that. Thing is, I've seen it though - whenever someone mentions Damian- the effect it has on Jay. Like when Jay shot Dami in the chest." Tim paused briefly, then continued. "I saw him on the cameras that night. As soon as Dami...fell, Jay, it was like something _clicked_ in his brain, like a light switch flicking on - he was just panicking all over the place, like he couldn't believe what he'd just done, his hands kept roaming everywhere but it was as if he was afraid to touch Damian. Ever since then, say the kid's name and watch Jay tense up. His shoulders go all stiff, and his hands, they shake a little, though he turns away from you to hide it, but the eyes, - they give it away. Saw it happen the last time I visited Jay on the Farm."

"Window to the soul." Shayera murmured, and she felt a small nod against her shoulder.

"Get's this faraway look on his face. Trapped in the memories, I guess, but in terms of how Jay feels about the kid - he's never...he's never actually said." Tim looked up now, and Shayera watched a small frown pull across the boy's face. "I can't tell. Maybe he doesn't remember, or does but it wasn't good, so much happened at the time."

"And as for you?" Shayera looked directly at the teen, but Tim didn't meet her eye for long.

"Not sure. Might be good for them, I suppose-"

"I wasn't talking about them, Tim." Shayera kept her voice firm.

Another pause, and then Tim finally answered. "It sounds possessive in my head, but I...I don't want to feel... _second_ best again. I know Jay's reassured me otherwise, but I can't quite get rid of the feeling that if Damian moves in the picture, I'll be-shifted out, if that's the term. I swear I'm not jealous, I'm just-me and Jay, that's how it is. Damian and Dick, that's how it is. It shouldn't be - in an ideal world, it wouldn't, but it's not a bad thing to end up being closer with one brother more than another, and for me, Jason is just that. He's my best friend, you know?" Tim murmured, playing with her feathers.

"You know, Jay talks about you all the time." Shayera stretched out in the chair, aware of blue eyes blinking owlishly at her.

"All the time." Shayera dug out her phone, and unlocking it, gave it to the teen. "Messages. Screenshots, funny pictures. We have our own jokes and things in common, but a lot of the time, in almost every conversation we've ever had, Jason mentions about you at least once. Whether its something you said, or did, a joke, a snippy little retort - he says it all with....with this _smile_ in his voice, that he couldn't be prouder. Jay's said _that_ before too - that he couldn't be more proud of anyone but _you_ , and-" Shayera shook her head gently. "-that he hates he can't be in Gotham, for _you_. That if anything were to happen to you- he'd....I can't say it, but Jay meant it kiddo. That every property he's ever bought has at least two bedrooms, one for him, and one for you."

Tim opened his mouth, and then closed it.

"Jay told me he goes through this thing, a little routine. Food shopping- he automatically buys your favourite stuff, just in case you pop over. Tea, meats, sandwich fillings, snacks - it doesn't matter. You mean so much to him that in his car, you know- Shelby, is it?"

" _Shelley_ " Tim automatically corrected, cheeks flushed. 

" _Shelley_. Well, one day, if you're bold enough to steal his keys, take a look at the driver's compartment. There's not much, but what you'll find is a small booklet of sorts, and in it, are newspaper clippings, articles and stuff, on your work, and stuffed right at the back of the compartment, a book. The booklet contains stuff you've achieved - at the back of it, there's a small photograph of the two of you in the sun, you've got a rubber duck on your head and Jay's got a turtle on his. He told me, that day - when he's got dark thoughts and he's struggling, he takes out that booklet, and the book. Jay says its a reminder that at his lowest, when he doesn't feel like living any more...there's some _one_ to live for, and that's you, Tim. You're his anchor, birdie."

The air was very quiet.

"And the book?" Tim near whispered.

Shayera smiled softly. "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets."

The older woman watched the blush blossom across the teen's face, eyes light and shiny, and she knew that she'd said the right thing.

"But isn't it selfish, Shay? I mean, here I am lamenting about my insecurity when-"

"It is." Shayera stopped with understanding nod. "But it's also _human_. A way to protect yourself against getting hurt, we all do it. A...after the Thanagarian invasion, I was ostracised. The League voted me back in, only by a narrow margin, but I couldn't accept, and I went a way for a while, because-" Shayera swallowed, and she felt a hand squeeze hers. "I wasn't in a good place. Regardless of whether I had prior knowledge or otherwise, in the end, I had betrayed my friends. Destroyed their trust. Hurt...hurt John, and we...we loved each other, we did. We were _in_ love, and though I didn't know the true purpose of my mission being sent here to Earth, I knew that I wasn't supposed to be in love. Not with another, not a _human_ , and yet with John, he...he saw me, the real me. Made me feel alive, didn't handle me with kid gloves or disdain for being a woman from a military background. Understood me and treated me as an equal, and-" Shayera swallowed again. "After it all happened, he-John's face. He couldn't look at me. The trust, it was gone, the hurt was deep, to him, to my friends, to the people of Earth - I was recognisable every where I went, and it made me a target. I couldn't go back home either - I was labelled an enemy, a traitor of the highest order, and it was made- still stands, actually, that I was to be put to death on sight should I ever step foot onto Thanagar again."

Shayera didn't speak for a while, and nor did Tim, but their hands remained clasped.

"The League had become my identity here on Earth. Wrapped in purpose, and I'd lost it all. Everything, and it - I was a wreck, Tim. So very lonely, with no-one to talk to, the man I loved hated me, my...my friend, Diana, she took it the hardest. The only two women on the team, we had become close, and we'd spent a lot of time together outside work. She was angry, upset, and she never failed to make her displeasure clear. I battled all manner of insecurity, feeling worthless, and then those feelings turned to _anger_ over time. Undeniable anger, and I would lash out, because I'd never known the true purpose of my mission, and against my own people, flesh and blood, comrades I had fought beside, shared dinners with, I turned my back on them. Misled them, fought against them, heck, killed some of them, and their eyes, when they were dying - and it was _me_ , one of their own driving in that sword or dagger - I will never forget it. I became less sorry for myself and more bitter. Bitter that I had no home, no family, no friends - not even when I eventually came back, because the loneliness was too great to bear. Barry visited frequently, and he sat with me, even with all the whispers and accusing glares. On missions, those who were on my team would desert me. Leave me to handle the worst parts on my own. Failed to respond to back up. Founder meetings were horrible - I'd sit in silence, too aware of my own presence, that I had no right to be there, and though no-one sad anything, at least not outright, no-one went out of their way to prove otherwise, a-and it hurt."

"Shay, I'm sorry. I didn't know." Tim's baby blues stared up at her, and Shayera hushed him, fluffing her feathers over his lean form.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. One could argue that I deserved it, and I probably did. But do you know why I could never bring myself to formally leave? Make my final exit once and for all? Because I thought about it, every day, every waking moment. Just one day not showing up, flying as far away as I could, and everyday I would be so tempted, so close sometimes, but you know what would stop me?" Shayera looked at Tim, who had a mild case of confusion across his delicate features.

"John?"

Shayera snorted. "If only. It was your _dad_ , kiddo. Or rather, Batman."

Tim's eyes looked close to popping out of his head. " _B_? _Seriously_? Black and white B-"

"Cold, hard facts, logic, clear rationale - yep, the same one. He never said a word, mind you, but each time, when I was _this_ close to throwing in the towel, I'd catch his eye. Didn't matter where we, I was - training room, on the field, at a meeting, hell, walking past one another, but whenever I was a step from breaking point, right on the edge, Batman would look at me. Chin a little jutted, a tiny tilt, like he was _daring_ me to do it. Leave, and never come back."

Tim shook his head, a small smile on his face. "No way you'd give into B."

"Damn right, kiddo. Me, lose to the Dark Knight? Think again. But that look - it worked each and every time, without fail. It was a matter of _pride_ , your dad and I have massive egos, I can hold up my hand for sure, and neither of us like losing to each other. That's why we almost never work together - we're far too similar, probably drive each other up the wall."

It was Tim's turn to snort. "Only Hal Jordan is capable of doing just that. You do rile him up, though. Didn't you make him take you to New York recently? He keeps moaning about the feathers still wedged inbewteen the padding of the seats."

"Guy's a sucker, what can I say."

The two of them sniggered.

"The point is, birdie." Shayera ran a hand through the boy's hair once their laughter had quietened. "It's alright to feel the way you're feeling. Unsure of your "place" if I can call it that, your position, where or how you belong. What Damian means to Jason and vice versa, and not wanting the new kid to make a move in your space. It's normal. But, unlike me, I want you to confront it. None of this bottling up and stewing away brooding, no. You know as well as I do that Jay pretty much adores you. Heck we all do - the fact that the former Red Hood showed up at our doorstep, grinning away like a smug bastard, because of you? You mean something, kid, and don't you forget it. As for your two brothers, well, if this way can go towards healing and moving on, then that's something good. And if that means you and the youngest brat patching things up, even better. You've got lots of supporters here, Tim. Me, of course, being the biggest one." Shayera finished, and now reached for a tub of Supertight Blue's delight. "Oof, that's surgary as hell."

"Let me see." Tim dug his own spoon, face thoughtful. "I don't mind it. Bet Bruce'll hate this-"

" _Hate what_?" A deep voice entered the room, followed by the man of the hour himself, white open collar shirt, casual pants, and Shayera only raised an eyebrow, clutching her possession with considerable strength.

"Don't look directly at it, Timmy. I know its scary sweetheart, but we'll be alright. Where's the holy water you guys normally keep? Shit, salt, get that out too." 

Tim laughed quietly against her as Bruce approached, a smirk tugging at the corners.

"Very funny." Bruce came to rest beside them, picking up a tub of ice-cream. "Batknight velvet midnight? What on earth is this?" The man looked mildly horrified

"League inspired ice-cream." Tim volunteered, reaching for the Supertight Blue's delight, but Bruce picked that up too, mouthing the words, and Shayera watched him, grinning viciously.

"Tell me we can sue."

"No case. They've been selective with their wording, and it clearly states _no affiliation with the official Justice League_. Also something about profits going to charity." Tim made grabby "gimme" hands but Bruce kept the tub out of reach.

"Don't be such a puss, Bruce-"

"Sour puss, you mean." The man automatically corrected.

"Cream puss, sweet puss, sour puss - which kind of _puss_ do you like?" Shayera voiced suggestively, and both Waynes turned pink at the meaning.

" _Shayera_ -" Bruce began, warning clear, but Shayera ignored it completely.

"I mean, we've yet to try Lasso del _Labia_ \- what do you think? Any thoughts?" Her voice was sugary sweet, and Bruce reddened.

"Shayera-" The voice was deeper.

" _OhmyGodthiscannotbehappening-_ " Tim's unusually high voice became muffled against her as he buried his red face in his palms, then half staggered in the seat next to hers, shaking his head violently. " _Nononononono_ -"

"I mean, to be honest Bruce, I'm quite stuck." Shayera played with the spoon in her mouth, enjoying seeing the Bat squirm. "I thought Batknight velvet midnight was quite _filling_ actually - Diana mentioned it a couple of times. Well, several, actually. Couldn't stop going on about it." Shayera held back a laugh as Bruce's neck _flushed_. "Apparently she thought it _thick_ , undeniably _rhythmic_ , and it leaves _quite_ the after taste, like, hmm, what did she say? Oh yes, something musk, oak and leather, oh so crumbly and delicious, especially when she _bites_ into the cookies, and told me she couldn't stop, kept going and going and _going_ -"

" _Help.me._ " Tim squeaked, hands over his ears.

"I mean, I find it _thick_ too. Very warm, filling, gets you flushed and breathy inside. _Wild_ under all that dough. A little heart racing, and the _thrust_ stirs the deep I'd say." Shayera eyed the man dangerously, who looked anywhere but her.

"I will give you a thousand dollars to stop right now-" Bruce ground out.

"But then I tried the Supertight Blue's delight." Shayera cut in smoothly, and now Bruce was head to toe _red_. "And my my, we have _quite_ the competition, goodness me. Definitely a reak kicker, that one. Get's you dizzy with anticipation, and you end up climbing on this great high, all the way, and then it melts, slow and soft in your mouth, a like a pool of _cum_ -" 

"I _swear to God_ if you finish that sentence-" Bruce looked close to breaking point, and Shayera laughed, low and breathy, tracing the outline of her lip with her tongue.

"- _bersome_ delight, all toffee pie and vanilla cream, puffs and swirls, it just dazzles as it sinks down, right into my belly."

" _PictureBinaleotard-_ " Tim half whispered.

Bruce visibly shifted, arching one leg a little closer to the left, hiding an obvious, well, and Shayera smiled, slow and predatory.

"But then, to my eternal surprise, I found myself trying out the _Lasso del Labia_ one day-"

" _OhGodno_. _WhyareyoudingthisShaywhywhywhy_." Tim breathed out, the sound strangled, and Bruce looked like he himself wanted to die on the spot.

"And _uurggh_." Shayera stretched her neck, fingers tracing her jaw, down at the tip of her ear, then to the collar bone, biting her lip as she forced her cheeks to flush. "When I say - _heaven_ , Bruce. Golden showers of joy and sweet, _sweet_ heaven, and I found myself buried deep down into that peach laden abyss, wondering why I'd never had the taste of womanly-"

" _ **SHAYERA!**_ " Bruce shouted, and the woman in question cackled, slapping the armrest of her chair. 

"What Bruce? Is it something I said?" She stared up at the man, innocent, eyes occasionally drifting, and Bruce squirmed even more. 

" _You._ " The man began, teeth gritted. "are a bad influence on my son. Tim, I _forbid_ you to spend any more time with this feathered _heathen_ -"

"Forbid what, Bruce?" Another voice entered the room, and Diana sauntered in, surveying the ice-cream with bright blue eyes. "Oh, ice-cream? What are we celebrating? Timothy darling, what's the matter-"She made her way round to them, pausing to kiss the teen on the head.

Tim, for his part, shook his head, mutterings barely intelligible. "Diana, its a warzone out here. Save yourself."

Shayera decided to have even more fun. "Ooh, is that the new lipstick you were telling me about - Pink Novueau?"

Diana shook her head, smiling, and reached over Shayera to grab a tub. " _Batknight velvet midnight_ , what an interesting name." Her voice was thoughtful. "No, I returned that one and went for _Russian Fiasco_." The Amazonian spoke directly above Shayera, and Shayera, giving a _look_ to Bruce, turned innocent eyes onto Diana.

"Thoughts?"

Diana pressed her lips together, mushing the lipstick. "It is fine, I suppose. Though I was hoping for something with less texture and more _glide_. Longer lasting, softer."

Shayera sat up just a tiny bit, that her face was craned upwards at Diana directly beneath her chest. "Hmm. I can see want you mean - here, why don't you try it out on me?"

"Of course. Alright-" A pause, then the room, and in particular, Bruce, watched as Diana bent over to kiss Shayera, a gentle press, before lifting her head. "See?"

"Hm. I mean, I can't tell exactly." Shayera made a show of placing a finger to her lip. "I mean, its alright for a peck on the cheek."

"How about now?" Diana bent again, and once again, the room watched Diana kiss Shayera a little more firmly this time. "There, that must have made a difference."

By now, the four of them were not the only ones in the room. In between kisses, somehow Barry and John had entered, and they stared across at the two women. J'onn walked by at first, then walked back, entering the room with a questionable look, orange eyes wide and glowing.

"Is there a meeting that I am unaware of?"

"Nuh. Nuh-huh, nuh." Barry could scarcely manage, eyes on the two women. "No meeting. Just an old aged dream come true." He whispered, and John nodded in clear agreement.

"Hmm." Shayera made to think now, biting her lip. Diana seemed nonplussed by the four, no five men staring at them, rooted to the spot. "Softer yes, but I'm not getting the glide, Di, I'm sorry. Plus the lasting needs a more of an _imprint_ , if you know what I mean. A little more emphasis this time."

Diana sighed. "I should have stuck to making my own cosmetics. I shall try again."

Once again, the room descended into deathly silence as Diana and Shayera kissed, Diana's hands down her neck, more movement, a little moan escaping, _deeper_ , more arousing now, intense enough that Shayera arched her back a little, and it took several seconds for them to finally pull away, Shayera tugging on the Amazonian's lower lip as they parted.

"Lovely." She couldn't help herself, winking at the woman, and Diana blushed.

"Shayera." Diana scolded, but the rebuke was mild, a touch playful. "You _must_ know now. Should I return it, or is it not worth the hassle?" Something twinkled in the woman's eye.

Shayera darted a glance to Bruce, who stared quite openly, eyes _fixed_ on them and she smiled up at the Amazon. "No, I think it's alright. Oh, yes, a lot better this time. I can certainly feel the softness, I might have to purchase one for myself. Oops-" Shayera reached up with a finger to gentle wipe a small smudge at the Diana's bottom lip. "Bit of a transfer."

"Blast." Diana also reached up to her lips, but Shayera, moving up to rest her knees on the seat, her back upright against the backing of the chair, stopped her. "Here, let me re-apply it. What do you have on hand? Anything to set it?"

The room still hadn't moved, breathed even, as Diana rummaged through her small purse. "No, I don't." Her disappointment was evident, and she returned to stand in front of Shayera, face to face. 

"Okay. Hold still." Shayera re-applied the lipstick, aware of the tense breathing and wide eyes that accompanied them. It occurred to her that Diana knew exactly what she was doing, judging by Bruce's reaction, one that the Amazonian clearly wanted. She titled her head ever so slightly, and Diana mirrored the action but on the other side. _She knew_ , and Shayera forced herself not to laugh, deliberately applying several layers too much. No more the naive, demure Princess, she thought.

"Oh no." She ground out, voice exaggerated, and both women this time, turning to look somewhat sensually at Bruce, turned to face each other again. "I've put on too much. Have you got a tissue, babe?"

"Nothing." Diana's voice was teasing.

"Well then. Just have to improvise." Shayera smirked, winking at the woman, and moving, she leaned in to kiss Diana, who responded instantly, deeply, hands snaking across her back, then over her neck and drawing her closer, Shayera who took her time, darting in a sneaky tongue, hands running through the woman's hair as she let out a sigh, chests coming together, rising and falling as one, the flush of skin as Diana bit down _hard_ , then kissed her again. Shayera had to admit, if not for John? Well, well, if women _were_ the only option available, then Diana was first contender, no question. The two women finally drew apart once more, breathless, looks lingering, Diana who ran a tongue around her lip, eyes twinkling, Shayera who sent her a daring look, as she sucked on her lip, to hold it together, knowing that they were close to laughter.

"Thank you for the advice." Diana acted her part well, appearing to be flushed, smoothing down her hair and dusting away imaginary flint, and Shayera too straightened, clearing her throat. "I have a meeting with the Ambassador this afternoon, but perhaps we might meet afterwards?" 

"Looking forward to it." The air was heavy was suggestion - dinner would be the last thing on their minds, if they managed to sell this right- and Shayera choked down her laughter.

The room watched open mouthed as Diana made her way past Bruce, hand brushing his arm as she left the room. Shayera too stood and walked out, only pausing to rest by Bruce's side, her voice low.

"Seems we share a great deal in common, Bruce." She inched closer, brushing somewhere low and untouchable, had it been any one else. "Don't wait up."

The _look_ on that man's face - _priceless_.

Shayera Hol: 1, Bruce Wayne: 0

 

 

 _Kent Farm_.

Jason focused on the map.

The Narrows made up a small section of Lower Gotham, but it was an important part nonetheless. Jason knew there to be drug dealing, gangs, meetups for all sorts of predatory behaviour down there, and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply. As _much_ as his fingers ached for his guns, that safe, secure Hood, Jason knew he couldn't go back as that figure again, not any more. That thing had fucked him up so badly Jason occasionally woke up in the middle of his nightmares, panicking, clawing at his face, feeling trapped in the red, horribly red helmet, air stale, with blood on his visor, maniac laughter ringing in his ears, and hands trembling. No, he had to do more as the Red Hood, for the kids, young women, families who were barely surviving, and if he couldn't stomp out all the filth without it making him utterly insane, then it was a matter of giving those residents something to live for. 

Jason glanced at his phone. After soul searching on this damn map, he'd call the older man. Call, find out when he'd be available without too may of the others around, and perhaps they could have a bit of tea, cake, and a catch up. Alfred deserved better, and the very thought of the old man brought something wet to Jason's eyes.

"Whatcha got there, son?" Pa's voice came strolling from behind him, and the older man paused to stop at the end of the map. Jason tried to hide his flinch, but he knew Jon had caught it nonetheless.

"Gotham. Where I grew up." Jason kept his eyes to the map, surveying the area. He hoped Jon wouldn't ask too many questions, himself having to push through a barrage of emotions as he studied the large area, the cramped apartment where he'd lived, the spot where...where he'd buried his baby sister, the home where the Matron had once beaten him so hard he'd fainted, _Mike_ and the joint that had kept him and his Ma from starving for a few months, and-

A hand was placed on his shoulder, squeezing softly. "If you need anything, we're here for ya. Don't hesitate."

Jason couldn't trust himself to speak just yet, a strange lump in his throat, but Jon was waiting for a response, and so he nodded, the action slow and heavy.

"Atta boy. Now-" The man looked around quickly. "Is Ma around? No? Then its to the oven I go!"

Jason let slip a small smile as he watched Jon dart into the kitchen, open the oven, clearly hoping to find himself a nice large slab of pie, but the damn thing was empty.

"For God's sake, Martha!" The man bellowed loudly, and Jason laughed now, for he had done the exact thing not long ago.

"Jay, you've gotta help me son. Let's go, we've got a pie to catch." The man whirled to him, eyes pleading, and Jason smiled, only half sorry to disappoint the man, for Ma had promised him _two_ large slices in return for keeping the heaven sent treasure from her husband. Ma told him he could be trusted, at least far more than her husband and a certain _Timothy_ , and Jason had preened under the praise.

"Sorry Pa." He shrugged, hoping the smirk would not arouse suspicion. "Ma left a while a go with it, she said to was for the neighbour hood meeting. I'm sure she mentioned something about going over to Jo's for a chat before making her way to the meeting." He lied. In actual fact, Ma was at the market with her friend Jo, and would not go to the meeting until much later.

Jon eyed him carefully. "Jo's house."

Jason nodded.

"Neighborhood meeting."

Jason nodded.

Pa stared him down once more before the man grunted, finally acquiescing to the lie, and Jason held in note of relief. The man stopped at the edge of the doorway, a gleam in his eye as he casted him a _look_.

"You know." Jon started carefully, and something about his demeanor gave it away. "Clark used to say the same thing. Almost always a meeting. Garden meeting. Town meeting. Funny that." The older man crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes. "A whole lot of meetings for a small town, wouldn't you say?"

Jason pressed his lips firmly, struggling to keep the laughter from bubbling to the surface. "Can't say, Pa. You know the town better than me. Besides, meetings, they're important aren't they?"

Jon grunted, eyes still on him, and now Jason stared at the map, biting his lip, knowing he was _this_ close to bursting.

"Just know, son." Jon finally straightened. "I've had my fair share of overgrown teenage boys lying to me. If I find out you've been telling porky pies-" He shook his head. 

"War, son. It means _war_."

 

 

_Daily Planet, evening._

Bruce undid a button.

Hopefully, this would work.

Spending over three hundred dollars on takeout - this _had_ to work, and he waited impatiently for the lift to reach the upper floors, where he was more than sure to find a figure hulked over a dainty laptop, eyes squinting through glasses he most certainly didn't need. It was late, and the few that did glance his way merely shrugged before averting their attention. After all, Bruce Wayne was neither the first nor the last celebrity that had graced their halls, or their articles. 

Finally, the floor dinged open, and Bruce stepped into the clearing, making his way past open cubicles, seats vacant, till he reached the office of senior reporter _Clark Kent_. The man continued to stare down at that dinky little screen, half mouthing the words, and without warning, Bruce rapped his knuckles on the door, causing his friend to half jump in his chair, startled. He watched the surprise cross the man's face, then confusion, before something like neutral distaste settled on the man's face, and Bruce felt.. _guilt_ , at being the obvious cause for the change.

"Thought you could do with some dinner." He held up the large takeaway bags. 

They both knew it Clark didn't rely on food nearly as much as ordinary humans did, but Clark, bless him, in his desire to "fit" in, loved the stuff, and could out eat anyone he knew save Tim.

"Thanks, but I'm not really hungry." Clark had turned back to his screen, demeanor cool and distant. A dismissal louder than words, and Bruce knew he deserved it. Not one to take _no_ for an answer, however, Bruce made his way inside, making himself comfortable on the small seating area at the corner of the room. Clark's eyes, of course, followed his every move, irritated by his ignorance, but the man only pursed his lips, choosing to stay silent.

"Suit yourself." Bruce didn't wait; setting out various containers - there were so many he'd taken to filling up the table, couch, smaller couch and armrests, and rolling up his sleeves, he grabbed a small dish of fried noodles, kicking his shoes off, and reclined lazily across the couch.

Clark said nothing.

"God, its been one hell of a week. Weeks even, just day after day of paperwork and _shit_." Bruce started, between mouthfuls. "First, I get a phone call in the middle of the fucking night that the WE warehouse off the coast of Bhutan caught fire. Takes me hours of near continuous screaming in all the languages I know to get a proper update on the situation, Tim can't get through to them either. Then finally, someone with enough common sense rings us back, and its actually _another_ warehouse operating close to WE that's on fire. Few injuries, but thankfully nothing serious. But we share the same land, you see, so our warehouse has to halt manufacturing in the meantime whilst checks are being done, fair enough, but it meant that the upcoming presentation for the VSSOHO project, which required parts from that _particular_ factory, has to be put on hold, so that led to another set of phonecalls dealing with irate shareholders. Then-" 

A quick glance at Clark - the man was still outright ignoring him, so Bruce continued, undeterred.

"Damian was mad at me. Something about cat week or fucks knows what, something to do with animals, I missed a petting exhibition, Clark, because of this shit, a _petting_. _exhibition_ , and he deigned it necessary _not_ to grace me with his presence throughout the whole damn week at dinner. Alfred too has been _hmfing_ at me and I can't figure out why. He only gave me one steak last night, _and_ he made me eat a whole plate of fucking broccoli before I could go out and do what he called "make-believe" - can you imagine?"

Clark started tapping his pencil, a marker of his irritation, and his mouth was pulled to the side, evidently annoyed.

"Then I thought about making it up to him - fuck knows what I did wrong but you know Alfred, if he's not happy, then the rest of us mere mortals have to suffer. So off I go, early hours of the bloody morning to the nearest Walmart/Costco, whatever its called, and I'm telling you Clark, its like _dawn of the dead_ out there. My back is killing me, my feet are killing me, but there I am, in a hoodie and sweats, walking into a store, when I run into one woman down on a man in the middle of the aisle, Clark, the _fucking_ aisle, and she's groaning and whimpering like there's no tomorrow, the guy too, something about "Yeah Shelia, baby girl, that's right, you can do it, urgh urgh." Bruce mimicked.

Clark snorted, though he quickly muffled out the sound, but they'd both heard it.

"I mean, all I kept thinking of was one, their posture was awful, two, his dick wouldn't sustain her weight any longer than I could say "Batman loves the colour pink" and three, how they were right behind the Oakvale's chocolate chip cookies, which is one of Alfred's favourites, and I couldn't _bloody_ leave till I got these damn treats, but oh no, excuse me for apologising and asking the couple to shift over - they screamed at me, that I better stay away from horny, drug addled Shelia, that I'm invading their privacy. _Privacy_ \- let that sink in."

Another snort, louder this time.

"A miracle occurs, I managed to grab the biscuits. I walk down another aisle because, believe it or not, I'm trying to appease the half brat half adult living in my house who speaks like a medieval Englishman back from a three day hunting trip with the foxes slung over his goddamn shoulder. Listen-" Bruce is struggling not to laugh, and now the typing has stopped completely. "I'm looking for fucking vegan treats, you know, tofu, kale, all of that, and I get to another aisle, only to find a guy bent over with a fucking _doll_ or some shit, and Clark, he's fisting the blasted thing up his arse-" Bruce is laughing now, and so is Clark. "No fucking shame, this guy is bent over, going to town, other people are strolling past like its bloody sunshine and rainbows, and this same guy has the audacity, in the middle of a half squirt half scream, to ask me to pass him some _goddamn lube_."

For a moment, the air is filled with hearty laughter.

"I-" Bruce pauses, remembering how to breathe. "At this point, I'm fed up. I'm tired, my eyes have been assaulted to hell and back, and all I wanna do is sleep. Scream. Take a shower, curl into a ball, and wake up next Tuesday. I get to the till where this kid, no more than eighteen, spot ridden to hills, asks for my _senior citizen points card_. Senior citizen, Clark." Clark is wheezing, forehead resting against the table, and Bruce's sides are tight, jaw muscles aching from his laughter. "Of all the fucking days to have in one fucking week - and now I apparently pass for a decrepit eighty year old in Nike sweats. Jesus. You know, that's not even all."

"There's more?" Clark croaked, speaking for the first time, and Bruce stops at that, only for a second, a brief smile on his face before continuing.

"Shayera. Turned up at WE not long ago, wings and all, before she drank my shit, which she called Mallpresheitve piss, _piss_ Clark, I apparently stock four thousand dollar bottles of _piss_ to drink. Started playing that damn gameboy Tim got her, all whilst she's throwing out shit like _Horseonmytitrecrbaba_ and _dippywhore_ because she can-"

They laugh loudly.

"Ended up in New York because of that witch. You know how much that whole outing alone cost me?" Bruce turned to his friend now, who seemed less tense now.

"Rich people's problems." Clark gave him a look, and Bruce sighed irritable, reaching out to take another pot of noodles. He scooped a mouthful, chewed, and then paused. "I didn't spend an arm and a leg to eat my way into obesity, Clark."

A beat of silence from the desk, and then came the sound of a screen shutting, a chair being pushed in, and soon Clark was on the other couch, not quite as relaxed on it as he was, but he was here, and that was enough. "No idea what I bought, by the way. Just typed in random numbers and voila, food."

Clark looked at him. 

"Clark." Bruce quietened his tone. "Eat."

The other man paused again, those blue eyes almost blinking, and Bruce forced himself to look at his friend, wanting him to realise that's his efforts were genuine. Something must have transpired, for Clark nodded once, and reached over to a box. "Prawns, Bruce?"

"I ordered Prawns? Pass them here. Take." Bruce thrust the box of noodles he currently held to Clark, and they swapped boxes. 

"So." Clark's voice was muffled with food. "Shayera and her fairly expensive shopping habits. What else is new?"

Bruce scoffed, opening a bottle of water and took a long swing. "Today. I swear Clark, if I wasn't so damn turned on by her bloody antics I'da-" He shook his head, and laughed at Clark's pink face.

"What? Don't tell you're blind. Anyone with half a brain knows that-"

"I _know_." Clark's face grew pinker still. "But I don't think of her like that. She's a friend. What on earth did she do?"

Bruce laughed loudly into his water. "You know we apparently have ice-cream flavours? I mean, not "officially" sponsored by the League, but apparently "inspired" by us so there isn't much I can do-"

"Yeah, actually. The Green one is sooo good, the bulbus one. Much prefer it over the Super whatever." Clark clamped his mouth shut as Bruce _stared_ at him.

"I shouldn't even be surprised at this point." Bruce muttered, watching the tips of his friend's ears darken. "You know what their doing with the names, right?"

"Hm?" Clark looked mildly confused, and Bruce rolled his eyes, hard. On a good day, Clark's naivety could be somewhat endearing. Now, however, it was plain annoying. 

"Batknight's _velvet midnight_. Super _tight_ Blue's delight. Green _corpus bulbus_." Bruce laid heavy emphasis on the words, watching in satisfaction as the meaning dawned on Clark, who's whole face resembled that of a tomato.

" _Nooo._ " The other man breathed out, and Bruce forced his irritation down as Clark covered his eyes with his palms. "Oh my God. Lois was saying something about the midnight velvet. That she wanted to, uh, you know." Clark waved a hand in his direction, embarrassment in his tone. "Eat it off me." He stuttered, avoiding his eyes.

"Velvet midnight. Can't see why not." Bruce smirked rather openly as Clark removed his hands to _glare_ at him. 

"We have to do something." Clark ground out, and Bruce bit into a prawn, watching his friend squirm. 

"Tried. Looked at the details today - nothing I can do. It's marketed as a "fun, intimate package" between couples, bullshit like that, so if kids eat it, well, they can't claim responsibility for it. It's fucking everywhere. Plus, the money, or a large part of it, is supposedly going to charity. Underprivileged rats, badgers or something, fuck knows, and Damian will have my head if he finds out. It'll die out, I'm sure. But that wasn't the worst part of it."

"How could ice-cream with sexual....yahoo get any worse?" Clark almost looked afraid to ask, and Bruce sighed nosily, pinching his nose between this thumb and forefinger.

"Shayera."

"Shayera, what do you mean - _oooh_." Clark understood now, and Bruce shook his head. "Oh God. Of all people."

"Yep. Had the whole damn assortment spread out on the table, and she and Tim were clearly gorging themselves to oblivion on that feast. She...-" Bruce felt his skin warm now, and he cleared his throat. "She made all these... _suggestions._ "

"Oh _God._ " Clark's voice climbed an octave, and he covered his face with his hands.

"Exactly what Tim kept saying. Surprised he didn't melt into a horny puddle right there and then. And to make it worse- She said the _Lasso del Labia_ -"

Clark let out an undignified shriek.

"-Was by far the best out of them all. I swear, it took all the strength and then some to remain standing, believe me." Bruce shook his head, shifting uncomfortably.

"I-honestly, I can't look at you right now." Clark stared at the ground, the two wisely avoiding eye contact.

"If you think that's bad, then wait till you hear _this_ \- _Diana_ walked in, and Shayera, being the spiteful, vicious little bird she is, decided to torture me, because she's a sadist, and she hates me."

"Lies. At least on the sadist and hates part. You know she loves teasing you." Clark muttered out. "Go on, what happened next."

So Bruce told him. About the first kiss, gentle, wisp of a thing. The _second kiss_ , deeper, far more intense, the others who'd appeared, glued to the spot, Barry who was practically drooling, Lantern who was damn near beside himself, J'onn who looked like he'd discovered a brand new fucking universe, his teenage _son_ for Christ's sake, who'd be having a wet filled dream tonight, no doubt, third steamy kiss, and then the _fourth_ kiss, or more accurately, kissing, breathy, moaney, passionate and so _fucking_ hot, and it made every neuron in Bruce's mortal body fire uncontrollably.

" _OhmyGod_ " Clark breathed out, totally unable to look his way, and Bruce nodded at the ceiling, focusing _hard_ on pushing down all thoughts of red hair, coiled in with black, breathy voices and God, those moans, their lips- He shifted abruptly.

"You're still thinking ab-" Clark spoke without looking, and Bruce cut him off with a _Yes_ , forceful and pained.

"Clark. As _much_ as that woman irritates my soul, I swear to you, in all my years on this Earth, _never_ \- and I truly do mean _never_ , have I been so turned on in my entire life. If-if Diana ever wanted to invite another person, not that she would necessarly, but if she _were_ , for one night - I swear to....it would be Shayera, _absolutely_ , no doubt, no question, and I'm pretty sure Diana knows it too." Bruce shook his head, concentrating with all his might on control, _control_ , and he was grateful Clark hadn't dared look up wither. God knows he was probably thinking the same thing. 

"I-" Clark started and stopped, voice strangled. "Wow. I mean, I know I shouldn't even ask-"

"Better than anything you could have ever imaged. Barry was actual goo in the floor, I swear. Just imagine _Lois_ and _Lana_ , Clark."

Clark let out a moan Bruce never, _ever_ wanted to hear from another man again, much less his best friend, and two pairs of faces, reddened, said nothing for a long while, breathing heavy, each desperately trying to rid the conjured _images_ from their minds.

"The last thing Shayera said to me before leaving was - _seem we share a great deal, Bruce. Don't wait up_ , just to rub salt in the wound." Bruce couldn't deny how...attentive things down below had come, and he forced his back into the couch, willing the burning to subside, but it seared into his loins. 

"Fuck." Clark's voice was breathless, as if he'd gone for a run, and Bruce could only mustered a strained grunt in response.

Neither man moved for a long while.

"It was deliberate." Clark's voice became somewhat steady after a while. 

"Of course it was. Diana played along perfectly, they knew exactly what they were doing and how I'd react. Even that little joke about having dinner after Diana's meting - the suggestion was too obvious."

"You going over to Di's tonight?" Clark dared to peek out a look at his friend, who had a somewhat incredulous expression on his face. "Yep, Yeah, okay don't look at me like that Bruce, of course you're going to hers." Clark squinted up at the ceiling before looking back down. "Damn plane's on the roof."

"Then don't ask stupid questions, Clark." Bruce snarked back, but the tone held no real bite. He finished off the box of prawns and moved onto a selection of spring rolls. "You know who'd have risked everything to see it happen live? _Jason._ "

A pause. 

Clark looked at his friend now, expecting to see a mixture of sorrow and pain his eyes, longing, but to his...quiet surprise, Bruce held his eye, face open, and he nodded, a tad unsure.

"He would. Though it's a little messed up if we're thinking the whole _Mom_ thing. Probably disagree with me, though, God knows he's still got a little crush on her."

"Hn."

"Hn indeed."

Bruce smiled ruefully, then turned back to the rolls, chewing one slowly. "I'm sorry, Clark."

Clark's box of noodles were suspended in the air.

"You heard me, that night. I was...upset, at a number of things. Frustrated, angry, very impatient. I can't pretend to understand everything, I don't, but what I know is this. My boy is back. Despite everything...I'll always love Jason as my son, even if that means we never truly...reconcile, perhaps, but that's something I will have to deal with. Accept, if it comes down to that. You've been there for him in-in ways I wish I could have been, but as long as _someone_ is there, then let me make it clear, Clark: I'm glad its _you_. Relieved that its you, because I trust you, more than anyone else, to have Jason's best interests at heart, and that goes for all my boys. All I want is to see him...happy. Live and be happy. I've heard he's settling down rather well at the Farm, _good_. Some stability will do Jay so much good. I-" Bruce swallowed and looked away. "I've been horrible to you. Rude, just horrible, and half the time, I can't understand why you'd ever want to be friends with someone like me. I don't get it, but years of getting to know you have taught me one thing. Once you make up your mind on something, someone, it'll take the sun, moon, and the universe itself to get you to do otherwise, and even then, you'll be fighting tooth and nail back. I...I wasn't there for you and Lois when I should have been, where I should be now. So...for what's its worth, I'm sorry, Clark. I am. You're a good person. And you'll make an ever greater Father, I know it. I swear, on the graves of my parents, that I'll be there for you, and for Lois, no matter what. _I swear_."

The air was still for several minutes, and then, a little taken aback, Bruce realised that Clark had moved to the couch next to him, stretching his legs out beside his head, and held out a box of what was likely fried rice to him. Bruce took it, and glancing up to meet a kind, soft expression on his friend's face, he was humbled, looking away with quiet awe.

"I ever tell you about the time Pa discovered my stash of _Busty Barn Babes_? That was one hell of a night, I'm telling you. Anyway what happened was..."


	71. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason visits Tim in Gotham. Alfred receives a welcome surprise, and Damian listens in on a private conversation.

_Coach 760 to Danver Interchange._

Jason settled against the seat. 

God, the sun against his skin felt _glorious_ , and not long after boarding, he already felt his eyes beginning to close.

Sure, it was a little cramp, for his tall frame, but thankfully it wasn't too bad. The seat in front of him had remained free, which allowed him to stretch his legs far past his own space, and he yawned, turning to look out of the window. It had been a snap decision, last night, to buy a coach ticket from lil' ass Kansas to Danver, but Jason was glad he'd done it. After the last several days at the Farm, Jason felt that he needed a small break, just a small one, and after a few moments of thinking, he'd logged on to the internet, searching for routes between Smallville and Danver, his home. Smallville itself was more on the outskirts, a tiny town with friendly faces, so really the journey consisted of two parts; a bus from Smallville town centre to Kansas metro, the giant interchange, and then from the metro, a coach to Danver city centre, also a large interchange. Getting to Smallville town centre, however, would require either a solid 40 minute walk from the Farm, which, though do-able, would not exactly be 'pleasant' in the heat out here, or a ten minute drive, courtesy of one of the Kents. It had taken Jason quite a while to figure out how to approach them for a lift. They'd be more than happy to give him one, of course, but the idea of him _leaving_ , even for a few days at the most, brought up something sad, a lump in his throat, and Jason knew they'd feel a similar way. Like it or not, he had really settled in here, trainers comfortable in Clark's room, books all over the place, getting used to throwing on whatever mildly non hideous shirt the Boy Scout had in his wardrobe, cooking with Ma, hell, they had been to the Market nearly five times already, going out with Pa, long walks and interesting stories, all of it.

Jason had made sure to leave as much of his stuff around as possible, packing a small bag with a few essentials, a little assurance to the Kents that he was coming back, his departure wasn't final, and though they were more than happy for him to go, Jason could see the little turn Ma had taken to the side, reaching up with an apron to dab at her eyes, Pa, who gave him a brief smile, understanding, the repeated "call me if you need anything", "we're here for whatever you need, son", and Jason had nodded each and every time, a somewhat tight feeling in his chest. Upon arriving at the town centre, Jon had insisted on waiting with him, and so they'd managed to grab a bite to eat, bagels, muffin, a small coffee, before the bus to Kansas Interchange had finally arrived. Leaving, though, had proven...harder, actually, and somewhere in the midst of Jon's hug, Jason had found himself unable to let go, just a little. He'd clung to the man, not saying anything, but Pa only chuckled, the sound quiet. They'd eventually parted, Jason red faced, aware now of the looks their way, fond looks mind you, _aww_ from a few doting women and Pa had grinned back, clapping him on the shoulder.

Now seated here, Jason felt his eyes close again, dulled by warm green fields and blue skies. He was yearning for home, his space, his things, _Shelley_ , his baby needed some well deserved TLC. Then, after a nap or two maybe, he'd surprise Tim over in Gotham. Might have to drop by the store and do a bit of shopping, the kid basically lived off cheap takeout and Alfred's cooking. Have something up and ready by the time the skinny bean came back from work, see how his brother was doing, probably talk about the bucket list, the GED. Tomorrow he might venture into Gotham a bit, briefly, the thought slightly unerving, but it had been a while since Jason had stepped foot in that place. It was...a comfort, knowing that he had moved on from the place by and large, that though Gotham was his roots, what he knew, that she and her filth made up a large, defining part of him, Gotham certainly no longer had such a hold over him either, and it was a relief. Might spend the next few days running a few errands here and there, he wasn't sure yet. Alfred, yes, _Alfred_ was a priority - seeing as it was a weekday, with the brat at school, the older brat at work, it would just be the two of them, enjoying a little tea and biscuits, heck, even a spot of baking or other, and Jason drifted off, thinking of twinkling brown eyes, cotton-pressed hugs and hot chocolate.

 _Gotham_.

God, this was _Gotham?_ Still, after all these years?

Part of him couldn't believe it. What happened to all the Wayne foundation donations? All the city programs for the underprivileged? Pledges, promises, - _lies_ , the lot of them, broken and ill-conceivable. As long as rich and poor remained - specifically, greedy, selfish politicians, who cared little of proper school funding, decent housing standards, children and welfare - well, nothing had changed, and nothing would change so long as they remained in power, but that wasn't Jason's problem any more. He hadn't been here in _years_ , and even without a specific route in mind, it felt as if Jason's body knew exactly where he was, what he saw, and it was somewhat frightening, that Gotham could be engraved in him. It was late in the afternoon now, and after spending most of the morning and part of the afternoon in Danver, Jason had packed a light bag to drive over to Tim's place. The plan was to go straight there, but for some reason, he'd ended up driving through a little of Gotham itself, mostly the Upper side. The land of the rich, that's what people like him called it, whenever they dared to dream of a world outside poverty and blistering, cold winters. Folks here were _drenched_ in wealth. Little kids dressed straight out of a preppy high school brochure, neat collars, shiny shoes, expensive backpacks, a few followed by personal bodyguards, whilst a line of long suffering chauffeurs waited obediently in private cars, ready to ferry the spoilt brats home. "Home" Jason scoffed to himself - _Mansions_ , great big houses, some fucking _estates_ , flanked behind big, steely gates, designed to separate themselves from the poor and despondent on the other side. It was clear they were in their own little world, where money was nothing to think of, their wants unlimited, and Jason forced himself to look away. It wasn't their fault they'd been born into a life of wealth, but goddamn it hurt, it really did.

Eventually, Jason had seen enough, and drove as fast as he could to Tim's place. His brother lived in a giant penthouse suite, far too big and isolating for a teen, and as Jason stepped into the apartment, he began to piece little things together. Pot noddles stacked to one side, empty takeout boxes by the door. Empty fridge. Coffee pot half full. Everything was so...sterile, brand new, shiny, but so uninviting, like a showroom piece, but without personal touches, and Jason half shivered in himself. How Bruce could have signed off on this, he would never understand. The living room was the same - big ass TV, a photo here and there, but nothing personal. No warm throws, for example. Just white grey black neutrals merging into one, sharp corners and hard edges. The two rooms were the same - a closet as big as his bathroom, full of white shirts, black, navy suits, shiny suits. One or two hoodies, a pair of sneakers, and Jason immediately though back to his place, Tim's room, which was close to _bursting_ with things, clothes strewn about the place, over his chair, the wardrobe door, sneakers upon sneakers under the bed, spilling over the already full shoe rack, shirts with slogans, sunglasses, laptops on top of the other. God, this place wasn't home- Tim considered _Danver_ to be just that, and a warm feeling blossomed in Jason's chest. At least the kid knew that there was a safe place out there to be himself, _Tim_ , not Drake-Wayne, VP, not Timothy in the Manor, all hostile and shit with the brat, but just... _Tim_.

Jason set to work.

All those empty containers, _out_. Open the windows, the air was kinda stale. A deep spring clean, floors, everything. Then, food shopping, two or three trips worth by the looks of things, including frozen foodstuffs. A few other touches, like a rug or something, maybe a cool lamp, just to give this damned showroom a 'lived in' feel. Almost two hours later, he was back in the apartment, stocking up food items, the fridge, the cupboard, before allowing himself to get started with cooking. It was later in the early evening when the front door opened, and in stepped one frazzled, clearly surprised, but evidently happy Tim Drake, suited to boot, and Jason, having finished cooking and perched on a bar stool, on his laptop, turned to greet the boy.

"Jay?" Tim squeaked, disbelieving, and Jason barely had time to nod before a solid bag of muscle came hurtling his way, nearly knocking him from the stool, and he barked out a laugh, only just managing to keep himself upright.

"Well shiver me Timbers, looking sharp, Wayne." Jason murmured into soft black hair, pressing a kiss to the boy's head, and he heard a snort. "What, pipsqueak?"

"The only reason you haven't been kicked out already is because you made _food_ , and food is love. Food is life."Tim remarked, arms tightening around him, and Jason held the boy closer to himself. "What are you doing here? Thought you'd be at the Farm."

"Wanted to see you." Jason's voice was a little rough, but Tim didn't comment. "You and Alf."

Tim nodded against his shoulder, and the next time he spoke, his voice was rather small. "I've missed you."

That voice, so young and precious to him- it made Jason's chest constrict. Reaching up with one hand, he rubbed his brother's back soothingly, smiling to himself. "And I you, kid. _Our_ place isn't the same without ya." He let it sink in, and Tim seemed to understand easily, gripping his shirt.

"I've been worried sick about you." Jason spoke gently. "I know, work, WE, I get it, but kid, you've gotta start taking proper care of yourself-"

"I _know_ -" Tim began, attempting to cut him off, but Jason wouldn't be interrupted.

"Let me finish. Your health, mental and physical, comes first. That means making this place fucking livable, brat. You know as much as I do that my place is as good as yours, but this place Timmy-" Jason gestured to the penthouse. "If you're gonna live by yourself, then you need to make it _yours_. Doesn't have to be _home_ exactly, but you need to make it _your space_ , alright? Gotta mark out your territory, kid."

"Like a dog, you mean." Tim deadpanned, letting go to give him a mild glare, and Jason laughed at the sight.

"Whatever you wanna call it, bitch." He missed Tim's punch, and standing up to his full height, threw an arm around the younger boy's shoulders, taking him on a mini tour of the apartment.

"Jay, what the heck are you doing? Its my apartment, I know where my stuff is-" Tim mildly protested, a silly smile on his face, and Jason's only response was to hug him closer, voice haughty and pretentious.

"Ah Mr Drake-Wayne, so _good_ of you to join us on this tour! Now, here we have penthouse suite 26, a two bed, open style apartment hosting plenty of natural light, _gorgeous_ city views, oh and look, you get a free 'Jason' on behalf of the company, your very own personal chef-" Jason began, projecting his voice across the large room.

"Jay-" Tim started, but the voice was fond.

"Starting at the entrance, we've got a ridiculously fancy security system, top of the market mind you, requiring two total body scans, heat signatures, retinal scanning, finger printing, pressure point detection, body weight distribution, body mass estimate and composition, along with the standard _voice recognition_ -"

"That all?" Tim played along, laughing now, and Jason chuckled, not wanting to break up his flow. "Goodness _no_ \- on occasion, one has been fortunate to provide "Bat" services, courtesy of Gotham's very own night crusader, spandex included, and the one known as "Nightshit", a young offender of strange bodily proportions whose mode of operation involves suffocation via _hugs_."

"Goodness me." Tim acted surprised, but pleased. "We might as well continue - what's next, barely-average handsome?"

Jason flicked the boy's head, ignoring the _ow_ thrown his way as he steered them into the living room. "Two hundred and thirty three feet of ceiling to floor living space-"

" _Two hundred and_ -" Tim laughed again.

"Windows so big you might as well carve a hole in them and call it a cave. Plenty of natural sunlight to let through, so you cook to death in the summer. Lovely, hard, steel lined couches, just to fuck up your back, and oh, don't forget, lots of sharp corners on chairs, tables-" Jason rapped a nearby couch to prove his point. "-so that if you happen to stumble into one at night by accident, you can say goodbye to those lil malteasers you call _balls_ -

"You _dick_." Tim laughed out, red faced, and Jason, grinning, led them through the living room into the bedroom. "More dick than _you_ , sir. Now, two double bedrooms, one master, complete with mating materials and how 'relieve' your frustrations 101-" Jason laughed aloud at Tim's crimson face. "the second a guest bedroom, and now, onto the kitchen." They arrived at the kitchen now, dishes _everywhere_ , and bedside him, Tim practically vibrated with glee. "Five star menu, a la choice, tailored exquisitely to individual preferences. Fully stocked fridges, cupboards, everything one needs to _live and be happy_ , Tim." Jason turned to face his brother, looking at him right in the eye. "Live, Tim. Take it from someone whose been there and back."

Tim fidgeted a little. "I didn't mean to-"

"You haven't, kid." Jason lifted the boy's chin with a finger. "But lemme tell you - if you're gonna do all this, your own place and all, then you'd better do it right, and that starts by taking good care of yourself. Nicely stocked fridge, comfortable surroundings, and a place to chill after work. Won't always be possible to drive down to Danver sometimes, so make sure this place is as much _yours_ as it can be, capiche?" Jason finished his lecture, voice firm, and Tim nodded shyly, cheeks pink.

"Thanks, Jay." There it was, that little smile, and Jason couldn't resist booping Tim's nose, darting away from the younger boy's swat as he began to grab a few plates.

"Go shower, then we'll eat. We've got a lot to talk about."

 

 

_A little while later._

"Jay, that's amazing. Honestly-" Tim shook his head, blue eyes all genuine and shit, and it made Jason flush. "C'mere, ya big oaf." 

Jason found himself pulled into a hug, and he rested his head on his brother's bony shoulder. "You think I can do it?" 

"Think, Jay?" Tim drew back to stare at him. "Heck _yeah_ you can do it! Why didn't you tell me first?" A friendly punch to the shoulder, but Jason knew it was a little more than that. They both did - he and Tim, they told each other these kinda things _first_ , and Jason swallowed, rubbing his arm.

"Didn't wanna get ahead of myself." He rubbed his neck, looking to the side. "Didn't wanna disappoint _you_...just in case I changed my mind or um, or couldn't do it, you know." He half shrugged to himself. 

"Don't be suck a prick." Tim glowered at him slightly, eyebrow raised, but the expression quickly softened. "You know I have your back, no matter what." The younger boy stretched his legs out across his, and reached across to grab a tub of ice-cream. "Here, try this one."

"Batknight's-" Jason sounded, and then raised his eyebrow. "The fuck? Who the fuck is out here selling perverted ass ice-cream?"

Tim snorted, helping himself to a scoop before taking a bite. "All that matters is that it pisses B off. Shoulda seen what Shayera did, though." Tim winked at him before settling in against him, recounting the story. It wasn't long till both men were red faced, laughter loud and free.

"Fuck me." Jason's voice was a little breathless. "B's face musta looked a right picture."

Tim nodded enthusiastically, grin sharp. "Managed to get a a few snaps courtesy of security, at least before B had them delete the evidence. I'll send it to ya."

"Okay, I can't lie." Jason paused from his mouthful of the Batman inspired ice-cream. "This is amazing. Can't stand the guy, but props to whoever made this. Would deny it to my last breath though, so don't go round telling people shit, you hear?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Batboy. Right, GED. We'll start going through requirements and shit-"

"Clark wants in on that, by the way."

"Yeah alright. We'll split the work up, you guys go through requirements, I'll get materials meeting the criteria. We'll need a sit down soon though."

Jason was humbled. "Thanks,Tim."

The teen waved him off, helping himself to another scoop. "What else was on the list?"

Jason told him. Helping with the group homes, the Kent's mini renovations, helping at the Watch-tower on occasion, and by the end of it all, Tim had this big smile on his face, and it made Jason happy, that he could make his brother smile as such. A few more tubs of ice-cream, Netflix, a great hoarding of spring rolls later, and then it was Tim's turn to surprise him, voice low and steady.

"Jay."

"Yeah." Jason half turned to his brother, eyes still glued to the TV. "Speak, lest your peace be withheld forever."

" _Jay_." Something in Tim's tone was off, and Jason, frowning a little, turned to his brother now, noticing how fixed his eyes were on him.

"What is-"

"I need you to listen to what I'm about to say, Jay. Just...hear me out first, alright? I think its about time, for both of you." 

The voice was soft, but no less serious, and Jason forced himself to swallow the food in his mouth. _Both_? He had a feeling whatever Tim planned to say next....wasn't good, put it that way, but nevertheless he complied, muting the TV. He nodded once, and Tim, also nodding, sat up straighter, arms clasped on the pillow. Jason's stomach coiled into a knot as the teen took a deep breath before starting.

"There's something, a couple of things actually I...I think you should know."

 

 

_Next day. The Manor, late morning._

_Riiiinng._ _Riiiinng._

Alfred dried his hands on a tea towel, a little frown on his face.

The delivery was a little early he had to admit, but never mind. All it would mean was a few things being reshuffled before lunchtime, but since it was only himself in the Manor today, lunch could wait. He didn't bother to check the security cameras; the same delivery was made twice a week around this time anyway.

Walking to the door, Alfred adjusted his jacket, and opened the door. "Good morning Henry. I didn't expect you so soon-"

"Hey, Alfie." A gruff but heartfelt sound put everything on hold. 

The voice stopped Alfred in his tracks. No, it certainly wasn't Henry. Henry was a short, rotund gentleman with a kind demeanor, quite happy to sit for a minute or three with a steaming cup of tea. No, the gentleman at his front was tall, very tall. Broad chested, muscular, dark, such a healthy glow about him- _the sun_ , his mind supplied, and eyes Alfred could pick out anywhere. The young man smirked a little, then smiled, but his eyes gave it all away. Hope, so much hope, but the way he... _held_ himself, head slightly bowed, fidgety, fingers playing with his shirt buttons - anxious, nervous, a tad apprehensive, and Alfred found it took him a few seconds to blink, to wet his dry mouth, and to start again.

"Alfred?" The young man moved to him now, touching him at the elbow, and that was all Alfred needed.

"Master Jason?" Alfred didn't deny how much his voice shook, hands that trembled as he reached towards his grandson, whom he had not seen for several months now, the same one who had nearly- no, _did_ die, out in that wild jungle, and Alfred rested his hands on his face, the scruff that had grown there, fitting the boy- _man_ , Jason was a _man_ now, then to his shoulders, strong and defiant, but Jason took their hands together, squeezing them softly.

"Yeah, Alf. Its me." Jason also seemed to struggle with his words, and now without prompt, nor warning, Alfred stepped forward to hug his grandson as hard as he could, frame trembling, and the young master seemed to melt into him, clutching his lapel, and the tears, they came, quiet, silent things, but they were there, Alfred felt them, against his neck, the strained cries, _I'm sorry_ , _I love you_ , and Alfred shook his head, heart heavy and yet lighter, his own tears falling as he pressed a hard kiss into the man's shoulder, holding him tightly.

"My boy. My dearest, dearest boy. Words cannot describe how much I have missed you, my child."

 

 

 _Kitchen_.

"C'mon Alf, don't be so stingy. Spill the beans already." Jason whined from his barstool seat, one finger greedily in the cookie dough. Alfred was like the Gossip girl of the family, he knew _everything_ no matter how embarrassing, and getting dirt on the others was better than fucking treasure, 'cause it made for some damningly good blackmail material.

Across from Alfred gave him a look, clearly unimpressed, but out of sentiment, he allowed the comment, _and_ the finger licking of the bowl, something the older man had tried to put a stop to several times n the past.

"Master Jason." The tone was flat, but the twinkle in the butler's eye gave him away, and he shifted another bowl of dough over to Jason, who set the finger licking aside and began to sprinkle flour onto the worktop surface.

"I'm your favourite so _please please please pleaaaaaase-_ " Jason looked up pleadingly, green eyes round and innocent, but Alfred simply _hmpfed_ , silent disagreement over the 'favourites' part.

"Alf." Jason gave the butler his most winning smile. "Two tickets to whatever history event of your pick. Private tour, VIP access, lunch at Mareto. _And_ , just because I love you more than anything in the world, I'll even wear a _tie_."

"Is that all, boy?" The voice was mild but Jason knew better, and he thought fast.

"No smoking." He declared, half wincing a moment later. He'd long since quit, but every once in a blue moon, that ciggie, perched on his lips, could be anxiety-busting, far better than any meditative therapy his teachers had drilled into him. A nasty habit, like coffee, but desperate times, yada yada.

"I'm afraid I cannot say-" Alfred's tone was almost regretful, if not for the twitch of his mustache, and Jason snorted. _Regretful my ass_. The old man played the game better than any of them - heck, he _invented_ the damn thing. Jason half shook his head - the Bat clan had spent far too much time and resources on putting _him_ down, when the most dangerous of them all, the master manipulator, was the guy in the three piece suit, making tea upstairs in the kitchen. _Batman's_ Batman.

"No smoking, for the entire day. Not one swear word, not even a curse- okay, scratch that. Allow a couple of swear words, its in ma blood. As much cake as you want, and....and I'll stay for dinner. At the Manor, no complaints. Starter, then I'm out."

Alfred paused. 

Jason, agreeing to stay for dinner at the Manor?

"Starter, main course." Alfred threw his hat in the ring, and Jason made a face. 

_Mains_?

Fucking hell.

"Starter, main course, and I'll have the life works of Samuel Tate on your doorstep within two days stat." That was the best Jason could do without breaking down to strangle Bruce and his octopus-legged firsborn from across the room.

Jason watched his Abuelo purse his lips, considering the idea. Yes, the thought of being here, potentially with the...rest made his stomach turn, but if it meant getting the juice on just how Clark and Bruce managed to end up in the early hours of the morning, somewhere in Vegas, wearing nothing except matching pink feathery boxers, chained together to a pole, with the Boy Scout close to tears, mascara running, Bruce with glitter in his hair, a tattoo on his back - the whole nine yards was _worth it_ , tense diners and all.

Alfred nodded once. "A few days before Master Kent's wedding to Ms Lane some years ago, I received a particularly strange alert..."

 

 

Damian wrinkled his nose in irritation.

The Uber driver muttered a curse, something about spolit brats, before driving off, and Damian made a show of dusting his otherwise immaculate clothing, distaste in his mouth.

_Never again._

How the ordinary lived like this, he would never know, but one thing was for sure - that man, Derek, deserved to have his licensed stripped away for all eternity for the monstrosity he dared to call 'driving'. It was a miracle he was still in one piece really, and now Damian began the short trek to the private road leading up to the Manor. He'd asked the driver to park a distance away, not wanting his identity to be guessed, and the driver had barely nodded, talking loudly on the phone as he swerve potholes, swearing at pitiful passerbys and their wayward offsring, idiots for thinking they could cross the road in peace.

It was his own fault, really. Damian had forgotten to notify Alfred of today's half day of school, something about a meeting with teachers/governors, he had stopped listening. The whole afternoon to himself, free from incessant rambling, snot, tears and unbearable whining- the heavens had finally taken pity on him. Having been dismissed by 1pm, Damian thought about calling Pennyworth, but out of curiosity, decided to try out this new 'app' Grayson had installed on his phone, _Uber_. The older man had practically vibrated off the floor with glee when Damian had informed him he knew little of 'Uber', who or what it was. Apparently, it primarily served as some sort of taxi company, but also made food deliveries - Uber Eats, how original, and so Damian had taken to ordering a car directly via the app, a little taken aback by how quickly it arrived. His initial thoughts, however, quickly turned into that of distaste, then horror, as the car morphed into a death-like contraption, with a driver who kept a little over a quarter of an eye on the road, more on his phone as he fiddled away with his sat nav, and Damian had hissed several curses in Arabic each time they swerved.

Finally, he was hom-

 _Wait_.

There, in the driveway, was a car.

Not just any old car mind you - it looked familiar, black, sleek, classically old, and as Damian stared at it, he realised just who the car belong to:

_Todd._

Todd was here?

Damian swallowed. He'd be lying if he didn't feel a little uneasy, but at this time - just after 1:30pm, Father was at work, Drake too, which left only-

 _Pennyworth_.

Of course it was the butler. Damian knew both men shared a special fondness for the other. Was this what Todd used to do? Visit Pennyworth when he knew they would be elsewhere? It made sense - Todd usually hated coming back to the Manor, and any visit he did make, however brief, was only made tolerable because of Pennyworth. Todd had been at greats odds with them, Father mostly, but the Butler had and always would be the exception. Neutral territory - Pennyworth was the one card no-one dared to play unless circumstances were dire. Damian hmmed to himself. A man as regarded and resourceful as him was rather wasted as a butler, and Damian bypassed security now, coming in via one of the secret entrances, something Grayson had shown him one adventurous night after patrol. Making his way into the Manor, he entered through the West wing, following a series of dark, winding hallways, before opening a hatch he knew overlooked the main kitchen from the far end. It was a little dusty, but Damian settled in regardless, surveying the scene carefully.

Pennyworth was on one counter, apron neat and undisturbed as he poured something resembling dough into a metal platter. Todd came into view next, towering over the older man at his immediate right, another bowl in hand, voice loud and animated as he retold a story, something about a secret stash he'd discovered, and Pennyworth chuckling, _chuckling_. Damian found himself settling in to listen to the narration - Todd had a way of telling a story with...with _all_ of his body, and with such a deep, lulling voice, it was easy to feel drawn in, captivated. The man himself looked very well, bigger than ever, if that were even possible, bronzed and healthy, and Damian let slip a small smile. He didn't know why exactly he'd smiled, but there was something about Todd being happy that made him feel light, relieved even, and it was concerning, for this was _Todd_. His voice was also unusual; gruff and yet warm, staccato sharp Gothamite, but at times, the lilt of his Latino heritage peeked through, _Papa_ , muttering colourful phrases in Spanish that would get him a _look_ from Pennyworth. Jovial, and yet there was a sense of quiet about him, peaceful, and Damian realised here was the real Jason Todd, the one Father knew existed behind the angry boy, the one Father hoped to see growing up. He sat there for a long while, observing the ease with which the two occupied the same space, years of practice, comfortable, and a part of Damian wondered if Father would be jealous at the sight, of _Pennyworth_ , who was so clearly the object of Todd's affections. Apparently Todd would be staying over at Drake's apartment for a few days whilst he ran a few errands, though the man did not specify exactly what, and Pennyworth did not press.

And then Todd mentioned his name, and Damian turned still.

"Hey Alf." The younger man was now seated on a stool, a hot beverage in hand, and a tray of freshly baked muffins was to one side. Todd reached over to grab a crude handful, but the effort was half hindered by the butler, who tapped his hand away. Todd smirked, though a colour of pink hit his cheeks before nodding. _Too hot, wait_ , Damian correctly interpreted, and not long after, the man reached for one under Pennyworth's approving gaze.

Todd's voice was low when he spoke. "Tim kinda mentioned a couple of things. Several things actually....about Damian."

Pennyworth looked up, face somewhat neutral, waiting to hear the man out.

Damian did not dare to breathe.

Todd continued. "He said quite a bit. Mainly about the kid trying to learn more about me, reading my stuff. That he...his memories, he can't remember me at the um, the League and stuff, but he knows its there. Like hovering under the surface, if you get what I mean. Said that Damian would probably kill him if I knew but Damian-" Todd sighed, running a tired hand through his hair, and he stared down at the cup, face lost. "That we mean something to each other, despite...you know. That he feels I _don't want him_ , which is-is" Frustration entered the man's voice. "Fucking _ludicrous_ , that's what that is."

Damian's mouth fell open, and then he closed it just as quickly. Todd-

"That kid doesn't...spolit brat, he has no idea what he means to me. My memories, a lot of the stuff back then is messed up because of the Pit, but I remember a lot too. I...the League, Alf, it wasn't a good place." Todd swallowed.

Damian felt a pang in his chest.

"I- man, its fuzzy, but I remember the pain. Being...punished for stuff. I was-I was never meant to leave that place, Alf. I- T, she doesn't like talking about it for some reason. She deflects, says 'all that matters is that I'm safe.' I think I- Ra's, he wanted to use me for something. Probably to do with why I woke up six months after being, you know..." Todd trailed off, and though Pennyworth wasn't looking at the man, it was clear he was listening intently. "No matter what he...they did, I kept fighting back. Wouldn't do it, wouldn't give in, and I think it, it both impressed him, and mad him mad at the same time. A weapon maybe, a tool that he could use to carry out whatever shit he wanted, and I-" Damian detected how the man's hands shook a little, and the tension in Pennyworth's frame gave away his rare anger. "T, she kept him from me as long as she could. Tried to stall his plans, I think, I'm not sure, but it was always more time, more this, more that, until one day, for whatever reason...T, she just doesn't-argh, it's so frustrating." Todd's jaw was visibly tight from where Damian sat.

There was quiet for a while.

"But Dames." Todd's voice was barely a whisper, and Damian sat forward automatically, heart racing. What was Todd going to-

"I loved him, A."

The air fell silent at that, and Damian felt himself reeling backwards, blood rushing to his ears.

Todd still looked faraway as he spoke. "More than- more than anything, I think. I know from the brain damage, I couldn't process things as normal, but I'll never forget his little voice. Small, but a powerful, man you shoulda seen him, walking around in his little black kaftan, the princelling." A small smile grew appeared on Todd's face, but it faded. "He didn't know what to make of me, not at first. I know some of the tutors referred to me as the 'thing'. One or two said I was the Master's 'pet project', Talia's, that is - I guess Damian wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I remember - I think it was one afternoon, he'd snuck away from his teachers or something. He- God, kid probably thought he was silent on his feet, but my senses were messed up, and I could hear him approach from a couple hundred metres away. For some reason, the weight of his steps maybe, a little uncertainty - I just knew back then that it wasn't an enemy. I knew Talia's steps, hers were similar, but more graceful, more confident, and she had this scent, Jasmine, something like roasted vanilla, and I learned to recognise her presence just by that alone. But this was new, a new set of footsteps. Young, very young, an imitation of confidence but the grace wasn't quite there yet, not like T's. Still regal though, so I waited, and then Damian appeared, and I swear, at first my- he was so _tiny_ A, so small, with his little nose and hands and bare feet and I just-" Todd looked up at the ceiling, a sheen to his eyes, and Damian felt his chest constrict at the sight.

"I scrambled back, and the kid stopped, but he only looked at me, like seizing up a threat or something. I -I remember, he took a step forwards, I scrambled back again, and I think Damian got the message. He kinda sat down slowly, palms out but downward facing, like non-threatening I guess, and we stayed like that for a while, me against the wall, Damian sitting, watching me. Eventually, he left, I can't remember if we-he said- no, no he _did_ , actually. I think he tried speaking, maybe in Arabic? God, I can't, its just not here right now, but I remember him speaking, and I couldn't answer cause I couldn't damn well speak, and even if I could, I-I had no idea what he was saying."

Todd said nothing more for a while, staring out the window. Damian watched as Pennyworth removed the cup from Todd's hand, refilling it, and returned to baking. The younger man only just managing to give him a brief, shaky smile before looking away.

"Does he still have his cocoa? Like, spicy cinnamon, a lil' ginger, pinch of sugar, dash of nutmeg?" Todd sipped his drink.

Damian stared at him. How on earth did he know-

"He does." Pennyworth confirmed gently.

"And tea? Kid's got like, half a dozen favourites, but as long as its Middle Eastern based, you're good to go." Todd smiled into his drink now, and Alfred looked at him.

Damian couldn't take his eyes off Todd.

"T." Todd explained. "Whenever she was able to get away, the three of us would be holed up in her private quarters, the garden especially. Not the best cook, but boy could she make tea. As.. as hellish as the League was, it was Talia who looked out for me, A. For whatever reason, she protected me, from Ra's, and I owe her my life. We're not-" There it was, that frustration again. "It's not all roses with us, you know. We still have stuff that needs airing out, she knows that, but I...I...T. T's important to me. She was there, when I was going through sheer hell, the absolute worst of it all, she was there, she knows some of the darkest shit about me and the fact that she still sees me as....as important, well." Todd swallowed, skin a little flushed, and Damian forced down a pang of jealously at the sight.

"As for Master Damian?" Pennyworth spoke properly for the first time now, and Todd looked up, eyes clouded. 

"I...I can't, A. I made it outta there not just because of his Mom - I held on because of _Damian_ , because my mind, as broken as it was, knew by instinct that I was to protect him, that I couldn't let him down but I have, I've messed it all up." The voice was soft, full of regret, but to Damian, the admission was all the more crushing, and he looked away, rebuking such emotion.

"Master Jason, if only you would just-" Pennyworth began, but Todd seemed to close down now, voice blunt.

"A, I _can't._ " He shook his head. "Don't you remember what I did to the kid? Terrorised his whole freaking family, nearly fucking...I _shot_ him, A, right in the damn chest! Pit or otherwise, I-I _hurt_ him, I hurt the kid I was supposed to love, and I-I had no idea, I didn't know then, about us, I couldn't remember that we'd...all I knew was that he was robin, one of the Bat's, that Dick loved him, and that made him an easy target. Had I-" Todd gritted his teeth. "A kid, I hurt a kid. Had I...Had I known _exactly_ who he was and what he was to me, I never would have- a-and now, now all I can think about are those little hands and eyes a-an that I nearly destroyed because I was so damn out of my mind I nearly bloody killed my baby akhi-"

Todd stood abruptly, slamming his hands into the table, shoulder tense, and remarkably, whilst Damian had flinched at the admission, the sudden outburst of sound, Pennyworth had kept his composure, calm and steady.

"And now I'm hearing that the kid wants to- Alfie, I _can't_! What if I hurt him again - I can't take that risk! Barely even look at him without remembering all that shit I put him through a-and- from my own fucking hands no less-" Todd's voice was harsh.

Damian wanted to protest otherwise, to shout now, but he remembered that he _wasn't supposed to be here_ , and he froze again, angry, frustrated, disappointed in one. Why could Todd make an exception for Drake and yet not him? What was it about Drake that made him more-

"Another tray needs setting, Master Jason." Pennyworth's calm air and firm direction seemed to melt diffuse the tension, and Damian watched as Todd's shoulders slumped somewhat, the small nod that came after it, and Todd moved round to help Pennyworth.

"Sorry." Todd muttered, but Pennyworth paid him no mind, squeezing his arm. They settled into a routine again, comfortable, and Damian knew the conversation was over, for now-

but _not_ for him, and Damian clenched his jaw.

This was _not_ over, not by any means.


	72. Familiar faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lois has a pregnancy scare. Jason visits Crime Alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Ehshe iebr tuyeke_ = "I love you." (Eng to Kryptonian)
> 
>  _Takw Lopklo nhy Pvbse, Ehshe iebr tuyeke_ = "My moon and my stars, I love you". (Eng to Kryptonian)

_Metropolis_.

"Clark." Lois sat up against the couch suddenly, a note of alarm in voice. "I..." Her voice trailed off. "I think something's _wrong._ "

Less than a blink of an eye, Clark was crouched in front of his wife, heart beginning to race. "Lo, what's wrong? What do you mean?" Clark tried to keep his voice calm, but the _fear_ was audible nonetheless. He reached up to stroke his wife's face, violet eyes wide, and her lip trembled slightly.

"I'm not sure." Lois whispered, staring at him before looking down at the hand placed on her belly, and Clark too put his hands there, gentle. "I...I can't place my finger on it, its weird, my tummy feels weird, and the baby, I-I just don't, Clark, we can't lose-"

"Ssh." Clark drew Lois close to himself, swallowing as he caught on to her own heart beating faster, panicking, and her kissed her at the temple. "It's alright, sweetheart. Everything will be alright- have you noticed anything? Any-" Clark took a small breath before continuing. "blood? Cramps? Feeling dizzy, lightheaded-"

"No, no-" Lois held onto his shirt, hands twisted into a fist in the fabric. "I don't know what it is, but I just can't get rid of the feeling that something isn't- it's just _off_ Clark, and I'm worried-" Her breath tickled against his neck, and Clark kissed her again, one hand rubbing her back soothingly.

"Okay, here's what we'll do: We'll book an emergency appointment with the obstetrician, hopefully get a scan and a few other tests, just to make sure everything's alright. You stay- Lo, babe, c'mon sweetheart, please look at me." Clark gently palmed his wife's face towards him, eyes watery, Lois who tried to nod, but the action was shaky, and tears spilled over. He closed her hand in his own, ignoring how his own chest thundered. "Don't cry, babe. I promise-" Clark kissed her on the lips, and then another, before thumbing away the tears. "You sit tight, sweetheart. I'll grab a few things, make a call to the doctor, tell them its urgent."

"Clark-" Lois looked panic-stricken, and now Clark took her face in his hands, speaking softly but firmly. 

"I won't let anything happen, Lo, not to you _or_ our child. _I promise._ "

Lois held his eye for a long moment before nodding, brushing her eyes with an arm. "Okay." She swallowed and held him by the wrists. "Okay."

Clark smiled at her. "That's my girl." Kissing her hands, he stood, moving quickly to gather key documents- the baby booklet, dates of upcoming scans, tests, everything they could possibly need, and then Clark called their doctor, unable to stop his hands shaking.

"Hello, My name is Clark Kent, and I'm calling on behalf of my wife, Lois Lane. We'd like an urgent appointment with Dr Helmsburg please, today or as soon as possible; my wife is concerned about the baby and we would really appreciate some reassurance if possible."

"Ahh, just a moment Mr Kent. If you wouldn't mind, I'll just put you on hold whilst I check." A short pausing pause, and then the female voice came back on, apologetic. "I'm sorry Mr Kent, unfortunately Dr Helmsbury is on nights throughout this week at the Hospital and will not be available until Tuesday mid-morning. I can check to try and fit you in with one of the other doctors at the practice, but the next appointment may not be until tomorrow at the earliest if possible."

"Right." Clark removed his glasses, wiping a hand against his forehead. He closed his eyes, forcing himself think. The ER was another option, if it came to that, but Clark didn't exactly want himself nor his child to be in the "system", not at the risk of exploitation of his unusual heritage should anyone find out. "Alright." He swallowed, throat tight. "Well thank you, anyway. Please tell Dr Helmsburg I called." He ended the call and took a moment. Lois was worried, and after the miscarriage of their first, it was hard not to jump to conclusions.

Taking a breath, Clark quickly made another call. One ring, another ring, a third, before the call was finally answered, and Clark felt like his chest would burst at the sound.

"Bruce? God, Bruce, I really need a favour." Clark immediately began, not waiting for his friend to speak. "It's Lois, she's worried about the baby. Says something's off, that its not quite right, and B, if _anything_ happens, Lo- she'll be devastated and I can't-" 

"Clark-" Bruce's voice was firm but no less understanding, but Clark could barely hear him as he rambled on.

"I've tried Dr Helmsbury, she's on nights all this week, and we can always try the ER, but if we can avoid getting our details in the system-" Clark paced around the room. 

" _Clark._ " Bruce ground out, almost harsh, and Clark stopped in his tracks. "You need to _calm down._ "

"I-" Clark took the phone off his ear, resting against the wall. "B. I need... I can't lose this one. I just _can't_." 

For a moment, there was quiet, and all that could be heard was Clark's breathing, deliberately slow, laboured.

"You won't." Bruce answered, once his breathing became steady. "I swear to you, you won't, and neither will Lois. Get to the watch-tower, I'm sending up a core team to run a few tests. I'll meet you there."

"Bruce, you don't have-" Clark bit his lip. "Thank you, honestly, but I know you're busy-" His hands still trembled.

"It isn't up for discussion. Bring the results of your latest scans if you can - if not, don't worry, I'll bring a copy of Mother and baby's files. I've been following Lois's progress throughout; so far, her bloods have been normal, and scans haven't shown anything out of the ordinary. I would have flagged them up otherwise."

Clark, despite his anxiety, smiled to himself. _Of course_ Bruce had a copy of the baby's medical file. He could trust Bruce on that. 

"I don't know how to thank you." His voice was quiet, and over the line, he could just about detect a tiny, amused huff.

"Don't. Your only job is to calm down, keep Lois calm, and know that whatever happens, neither of you are alone. See you up there." Bruce ended the call then, and Clark, a little more settled, gathered a small bag and made his way over to the living room, once again crouching in front of his wife.

"Hey, beautiful." Clark gazed lovingly at his wife, who managed a brief, shaky smile of her own.

"Is that all? _ppft_ " Lois snarked back, but there was no bite, and Clark laughed quietly, bringing her hands together. He kissed them gently, then held them to his chest.

"Dr Helmsburg is on nights this week. I called Bruce; don't ask me how but he's sending a team up to the watch-tower just for us, Lo. He's also bringing a copy of your file with him too, he's been tracking your progress."

Lois smiled. "Why am I not surprised. We've got to thank him, for everything." Her voice was more of a whisper than anything else.

"You know Bruce. He'll grumble, mutter something about not being necessary or what not, then go back to brooding." The two of them shared an amused smile, before Clark placed a hand on his wife's belly. "Time to go, babe."

Lois nodded. "We're having this baby, come hell or high water. My gift to you." She leaned forward and kissed his nose, and Clark lifted his head to kiss her properly, carding a light hand through her hair.

" _Our_ little gift. Come on, up you get." Clark helped his wife to stand, noting the small, protruding belly, and he steadied her with one hand behind the curve of her back, guiding her out of the apartment and down to the car.

 

 

It wasn't long before they reached the Metropolis portabay, the ride being quiet, but Lois had held his hand tightly on the way, resting their hands on her belly, Clark who would squeeze hers every now and again. Finally, they reached the watch-tower, entering through the private south side entrance, where Bruce was already waiting for them, more suited to work that nightly activities. His mouth was in a neutral line, firm, but his eyes gave away his concern, watching as they made their way over. Bruce met his eyes and nodded, before turning to Lois.

"Lois." Bruce's voice was warmer than usual, and he bent to hug Lois, kissing her gently on the cheek. Bruce made to withdraw but Lois stopped him, holding on to his hand, looking up at the two of them.

"Bruce-" Lois began, and then paused. She shook her head, glancing at her belly, and Clark felt his chest ache at the sight. 

Lois was _scared_.

Raising kids, a family, had clearly rubbed off on Bruce, for he seemed to understand despite the lack of words, and he stepped forwards, placing both hands at the sides of Lois's face, and pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. His friend's eyes met his over his Lois's head, before Bruce returned his attention to Lois, rubbing her arms soothingly. "Don' worry about a thing. I've got the best team money can buy waiting for you upstairs, _nothing_ is happening to that baby. The team are aware of the _sensitive nature_ of this pregnancy, and have been updated with the situation. You're in good hands. "

Lois nodded, small against him, and brought a hand to her eyes. "Sorry. I'm just-" She waved her hand aimlessly, and Clark knew this was his cue now. He moved to take her hand in his, and looked at his friend, eternally grateful, who responded with a brief smile.

"Follow me. I've closed this side of the watch-tower." Bruce turned swiftly and led them at the front, the two of them trailing directly behind, hand in hand, til they reached the medical centre, meeting a small group of no more than four individuals in white coats, and at front of the line presumably, the lead clinician, a white haired, moustache wearing gentleman in his sixties. In the room over were another group of individuals, stationed at various equipment, and they smiled warmly at them in silent greeting before turning to work. Bruce narrated introductions as they made they way down the line.

"Mr Fichorovak, Chair of Obstetrics and Gynaecology department at Harvard. Mr Jh Lacin, professor of Women and Child's health at Stanford, Miss Ruth Michaels, Associate professor of Obstetrics with a PhDs in Reproductive Biology and Early Child development at Yale, and last but certainly not least, Miss OA Akindele, Chair Paediatrican at Princeton with PhDs in genetic sequencing, embryology and special interest in child developmental neurology."

Clark stared at his friend. "You didn't have to-" but Bruce cut him off, an eyebrow raised. "I don't do half-hearted. I promised you the best." The man turned to Mr Fichorovak now, shaking his hand, and nodded to the rest.

"Mr Wayne, we'll take it from here. If you wouldn't mind-" Mr Fichorovak began, but at his side, Lois suddenly stepped forwards, looking at him before turning back to the doctor.

"Actually, Mr Fichorovak? If you wouldn't mind-" Lois glanced to him, eyes pleading, before looking at Bruce, then back to the doctor. Clark felt his wife squeeze his hand tightly in his own, and he met his friend's eyes, Bruce who looked a little confused.

"Would it be alright if...if Mr Wayne stayed? I mean-" Lois looked to him again, still speaking. "He's a close friend. More like family, to be honest, and he knows our history very well. Honey?"

Clark sent a small smile back at his wife, squeezing her hand gently, before looking to his friend and the doctor. "I would appreciate it too, if that's alright with you both. Bruce? What do you say?"

The room looked to Bruce now, who looked...a little touched at the request, if not taken aback, and he cleared his throat. "If it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience-" The voice was gruff, but not overly so, and Clark couldn't help sending a grin at his friend's face, who flushed in response. 

"Certainly not!" Mr Fichorovak looked to the others with a large smile, who also reciprocated in kind, nods heading in agreement. "If you can make yourselves comfortable just here, we'll begin."

Soon enough, the questioning began, and Clark felt somewhat...calmer, knowing that his friend was here, though Bruce had chosen to sit a little towards to the corner of the room near the window, in an effort to maintain privacy. Bruce knew pretty much everything about them anyway, and any new information would be filed anyway into the Bat's giant brain. 

"Alrighty then." Mr Lacin spoke, glancing at their notes. "Since you're not acutely unwell, we feel the best thing to do would be to run a few tests, Mr and Mrs Kent. Mainly an abdominal ultrasound, just to see how things are, but we want a few other things as well before that. We'll first start off with examining you- that means having a detailed look at the size of your bump, looking at where and how the baby lies, calculating gestation, all those things. Next, we'll ask you for a urine test, so in a moment, we'll ask you to pee in a cup and bring it back to us. Whilst that's being checked, we'll want to get some blood from you to have a look at a few key things: iron levels, checking your liver function, kidneys all that jazz. That'll get processed, and in the meantime, we'll get the ultrasound scan going - just a little jelly on your tummy for our probe to pick up the baby, its movements, where it lies, along with a few other specialist tests, and then we'll take it from there, alright?"

"Okay." Lois looked at her husband. "Stay?"

Clark kissed her head gently. "Of course."

Somewhere from the corner, Bruce shifted, then stood. "I have a few calls to make. Excuse me." He left quietly, and Clark and Lois shared a small smile before being led to the examination area. Throughout the examination, however, something _was_ off. The doctors didn't say it exactly, but their small frowns, tight smiles, and furrowed eyebrows gave it away.

"Mrs Kent." Mid examination, Mr Fichorovak paused, brown eyes fixed on them. "Records state that as of your last visit, you were ten weeks along. Is that correct? Miss Michaels also looked at them, waiting, and Clark and Lois glanced at each other before Clark spoke. "That's correct, sir. Just over two months."

"And you mentioned that apart from some nausea, tiredness, you've been fairly well? Is that right?"

"That's right, Doctor." Lois spoke, swallowing.

"Hmm." Mr Fichorovak spoke no more after that, but they both caught the glance the Professor gave to the rest of the doctors.

It was the same with the ultrasound - a lot of turning, lots of jelly, and at one point, all four doctors were crowded around the screen, pointing, hmming, hands on chins as they conversed with one another. They were still in the middle of discussions when one of them turned to them, smile brief but concerned. 

"Why don't you get dressed, Mrs Kent. We're still looking at the scans, and have some other tests to run alongside our examination findings, but once we have all the results, we'll sit down and discuss them with you two together. Kelly, if you wouldn't mind."

A kind;y looking technician led them out of the room and back to the room, and Clark used the opportunity to find his friend. He didn't have to go too far; Bruce was at the far end of the corridor, clearly in the midst of a call, and he ended the conversation quietly, blue eyes fixed on his approach.

"Any news?" Bruce asked, once Clark had reached him, and Clark turned to rest on the railing beside his friend, overlooking the lower floors below. He ran a tired hand through his hair, releasing a slow, controlled breath. Bruce mirrored the action, only pausing to rest his hand on his shoulder, and Clark shot a smile at his friend, thankful, before gazing out across the floor.

"Can't say for sure. They're concerned though, that much is obvious. Dr Fichorovak wanted to confirm how many weeks Lo was. I think there's something showing on the scan, though they wouldn't say for sure. Lois is getting re-dressed, and we're waiting to hear back from them."

Bruce said nothing for a while. 

"Bruce." Clark twiddled his fingers nervously. "If..." He stopped, and tried again. There was something he needed to say, that had been on his mind the moment since all this began a few hours earlier. "If anything happens to Lois-"

"Nothing's going to happen, Clark, we're not having this conversation." Bruce wouldn't let him speak, and Clark felt a flare of irritation rise.

"Just listen, would ya?" Clark snapped, and immediately closed his eyes after. "Sorry." He muttered, sincere though, and received a small nudge at the shoulder. _Let it out_ , Clark interpreted, and he did just that, voice solemn.

"We know the baby is half Kryptonian. We looked into it in detail, at the Fortress. That we should prepare for possibly increased demands of pregnancy, especially in the later stages, but there wasn't exactly much to go on, seeing as I'm the last of my kind. We don't really have a proper idea as to how long Kryptonian-human births last for, or specific things to be mindful of, but something's got those docs concerned, Bruce, and I don't know what. However, if, for whatever reason, if anything happens to Lo, and I...and I'm left with a baby whilst my wife is-is....and-" Clark forced himself to calm, and his next words were slow and careful. "I'll be a wreck." He swallowed painfully. "The love of my life just...I know, that I won't be thinking clearly. Properly, a-and I can't risk anything happening to my child, at least not as as result of my own incapability. If such a time ever comes, then B, I want- no, I _need_ you to look after my baby, until I can. Until I can hold him or her without...without breaking down into tears, or wanting to..to end it all from grief, then I need you, Bruce, to look after my child. My little girl, little boy - he or she, Bruce, will need someone strong taking care of them. Solid, dependent, and I can think of no-one better than _you_. Can you-" Clark held a hand to his eyes for a moment, and then looked to his friend's face, who watched him carefully. "Can you promise me, Bruce?"

A long beat passed between the two men.

Bruce held his eye. "I promise, Clark. I don't believe it will ever get to that, but if it does, I'll be ready."

Clark nodded. "Good."

They remained side by side for a long while before one of the technicians called over to them. Clark looked to him, anxiety he knew was written across his features, and Bruce's eyes seemed to soften in understanding.

"You sure you want me to come? I can always wait out here, Clark, its not a problem." Bruce looked at him, concerned, but Clark shook his head, and reached out to his friend to steady himself as he straightened. They both knew Clark didn't need such help, but the fact that he reached out, that Bruce lent his arm to support him without hesitation, was a testament to the support Clark needed, and that was more than enough. 

"I need my friend." Clark's voice was quiet, and Bruce took charge now, rising to his full height as he steered his friend gently by the arm. 

"I'm not going anywhere, Clark. Let's go."

 

 

"We have the results, Mr and Mrs Kent." Mr Fichorovak began, and he looked to Bruce before looking at them again. "Am I alright to continue?"

"Please." Lois had her hands in his, and she glanced over to Bruce who nodded at her, a show of support. "Continue, Doctor."

"Well, let me the first to say that things, in general, are looking good. The baby, overall, is _fine_ , Ma'am."

Lois held her face to a hand for a moment, tiny tremors in her frame, and Clark squeezed her hand, eyes at the ceiling, chest beating loudly. 

_The baby was okay_. 

After collecting himself, Clark turned to envelope his wife in his arms, Lois who clung to him, whispering, tears falling, voice thick, and he kissed her head, palm stroking her cheek. _Ehshe iebr tuyeke_ , he told her fiercely, kissing her hair, and he said it again, kissing her cheek. _Takw Lopklo nhy Pvbse, Ehshe iebr tuyeke_.

The relief was palpable.

A few more tears, and then Mr Lacin spoke, voice kind and gentle.

"As you know, the effect Kryptonian genealogy will have on this birth is not easy to predict. Your iron levels are within range, but I would advice you to continue with the supplements to avoiding worsening fatigue. Your kidney function is slightly off, but we have put that down to tiredness from the pregnancy and mild dehydration. Drink a little more, feet up, _rest_ , and that should settle things, but we'll do another test in about a week or two to make sure. Now, if you remember Mr Fichorovak here asking about your gestation - how far along you are?"

Lois nodded, wiping her face.

"Well, the reason we asked was because your clinical examination, along with the ultrasound, say differently."

There was a pause as Lois and Clark stared at one another, confused. "What do you mean, Doctor? I mean, we've been monitoring the pregnancy carefully, and so far we're pretty certain Lois is ten weeks along." Clark started, and the good doctor nodded, but his smile was tight.

"Mr Kent." Miss Akindele spoke now. "I can understand how this is this case, and with any other couple, these findings would be certain. However, the equipment at our disposal here is far more advanced than that available back on Earth, and the tests we've done today have shown otherwise. For one, the genetic sequencing, embryological studies - even our best hospitals don't have as in-depth machinery as here." She looked to Mr Fichorovak now, who leaned forwards, mustache twirly as he faced them.

"When I examined you, I asked how long you were. That was because the size of the foetus - the symphyseal-fundal height, along with the lie, pointed towards you being far more along than previously thought. The ultrasound of your tummy served to support- confirm, even, this, suspicion, and along with a print out reading of your baby's growth centile-" Miss Michaels gave them the sheet, pointing out the 'x' which marked the baby's growth. "It's April 2nd now; all of the information shows that your baby is not ten weeks along, but _eighteen_ weeks along. A little over _four months_ , sir."

Clark stared open mouthed at the man, and from the looks they gave him and Lois, she was doing the same thing too. Even Bruce was unnaturally still by the window. 

" _Eighteen-_ are you sure?" Lois couldn't hide the incredulity in her voice, and the doctors smiled back at them, eyes twinkling.

"Yes, Ma'am." Mr Fichorovak spoke, tone foned. "As you can see, your baby's centile reading is far beyond one would expect for a ten weeker, and the photographs of the scan-" He handed them a printout of the ultrasound, and Clark forgot how to breath then, staring down at the grainy black and white picture.

His _baby_.

Little arms and legs and a head that was so oddly shaped, but that was besides the damn point, and he and Lois _stared_ at the picture, Lois thumbing the outline of the child, breath hitching. 

" _Our baby._ " Lois turned to him, eyes shining, and he barely nodded back, vision watery.

"Would you like to know the sex?" Mr Fichorovak asked quietly, and the room hushed, waiting for a response.

Clark turned to his wife, whose eyes were wide, filled with excitement, and he smile grew. "Well?"

"Well?" Her voice was breathy, cheeks pink, and Clark kissed her hand, in love at the sight. 

"I don't mind knowing."

"Neither do I. I mean, we could always wait, find out at the end." She suggested, practically riveting off the chair, and Clark chuckled, drawing her close to himself.

"I'm sure you, Ma and all your little friends are just about dying to go baby shopping for clothes. Would be nice to know what to buy, hmm?" Clark teased her.

"Diana's been bugging me to go shopping, and your Mom, you know what she's like. Wants to know which colour yarn to start with, pink or blue." Lois blushed, and her eyes twinkled.

"Shall we?" Clark gazed at his wife, who after a moment, nodded, holding his hand tightly.

"We want to know." Lois's determination shone, and the doctors shared a small smile before one of them spoke.

"Its a _boy_."

Lois gasped loudly, hands to her face, and Clark swore his eyes would fall out - a _boy_? They were having a _boy_? A son, his little _boy_?

It was too much to handle, to process, and in the midst of congratulations, Lois was in tears, Clark too, and they were hugging, crying, before Bruce too entered the picture, a soft smile on his face as Lois hugged the man to oblivion, Clark hugging his friend tightly, still in tears, Bruce who whispered _congratulations_ when Clark could only nod against him, throat tight. After the hugs and tears had been shared, they soon settled back down, excited, ready to listen once again.

"So." Miss Michaels started. "Congratulations, its a boy. Eighteen weeks, not ten, which means you're almost at _four_ months Miss Lane. I imagine the rapid growth is largely as a result of your child's unique genetics, but so far, his scans have not demonstrated any abnormalities. We have estimated at the due date between early to mid _July_ -"

"A summer baby." Clark grinned at the thought, and Lois beamed at him.

"A summer baby indeed." Miss Michales nodded.

"There are a couple of things that we want to prepare you for. For one, we expect Mrs Kent to start rapidly showing her true size over the next few weeks, so be mindful of that. Her cravings will intensify, the fatigue will become more apparent, and her feet will likely swell. If we factor in genetics here, then these effects may become more exaggerated, and if that is the case, then we would recommend bed rest unless in exceptional circumstances, and if acutely unwell, admission to the Watch-tower wherever possible, otherwise the ER, where one of us will be contacted to have you moved under specialist care. I have booked you in for growth scans every two weeks, Mr Lachin here will keep a close eye on Mrs Kent's health, and Miss Akindele will continue to take blood sampling for genetic purposes-"

"Actually, I have a question about that." Clark blushed at the interruption, all eyes zoomed onto him. "We've ran a few tests of our own, but so far our luck has been minimal. Being half Kryptonian, Miss Akindele, in your opinion, do you think our child will ever develop... _abilities_ , put it that way? It's just something I think about now and again."

Miss Akindele smiled warmly. "It is certainly possible - his genetics do allow for such a thing. I think the question is less about whether the child will develop certain abilities, and more to do with a) at what age, or when in other words, b) the rate of such development, including manifestation of such powers, and c) the strength of those abilities in question - half strength, full strength, for instance. I will continue to work with your team here, provided that is acceptable-" She looked at Bruce, whose face said _to be discussed_ , before looking back at them. "Genetics are a tricky thing to predict, the possibilities and variations are endless, essentially. I know this isn't much, but the best I can say, for now anywaym is this: _only time will tell._ If and when you begin to notice certain.... _developments_ , then one can thinking about monitoring such progress. Until then Mr Kent, our focus is on ensuring a healthy, successful pregnancy."

"Thank you." Clark's face was still pink, even as Lois shot him a kind smile, and Bruce let out an amused huff from behind him.

"So, in summary." Mr Fichorovak stepped in. "Things are progressing very well. You are further along than expected, but so far, the baby is growing nicely. We advise that you and your husband keep a close eye on your health, Mrs Kent - that means being mindful of what we call 'red flags'- for instance, nausea that leaves you dehydrated, blood- spotting, in the pan, on clothing, severe stomach cramps or contractions - Braxton hicks, they're called, headaches, visual disturbances- any of these things, please ring any one of us and we will make the necessary arrangements, otherwise its the ER straight away, and we will automatically be notified as part of your medical file. From week twenty or so, you should be able to detect the baby's heartbeat, which is indeed exciting for first time parents. We will write to you and Dr Helsburg, whom we will take over care from, with a summary of all the upcoming appointments over the next several months, including further scans and other tests that will be required. Closer to the due date, we will discuss birthing arrangements and other measures for the aftercare. For now Mr and Mrs Kent, congratulations once again, and we will see you very soon."

The Kents stood, thanking the doctors warmly, and left the room, with Bruce staying behind to talk to the doctors.

"I can't believe it." Clark held his wife in his arms, and they kissed, gentle at first, and then more firmly, before Clark broke the kiss, thumbing his wife's lip, unable to stop smiling, and Lois gazed up at him, eyes shining, face more beautiful than ever. Clark couldn't help it- he kissed her again, then on her nose, finally resting his lips on her forehead, breathing in the shampoo of her hair.

"We're having a boy. A baby boy, Clark, our baby." Lois whispered, and Clark laughed, stroking his wife's back. 

"I get first dibs on names."

"Don't talk smack Clark, you country boys can't pull it off." Lois laughed out, and Clark grinned at the sound, light and carefree.

They stayed like that for a few more minutes, comfortable in each other's embrace, before Bruce made his way towards them.

"So." He stopped just beside them, smirking a little. "Another Mama's boy, huh?"

Lois let out a cackle at Clark's red face, protests weak, and she broke free of his embrace to turn to their friend.

"You, up there." Lois beckoned to Bruce now, who grinned at her. "I'm going in, prepare yourself, sparky."

It was Bruce's turn to laugh now, a deep, rumbling thing, and Clark watched the two of them hug tightly, Lois whispering her _thank you_ , reaching up to kiss Bruce's cheek, and Bruce who only smiled, face a little pink, before letting go, though he held onto her hand. "Congratulations, Lois. You're going to be a fantastic Mother."

Lois teared up at that, and she had to take a moment to wipe her eyes, voice shaky. "You think? I mean, Clark's obviously gonna make a great Father, but me? Coffee addict, sharp talking, tongue lashing grade A-"

"Caring, passionate, driven, and loyal, _yes_ Lois, a _wonderful_ Mother." Bruce held her eye, tone convinced, and Lois nodded, somewhat shy. He kissed her hand before letting go gently, and now Clark stepped forwards, clapping his friend into a giant hug.

"Bruce. I-" Clark started, but Bruce cut him off, hugging him tightly. 

"I'm overjoyed for the both of you." His voice was warm, and Clark felt a welling at the back of his eyes. He held his hand there now, but the anxiety that had been building up seemed to spill over, and the tears fell, warm, freely, but Bruce continued to hold him, and Clark found he couldn't let go.

"I'm sorry." Clark choked out at one point, voice thick. "I just- I've been terrified, for Lois, for the baby, and...and now to know that everything's going to be alright Bruce, that we're having a baby, our little summer miracle, its-" He shook his head against Bruce's shoulder, tears still falling, and he felt a large, gentle palm against the back of his head, soothing.

"Anyone in your shoes would be scared, Clark. I'm damn proud of you, for keeping it together and for supporting Lois. I know you'll be alright, Clark - better than alright, that boy of yours is one of the luckiest, if not, _the_ luckiest kid I know, I swear it." The man murmured, and Clark nodded, finding it hard to speak. "You can do this, Clark, I know you can."

"Thank you, Bruce." Clark finally whispered, and he let go, face somewhat red as he wiped the tears away, and Lois immediately took his hands in her own, thumbing over thhis knuckles. 

"Bruce, dinner at ours?" Lois turned to Bruce. "I think this all calls for a celebration."

The man opened his mouth to protest but Lois cut him off sharply. "Don't you dare back out on us, not after today." 

Bruce shook his head fondly, rolling his eyes, even as Lois swatted him on the arm. "Fine. No wine for you, though."

"But- _ohh._ " Lois's face was a picture of disappointment, and the two men sniggered. "Whatever, water's fine I suppose." The woman grumbled.

"There are a few things left to finalise with the doctors." Bruce nodded at them, leaving, but he stopped by Clark's shoulder, pausing to rest his hand there.

Bruce didn't say anything, only to shoot him a look, then a smirk, and Clark's shy smile turned to a grin as the man squeezed once before letting go, and they watched him walk away.

"Home, dearest husband?" Lois snuggled up warmly to him, and Clark bent to kiss her softly on the lips, playing with her hair.

" _Home._ "

 

 

_51st Mains street, Gotham Lower East: Crime Alley._

Jason narrowed his eyes.

He had stationed himself somewhat lazily against a wall close to the bus shelter, watching life pass him by. His clothes were rather shabby, but not too obvious looking - worn shirt, overgrown and badly fitted to disguise his true size, faded brown spattered jeans, cigarette at the corners of his mouth. Dirty trainers, a hole at the front with his socked toe pointing through, but apart from that, little else. He didn't bother carrying a notepad, or pen - that would make him stand out, a newbie, and already being back here made his hairs stand to attention. Apart from a few glances here and there, Jason was outright ignored, and he preferred it that way. Though he hadn't stepped foot in this decrepit place for years, it still felt like home to him, blue blood, routine, and part of him hated it, the innate familiarity. With his eyes, he could trace out the steps he used to take as a limp thin eight year old, clothes raggedy as he darted through alleyways, rummaged bins, and on the odd occasion, begged passersbys for money. The smell of human waste - urine, foulsome, stinking urine, filled the air, but Jason made sure not to react. Stray oddly limbered animals would appear once in a while, some with tails between they legs as they tried to hide from vicious, uncaring children, who were themselves starved of attention, malnourished, grime on their faces, teeth yellow going on grey as they pointed stubby finger nails, branding sticks in the air as they chased the poor creatures.

Jason didn't intervene.

Empty beer bottles, overflowing trash cans, rats who delighted in the carnage, visible in broad day light, and not a damn care in the world.

At random corners, beggars sat on carboard boxes, lump of grey black black black heap of filth and stench, who eyed him but soon glanced elsewhere, recogising he belonged here, a product of _Gotham_.

A few who huddled to themselves, flinching as if tormented by an unknown assailant, muttering incoherently, letting out the occasional yelp here and there - _drug addicts_ , then.

Shouts, male, angry, then _thud_ , _thud_ \- no-one paid any mind to the sound, and Jason had to force himself _not_ to react, knowing exactly those sounds were, and who on the other end was suffering as a result.

Drabby looking shops, the few that lined this wasteland. Why anyone would even bother to open up a shop here, Jason would never know, but some of those roach-infested takeaways and convenience-but-drug-fronting pockets on the corners had saved him from collapsing out of starvation, though he'd never forget the shifty men, women, children who would leave hastily, arms protective against their chest of their packages of respite, for the upcoming horrors that heralded the night. 

_God, what a mess_ , and Jason turned away from it all, to the side, mouth twisted angrily. A fucking mess, that's what this hellhole was. Shit stained, shit infested, shitty ass life, and Jason closed his eyes briefly, silently cursing, before opening them again. 

He'd spent the last few hours in this God-forsaken place, counting, noting, waiting, and it had made him _sick_. Sure, this was only one part, and Jason could acknowledged that other parts had received some investment over the years- a little more life, colour, hell, _warmth_ , but the worst of it all, the heart of the madness was here, _Crime Alley_ , and it was almost the same. _Almost_ \- broken glass used to litter these stress as a boy, women being beaten mercilessly by their pimps out in the open, screams going ignored, but at least there appeared to be a little less depravity, according to his brief survey from today. Buses ran through the main square, and regularly too- that was new. Back then, it was a matter of sheer luck, finding and getting on the bus, not to mention having the correct amount of change. A few women had their kids about, kids that didn't look too shabby, if he were honest. Proper clothes, some even had prams, prams! And fine, though the shops were drabby to look at, few in this particular area, paint chipping away - at least they were _open_ , at least they had actual _food_ from the outside anyway, and that had to count for _something_.

Jason looked around slowly.

It was a mess, a shitty mess in comparison to the rest of Gotham, but if one were completely honest...with a lot of help, and not just money either, the place stood a decent chance. Sure, Crime Alley and her whores needed a clean up, like yesterday, but throwing money at this place wouldn't do jack shit for the long run. No, what served as the single biggest driving force for change here was the _attitudes_ of its residents. People banding together, adopting an _enough is enough_ mentality, and being willing to work at it, to improve their community. Until they stood as one, until they _cared_ about the filth, the poverty, the smells and lack of change, then things would remain mostly the same. No amount of money could substitute for such a change in thinking and Jason understood now, albeit slowly, as to why big money donorw, Wayne Foundation schemes - why similar efforts hadn't come to fruition in this place.

They, Crime Alley residents didn't _care_.

Or maybe they did, in fact, _care_ , but felt too powerless, too insignificant, too helpless, too _alone_ to do anything about the situation, that their efforts would hardly be worth it.

Money pumped in, outsides spruced up nicely, paint jobs here and there, lightening for streets, all that jazz - but without the effort to _sustain_ such measures, to _maintain_ those new changes, things had slipped right back into decay, and so those big ass sponsors had said; _fuck it, not gonna waste money on those dullards down there._

And they were right. For the first time in his life, Jason was stood here, takeout boxes by his feet, agreeing with those fat cats on the Upper side.

What was that saying again - _heaven helps those who help themselves?_ It was a good one, and it applied here. If there was ever going to be a real difference, and for the better too, then these people needed to _wake the fuck up_ , and start bettering themselves, one step at a time. A new mindset, a changed way of thinking, but change, as Jason had come to know intimately, was hard, long, and often difficult to envisage in the midst of hardship.

But Jason knew that all it took was one step. One concentrated, solid effort, with solid results, something that was tangible, a visible, positive change that was _sustained_ , stood its ground, not just there for the moment or for show - 

and _that_ would get the people's attention. 

The homes, then. Start with the homes, and not just making the outside pretty. A solid living space, safe and protected, with regular, hot meals, warm clothing, shoes, stocked with books to read, materials, and Gotham's crime alley would huddle in their ragged-worn groups, hushed whispers over makeshift fires, that _something good was happening_ , and Jason nodded his head, thinking of all the-

_Wait._

He frowned a little, careful not to make his movements too obvious.

There it was, that feeling again, as if he were being watched. A tail or something, like a pair of eyes were surveying his every movement, calculating, and it made him uneasy.

He waited, deceptively casual as he lit up a cigarette. Blasted things tasted foul - he'd long since lost the appeal for them, but Jason knew needed to look the part, so they stayed in his mouth, ignoring how the ash settle in his tongue, his stomach churning in protest.

Wait - _there it was again_ \- that feeling, of being watched- no, not watched- _assessed_ , as if every inch of him was being calculated, determined, and so Jason looked down and out to the side, body tense, when out of the tiniest corner of his eye, he detected a flight of movement.

 _Graceful,_ that was the best way to describe it, he, she, Jason had no clue, but whatever _it_ was, it moved silently, a shadow, and Jason half thought of Talia's little ninjas, stalking his every move. They were better than this for sure - this one was therefore a newbie, most likely. Still good, of course- but Jason was _better._

He decided to test his theory. Without warning, Jason straightened abruptly from the wall, and crossed the street, as if in a mind of his own. _It_ seemed unprepared for this sudden turn of events, and after a brief pause, followed at a distance, though kept to the more concealed areas as best as possible. Jason, running a rough hand against his cheek, made a sharp right, then a left, and too quick to the eye, scaled a set of stairs on the side of one alleyway, jumped to another, then the ledge by Rose and 4th, up another set, all in near silence, just as the _it_ came into view, skidding somewhat into a silent stop.

The figure seemed motionless at the entrance now, pausing, debating, before looking up, around, and Jason realised that the movement was too practiced, too calculating. Whoever it was didn't know this part of Gotham like he did, the curves, winding alleyways, broken glass windows, eyes that stared blankly through walls, and he watched the figure take another step, then another, before coming to a complete stop. 

By now, Jason was looking down at the figure, but from a considerable distance. Not more than five foot two, though that was fairly generous given the small stature. Lean, all black, hoodie pulled up. Light on the feet, almost dainty, and Jason would have been even more confused at this turn of events, if not for the blade the figure pulled out. It was a knife of sorts, judging by the way it glinted in the alleyway, and the figure moved into a stance that was _familiar_ now, feet parted slightly, tolled to the tips of the feet, flighty, and he stared, racking his brain. In his surprise, however, he shifted to the right, the darkness concealing an unfurnished set of metal pipework, and the blasted thing made an ungainly sound, far too loud in this alleyway. Jason stilled as the figure turned to his direction, face hidden by the low hood.

One of Talia's brats, _great_.

His patience quickly ran out.

"You know-" Jason called out in Arabic, tone harsh and unforgiving, and he watched the figure flinch, though the dipshit tried to hide it, albeit poorly. He didn't have time for this shit, and it was time to turn the situation to his favour. The fuck were these pricks doing following him around, anyway? Talia always swore not to keep tabs on him, so what was this midget fucker doing here? Some sort of initiation rite - follow the Hood undetected, the fuck?

"You're waaay to loud on your feet, mate. To much weight on the sides, not spread evenly enough. Also, your posture's a mess, and as you are, you're pretty much bare open from nipples down to attack. All black does you no favours, either - you've gotta go with the light, browns, dark greys out here - it looks stupid otherwise. We're not in some fucking movie - you've gotta learn to survey your surroundings carefully, and match up with what you see, seriously. It's like going to an open ass shipping mall and wearing a long overcoat, black sunglasses, a fucking fedora, and thinking you're good to go. That's how dumb you look right now."

The figure didn't move, not quite, but it did seem to tense at the insult. Jason rolled his eyes. Stupid fuckers always thought they were hot shit back when he lived with the League, until they were taken out by someone better, namely himself, or most humiliating of all, Talia, who disposed of them with practiced ease for the most part.

"Look." Jason was getting fed up, and he moved from his spot to make his way down, uncaring of how much noise he made. In response, the figure also moved, going back to the shadows, but Jason could still _hear_ the niwit, and it was aggravating. Whoever it was had a hella lot to work on, that was for sure. "Word of advice, pipsqueak. Go back to Talia- no apologies, state how you're gonna improve for next time. Ubu will put you through it, but at least you'll get another chance. Next time, do your research. Practice on uneven terrain, shifting your weight seamlessly, get to higher ground whenever you can. And for the love of all things holy, if you ever find yourself staring down an open ass alleyway, don't stand at the fucking front unprotected, 'cause if it were anyone else, you'd be long dead by now. That pansy lil blade won't do you any favours against a decent glock, I can give you that. To many ways to kill you from where I'm at."

Finally on the ground, Jason addressed the now empty alleyway. "Whoever you are." His voice softened, only by a bit. For some reason, he'd come to pity this pathetic show. "Hang in there, alright? The League-" He paused, looking out onto the street before turning his head. "It's brutal. It's harsh. its deadly, and it'll cost everything and then some to progress. Do whatever you have to do to survive. Don't get cocky after a win, don't let overconfidence go to your head. It'll bring you down faster than anything else, guarantee it. Practice in your sleep. Practice til you draw blood, and when you do, keep on going until you pass out from exhaustion, 'cause that's the only way you'll make it out there. The missions are easier, and do well enough, you can earn your freedom, but its a long ass slog, and you're gonna need thick skin. Your handlers are waiting for a report, I guess - tell them the distance you covered, and for how long I spent in each place, and you'll be alright. Don't-" Jason shook his head. Pity wasn't his thing, nor something welcomed by the League, but he felt it anyway. 

"Don't let me catch you again." He spoke quietly. They both knew the next time would be his last.

Silence answered him in kind, and with a small sigh, Jason left the alleyway.

Gotham and her ninjas.

 

 

Against the alley way wall, Damian listened for further movement at the entrance, for _Todd_ , but there was none, and he sank against the wall, small squeaks of furry visitors scurrying away at his presence.

What was he _doing_?

He put his head in his hands, chest pounding.

What on earth was all this? It was as if the more he grew closer to Todd, the harder it was to think straight, and more than that - whenever he tried to pull back, he was tugged in again, drawn inexplicably to the man and it-it was _infuriating_ almost, confusing, and so entirely unlike him, so damn frustrating, Damian hurled his blade against the wall, close to tugging out his hair.

What was wrong with him?

Why, if anything, was so much centered on _Todd_? This need - a desperate need if he dared to admit- to reach out to the man, of a past long ago but yet so deep, hidden, _intimate_ , and Damian stared up at the spirally staircases above him, Arabic heavy on his tongue.

Todd had berated him on his skills, something which he prided himself deeply on being a master. Too heavy on the sides, posture unfit, leaving himself unprotected like that in the alley at front - what -how- _why_ had he been so distracted? Pennyworth would no doubt have his behind if he were to arrive at the after-school debate club, ready to collect him, only to find him missing, _again_ , but with Todd being around, the rare opportunity had struck him, and Damian had taken it, careful to slip in a set of clothes in his PE bag to school this morning after placing a tracker on Todd's car. Why he'd felt the need to follow the man, Damian couldn't be sure, but he had done just that for the last hour and a half. Watched the man take stock of his surroundings, eyes full of hidden emotion, figure intimidating despite the shapeless clothing, but Todd hadn't given any indication that he'd noticed his tail-

until now.

_Wonderful._

With a sigh, Damian got up, fetching his dagger, and began to make his way out of the alley, tired, cursing himself for his failures. Unfortunately for him, Todd had been right about his pitiful efforts to "blend in", and he soon found himself with an obvious tail - a drunkard of sorts, huddled, drabby figure that irritatingly shuffled behind him, clothing swishing on the ground as he walked. Damian couldn't help but roll his eyes - ideally, he'd have displaced the fool with barely three strikes, but the figure did not relent, and weirdly enough, Damian began to feel... _unsettled_ at the thought. He'd studied the area better than last time, but there was a kinship Todd had that he clearly did not. This place was dangerous, far more cunning than he'd originally given credit for, and Damian began to quicken his pace, ignoring the looks thrown his way.

It was less than a block away, bus shelter in sight, when Damian realised the tail was much closer now, and the realisation almost had his heart in his mouth, more so as the half matted half human made a sudden _lunge_ at him. The figure immediately startled him to action, a blade in his hand before he could even blink, but he missed his step, slicing his scuffed foot against something sharp in the gutter, and the shock had Damian crying out in pain, falling to the ground. The next movement was a blur - the dagger slipped, and the figure, dark and foul smelling, came upon him, and then-

 _then_ -

Another figure, tall and massive, suddenly towered over him, dispelling the foulsome creature with a right hook that had it sinking to the floor without so much as a sound, and Damian stared up, at familiar broad shoulders, silent and dark, the same back who began to turn to him now, and _fear_ over took him - 

He scrambled backwards, knowing that this _wasn't_ supposed to happen, not caught like this, like a-a _rat_ in a cage, not so _soon_ , and all of a sudden, i-it-

 _Todd_ -

 _Todd_ was staring at him, rage rolling off him in _waves_ , and with movement too quick to detect, Damian found himself hauled a few feet in the air, face to face with the man himself, fury in his features, green eyes alight and _burning_ , gaze intense, mouth twisted angrily to the side, and Damian felt his breath catch in his throat as his legs dangled freely, blood painfully loud in his ears.

"What." Todd's voice was dangerously low, and his words carefully measured. "-in the ever loving _fuck_ are you doing here, brat?"


	73. Familiar faces (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Damian talk.

Damian stared at the man.

He opened his mouth to speak, to say… _something_ , sharp, cruel, anything damnit, but the words, they wouldn’t come out, no matter how hard he swallowed, and so he remained several feet in the air, mute, _useless_ , and his skin flushed, aware of the disgrace.

The _fury_ in Todd’s eyes didn’t let up – in fact, the longer Damian stayed silent, the angrier the other man seem to grow.

“Hello? Earth to demon brat, answer my fucking question! What the hell are you playing at?” Todd shook him roughly now, fist tightly wound in his shirt, and everything in Damian’s brain seemed to lurch forwards, then backwards, head heavy and painful, and he stifled a gasp, shutting his eyes tightly. Maybe Todd underestimated his own strength, who knows, but it felt like being on one of those death contraptions Grayson favoured so highly, _rollercoasters_ , stomach queasy, disorientating, and without thinking, Damian found himself clasping on to Todd’s wrists, trying to steady himself.

All of a sudden, there was silence.

The shaking had stopped, and now Damian was aware of his own heartbeat, unnaturally loud to his ears, a dull, pounding headache emerging from the sides of his head. The air was so still, so deathly quiet, that Damian felt the hairs on his arms stand, and swallowing, he forced himself to open his eyes, to _look_ -

A sea of green carved holes into his face, but that wasn’t what caught his breath in his throat, no.

Amongst the dark, sea green, was a small but clear _flicker_ , a flame of florescent coloured bile, bordering on yellow, right in the centre of both irises, dancing almost, an-an-

 _Lazarus_ -

The last time Damian had seen Todd operating under the influence of the Pit, he had _ripped_ an entire arm from a man without so much as a sweat-

There was no telling what Todd would do now, not like this.

A kick to the groin, heel first for maximum input- Todd let out a curse, beginning to sink to one knee, loosening his grip on him, and Damian launched himself off from the broad chest, soles just past his shoulders, turning into a somersault, landing neatly, and took off, not daring to blink, nor look behind him, knocking down trash bins in his wake, darting through an alley, then the next, before he heard it-

 _thud_ , _thud_ , _thud_ - _thud_ , _thud_ - _thud_ _thud_ _thud_ _thud_ -

 _Footsteps_.

Big, angry, heavy feet were pounding closer, closer, not stopping in the slightest, and Damian felt a shiver of fear creep on him, adrenaline seeping through his skin, and he hurried now, desperate, but Todd only increased his pace, steady and furious, _accurate_ , no matter how many turns he took, or how deftly he swept past tight corners- Todd remained, shouting his name, littered between foul curses. For a man as big as Todd, his speed was quite frankly, frightening, and with a quick dart behind him, Damian could see Todd’s face now, mouth angry, but his eyes held a note of….confusion? Fear, perhaps, and for a moment, Damian slowed, wondering why Todd would feel such a thing, but that was his mistake, for as soon- as _soon_ as he did-

Todd _pounced_.

Damian had no idea where the burst of speed had come from, but one moment he was about to make another turn, and the next, he went sprawling onto the floor, a massive pair of arms trapping him tight, and he lashed out, struggling with all his might at the heavy weight threatening to crush him, but Todd, that blasted fat man, was unmovable. “Get off me, Todd! I demand you cease this nonsense and _get off me!_ Unhand me, you cretin!” Damian yelled, punching, kicking, but Todd didn’t even flinch, only burying him deeper, and Damian began to panic now, chest beating hard.

“ _Damian._ ” Todd’s voice was uncharacteristically warm, and that made everything more confusing. “Calm down, alright? I’m not gonna hurt you, kid. Wait, did you just call me a creti-”

“ _Let go off me!_ ” Damian spoke through gritted teeth, trying to find a nerve to pinch, but Todd retaliated now, using his ridiculously big legs, tree trunks more like, to trap his lower limbs, his bemouth chest with arms as thick as his own damn head to encircle him across the chest, and worst, no, most _humiliating_ of all, his actual head cushioned into place underneath Todd’s chin, iron and steadfast.

“How _dare_ you!” Damian shrieked, his normally astute. cool, detached demeanor gone. This was a violation of his person, of privacy – not even Grayson would dare to go so far, and Damian had actually grown in tolerance for the man immaturity when it came to ‘Dami huggles’ and other ludicrous behaviour. He hadn’t even begun to consider what Pennyworth would say, not finding him at the after school club as thought. The older man had warned him, last time, with Kent, not to do this again, and now here he was, stuck in a filthy alley, with Todd of all people, and Damian hit harder, but the chest was solid, a brick wall.

“Damian, calm down.” The voice breathed by his ear, and Damian flinched, unwilling to listen. Already, he was in a lot of trouble, and the longer he remained in this decrepit place, the worse his punishment would be -yes, Pennyworth had the authority to punish him, and the old man was more creative than Damian had given credit for, to his regret- and Todd _still wouldn’t let him go_ -

“Damian, c’mon now, I said I wasn’t gonna hurt ya. I just wanted to know what you were doing here, in those clothes, stalking my ass.“ The voice was too soft, too promising, a touch playful- _deadly_ \- and Damian fought harder, son of Ghul, son of Wayne, true and rightful heir-

“ _IIlaa alaihtimam, ya fata_!” A harsh, ugly voice barked out, and it was as if time itself had stopped working, stopped moving, his body not his own, obeying to the command of his tutor, Ishmael, whip in hand-

Without warning, Damian’s mind went blank then, as if a light switch came on, his- something, sounds, colours - _flooded_ his mind-

A hazy mist of figures, and then Damian found himself looking at a scene straight out of a novel, clear skies, grass, flowers, a garden then, and seated a few feet away, a very young child of sorts, black hair, small fingers holding a book, mouth moving, seated in the lap of a boy only a few years older, the older boy’s chin resting atop of his younger companion, eyes focused completely on the child in his possession, a tiny smile of a thing on his face, _pride_ , in the background, a faint tinkling, like china being lifted, something warm and sweet and strong in the air, unusually distinct, the whole scene _comfortable_ , and every nerve in Damian’s body rocketed, screaming familiarity, and another wave came, this one painful, excruciatingly so, and Damian _cried out_ , jerking, the burning underneath his skin, searing touch and pain an-an-

“Oh _shit_. What the _fuck_? Fuck fuck _fuck_ -“ Todd’s voice seemed far away, floating above him in the distance as Damian thrashed about, convulsing, screaming, even as the weight fell away, arms untangling quickly, and his name was called, urgent, scared, but Damian couldn’t see, arms grasping at nothing-

And then, as quickly as _it_ came, it was all over.

For a long, long moment, all that could be heard was Damian’s frightened breathing, rapid, shallow breaths that seemed to take too long, Todd whose wide eyes hovered over his, mouth mumbling false assurances, but Damian wasn’t listening.

Those two figures he had seen – the child, the older boy – close with one another, at peace-

He…he _knew_ them. Intimately too, the child, the boy, that _smell_ , the scent of something too familiar, one that he’d grown to yearn-

Damian scrambled up now, and Todd backed away slowly, palms out, crouched on his toes.

“Damian, its me. It’s Jason. Do...do you remember where you are?”

Damian stared at the man.

“Fuck, okay. Okay, its alright kid. I- shit, I- shit I only-I dunno why I said those words, I-I dunno what happened just then, was-was that a panic attack? You’ve never had one like that before, I- fuck, I’m sorry, I don’t know if that set something off or-or- _shit_ , kid, listen, let me take you home and-“ Todd moved closer, eyes full of concern, tone seemingly genuine as he rambled on, slowly reaching out to him.

Without warning, Damian struck the man hard across the face.

Had it been any other day, Damian would have laughed at the confusion on Todd’s face, undeniably comical, but this- right now, this was something else, and even as Todd staggered back a little, shock in his features, Damian moved forwards again, and delivered another blow, a hit, a _punch_ , rage mounting in his veins, hitting, furious at the man, at those figures who intruded his mind so blindingly, so utterly familiar and without care, hitting and punching till his vision became blurry, and tears began to fall, punching with all his might, and Todd who only said his name, soft, ever so warm, Todd who did nothing to defend himself, not even palms raised, but allowed it all, eyes never leaving his, even though Damian couldn’t speak, lips trembling-

And then Todd came up, upper lip split, swollen, nose bloody, and looking at him right in the eye- 

_hugged_ him, bringing him close without hesitation.

" _Akhi, please._ ” The voice murmured gently into his ear, by his scalp, and Damian, half sinking into the warmth, leather and sharp jasmine, echoes of a past once shared, a light roughness against his cheek, one that met with his, _pushed away_ at the chest, false comfort, even as his tears rolled down his cheeks, seeping under his neck and disappearing under his collarbone, but Todd stayed where he was, eyes still on him.

Damian turned and limped away, knees bruised, foot sliced, not caring where or how or _why_ , why his heart felt so torn, so pained a-and heavy, wrought with regret and hurt and _Todd_ , Todd who _didn’t_ follow, whose eyes only bored into his retreating back, and that the man stayed back- it was _crushing._

 

 

As predicted, Pennyworth was furious.

Absolutely _furious_ , and it must have been something in his appearance that stopped him from getting the lecture of a lifetime there and then. 

Damian wasn’t surprised.

The ride from Lower Gotham to the city’s interchange wasn’t bad, if he were honest. A few looks here and there, nods even - these people knew when to shut their mouths, to look elsewhere, leaving him to his own business - Damian appreciated the understanding, and he was left undisturbed. Probably because they saw this sort of thing nearly all the time – a child limping onto the bus, knees scratched, face dirt-, what else was new?

It was trickier getting off at the Interchange, right in the city centre, far more populated now that it was rush hour, and Damian had to draw his hoodie right over his head, the staring having become too much. A cop car had him merging into a crowd for a brief moment, heart thundering in case those slovenly crooks mistook him for a misplaced orphan, wandering these too clean, too nice streets, away from his home in Lower Gotham, and wanted to “return” him, back to where he rightfully belonged. The bus to the Upper side was already there on arrival, passengers waiting to board, but Damian still had to collect his sports bag, stuffed in one of those dollar lockers near the train station, and he’d joined a queue of impatient people, feet clicking irritably as some chewed their frustration away, and others made phone calls in false, irritating accents. He received sneers thrown his way, lips pursed in disgust – the man directly behind him kept a wide breath, as if his poverty was somehow contagious, and it made Damian feel small, inferior, despite his heritage.

It was one thing to be raised as royalty, to look the part, speech refined, education pristine, but take away the glamour, the wealth draped on his person-

He was just like _them_ , the ones Damian heard bimbo whores that toured his Father’s gala’s gossip about, or older women with too bright teeth mutter to one another over flutes of champagne- _undesirables_ , lazy filth, always wanting handouts, and it made-

It made his blood _boil_ -

Was this was Todd felt like? _Had_ felt like, as an outsider? So obviously different, that no amount of clothes or refined palates could hide?

Grayson had mentioned once, that Todd was not like them, when he’d first come to learn about the man. Damian had thought it a little odd – skin colour, he’d asked? But no, Grayson had half shaken his head, his smile small and sad. _Different, Dami_ , that’s all his brother would say. 

Damian understood now.

The boy who’d grown up in the Manor had never truly left the streets.

It was why Damian, during his observation earlier today, had near marveled at the way Todd had blended into his surroundings, able to sink in with _ease_ , movements indistinguishable from those around him. Why, despite Pennyworth’s training, imitating Father, private schooling, Todd could impersonate, perhaps copy, but never reach _elite_ , the same one that Damian had known all his life, Drake too, even Grayson to an extent, though outside his cheerful, flirty behaviour, Grayson’s smile would turn to ash, aware of the sneering, amused glances, women who strayed too close to him, lust in their eyes, predatory smiles plastered on their caked faces. They knew the game all too well to play, but Todd had neither the means nor the stomach for it, not as a boy, and certainly not now.

So Damian had collected his sports bag, shame burning his cheeks as he boarded the bus to the Upper side. Stares openly thrown his way, the bus driver who nearly didn’t let him on, directing him to leave the change on the counter, instead of placing it directly onto his palm, like everyone else. They’d all stared when he’d gotten off, a few stops earlier than planned, whispers behind his back. Finally, nearly two hours late, Damian arrived at the Manor, mouth dry, throat tight as he spotted the chauffeured car at the entrance, and at the doorway-

 _Pennyworth_ , staring at him.

Watching his every move, even as he limped painfully across the long, graveled driveway. Damian gritted his teeth but did not complain, did not cry out – he deserved the pain, a recompense for his numerous failures today. Finally, he reached the steps of the Manor, but Damian couldn’t quite bring himself to look up, not at those eyes, silent and gazing. 

“Pennyworth, I.” Damian began, and then stopped. There was no apology that could amend this.

There was a pause before Pennyworth spoke, a hint of tiredness in the tone, and Damian looked up, startled. “It’s been a long day, Master Damian.” Pennyworth looked weary, and a coil of guilt tightened in Damian’s stomach. It was clear his disappearance had somewhat stressed the older man, and he hadn’t even begun to think of Father yet. “Tea will be ready shortly, and then we can have a chat before dinner.” A small sigh, and Damian swallowed, staring down at the ground. “Leave your sports bag in the laundry room on your way upstairs. I think a hot shower might do some good, and then we can see to those injuries.”

“It’s fine, Pennyworth.” Damian spoke quietly, not wanting to add more work on top of the butler’s plate, but Pennyworth gave him a small smile, and just then, Damian noted a…a sheen, something watery in the man’s eyes, but Pennyworth turned away before he could say another word.

Pennyworth was not just angry. He was _upset_ , and Damian couldn’t- he could not tolerate such a thing, which was why he hurried up the stairs, ignoring the pain, and hugged the butler around the waist.

“Oh, Master Damian.” The voice was thick, and Damian closed his eyes in regret as pale, slim hands enclosed his. 

“Pennyworth, I-I am sorry. I did not mean to worry you.” His voice was barely a whisper, and it shook towards the end.

The hands tightened over his. “But you did, Master Damian.” Pennyworth squeezed his hands once more before turning to him, one palm coming to rest gently on his face. Brown, sad eyes gazed at him, and Damian felt his breath catch in his throat, willing to do whatever necessary to make those eyes shine again. 

“Leave the bag with me, child. Wash up first.” Pennyworth stroked the side of his face before straightening, sports bag hoisted over his shoulder and Damian watched him leave. Swallowing, Damian straightened, brushing a hand over his eyes, his face, and then made his way down the corridor, passing the kitchen, a large figure seated at the counter-

Damian grounded to a stop.

Who on earth- _oh no_.

The room seemed to spin then, just a little, and Damian counted backwards in Arabic, chest thumping, before he moved back slowly.

The figure hadn’t moved, but a head was now turned to the side, jawline rugged, and at the back of his mind, Damian thought about how striking the silhouette was, wonderful to draw even, large and powerful. In place of the torn shirt was a casual shirt, jeans, and on the side, dark sunglasses sitting on top of a leather jacket. 

Damian stared at the figure.

The figure remained still, as if it too were waiting.

A minute passed, and the silence continued, until Todd spoke, a mug of something hot in one hand, a novel in the other. 

“Might wanna get cleaned up sooner rather than later. Full blown infections are a bitch and a half to treat, trust me.” The voice was gruff, but a touch warm, and Damian found himself taking a step back. A retort was already on his tongue, scathing in nature, but for some reason the words wouldn’t come out, and instead, Damian made his way upstairs rather quietly, missing Alfred’s eyes as he left.

He took his time in the shower, hoping that the longer he stayed, the less likely he would have to run into Todd again. The two figures kept flashing back to his memory, the boy and the child, the garden, the _jasmine_ \- Todd, and himself as a child, in each other’s company, and Damian was taken aback by just how… _right_ the memory felt. Surprising, yes, but also _fitting_ , and Daimian remained thinking, wondering why it was only with _Todd_ , not before, that the memory had arisen.

 _IIlaa alaihtimam, ya fata_.

_To attention, boy._

Todd had given the command, barked it rather, harsh, blunt, unforgiving, and for a moment, Damian felt a rage quell in his chest. If Todd _was_ indded present at the compound all those years ago, then he should have known just how much Damian _hated_ those words. They, along with other phrases, made up a set of commands designed to order a subject into complete submission, a drilled in, mentored, set response, almost psychological in nature, difficult to override without great resistance, and a-and _Todd_ , knowing this, of course, had used it on him?

Damian cursed in Arabic.

The hot water did much to little soothe his anxiety and worn out muscles. The bruises didn’t fare much better, and as soon as he turned the water off, the colder air made the cuts sting like indeed, a _bitch_. Though minor, Damian knew it was better to treat them, at least to minimise Father’s anger when he would undoubtedly see them. Drying himself thoroughly, Damian sat down to examine his injuries. By and large, the damage was superficial, and he decided a thin layer of healing ointment would do the trick, at least for his knees. Every few months, Damian received a parcel, and inside, a dark, sleek box containing healing ointments, creams, and other various lotions, compartments for each, dressed in velvet, and wrapped in silk. There was never a return address, no names on any of the items, nor ingredients for that matter, but Damian always knew who they were from. Besides, the box always smelled of jasmine, a touch vanilla, warm and earthy, just like _Mother_ , and Damian treasured it. Cuts, bruises would heal in a matter of hours, one or two days at the most, and though Damian was rather certain in his suspicious as to the _cause_ of such accelerated healing, there was little point in investigating. Father too received a large parcel round about the same time as he, and though they had never outright discussed the issue in depth, Father had helped him apply the creams, the ointments before public appearances, or school even, and Damian too, whenever he felt brave enough to enter his chambers, had done so for Father.

Damian was in the middle of bringing out a few of his prized assortment when a small, firm knock at the door had him pausing. He hadn’t heard the steps approach, and that put him on edge.

“Can I come in?” Todd’s voice was quiet.

Damian looked at the door. His outburst not long ago had taken them both by surprise, he was sure of it. On any other day, Damian would have yelled otherwise, or ignored the door entirely, but this was _Todd_ , outside his door, _Todd_ who had brought up a memory he’d never had before, who had given that horrible command, trapped him like a damn animal, _prey_ -

“Kid. I just wanna see how you’re doing, that’s all.” Todd’s voice broke into his thoughts, and Damian felt a curl of anger rise from his throat.

“You do not have that right, _Todd_. Leave me.” Damian knew his tone bordered on cruel, but his-it _hurt_ , yes it did, and it was an effort to keep his voice level.

Another short pause. Damian stared at the door- would Todd leave? He let him go, in the alley-

The door opened slightly, and then a little more, before Todd made his way inside, closing it gently. He remained at the door though, as if waiting for permission to approach, but Damian turned away, focusing his attention to the box.

“How come you get more than me?” The tone was a touch amused, and that had Damian halting for a moment before continuing, but they both knew what Todd had meant by that.

Todd let out a fond huff, and stepped a little closer. “And you get a-“

“It appears that you are not only stupid, but inexplicably deaf too.” Damian’s voice was hard. “ _Get out._ ”

He could feel Todd’s eyes on him, and though he didn’t turn away completely- this was Todd, mind you-, Damian remained closed off, jaw tight. Irritatingly enough, the images of the boy and child wouldn’t go away – it was as if he would blink, and the picture would come into focus, content and familiar, and Todd being here made the image even stronger now, as if Damian could reach out at _touch_ them.

Without warning, Todd moved into his line of vision, and it took all of Damian’s strength not to flinch, to appear unruffled by the bigger man’s presence, but it was a lie, they both knew it, and Damian hated how easily Todd could affect him. _Read_ him.

“Here.” Todd was now seated in front of his knees, cross-legged, and Damian was reminded of just how tall the man was, their faces level, only a few inches apart despite the bed's height off the floor. Todd had an eyebrow raised, before it smoothed out, and the concern passed in his eyes, before flicking to his knees, then feet.

“You cleaned them yet?” Todd looked at him, and Damian found it hard to hold his gaze for long, thus choosing to stare at a point at the side.

“I do not need your assistance-“ Damian gritted his teeth as Todd cut him off swiftly.

“So that’s a _no_ , then. Don’t they teach you anything in Assassin pre-school?” Another smirk, a gleam, and then Todd reached over to the box, arm brushing him gently, and Damian caught another whiff, leather and jasmine, something sweet now, like peach, and his cheeks flushed. Why he didn’t stop the man, Damian didn’t know. Todd didn’t comment, only to hold a few of the items to the light, all while Damian stared at him, at the rugged face, split lip, copper skin, handsome, too old, and yet too young, and Todd let him continue with his assessment in near silence.

“Right. Here’s what we’ll do.” Todd glanced at him, then at his knees, and tapped one of them lightly. “I’m going to clean this with a little saline, alright? Gonna sting a bit, but I’ll be quick. Promise.” The voice was too caring, and Damian stared down at his hands, sweaty, aware of how close they were, that Todd was here, right here in his room, and his throat, it wouldn’t work. He didn’t quite trust himself to answer, giving a small nod instead, and missed a soft smile on the older man’s face. Damian watched as Todd set up the equipment. His movements were careful but not slow, determined, and Damian realised that he had done this before, with _him_ , and he blushed. For the second time, Todd said nothing of the matter. Watching him proved to be rather therapeutic, the only sounds in the room being the rustling of clothes, little splashes of water, and then Todd lifted one knee gently in his palm, gauze in the other hand.

“You know.” Todd began, ignoring his hiss as he sterilised the area. “The scar, just at the side here.” The man brushed it gently, looking at him before looking back down at the knee. “It was your first time with one of the heavier swords. Couldn’t quite get the handle on it properly, and one of your trainers, Mara I think, managed to swipe you going down.” Todd’s voice was quiet, and they watched as he half traced the scar with a light finger. “I…I was watching, that day. My first instinct was to get you, but then you got right back up, gave her a couple of scars herself.” Jason blew lightly on the knee, fanning it. “You insisted on keeping it, for some reason. Can’t really remember. What I do remember, though, is taking on Mara later that day, and beating her unconscious.”

Damian went rigid, tensing, but he didn’t move away.

“She hurt you.” Jason moved to the other knee now, soaking a fresh gauze in saline before working. “I…there’s so much that’s a mess, but there’s also a lot I remember. Anytime you were hurt, for instance. I kept attacking your teachers, trainers, I didn’t quite understand that it was all training, because- it-“ Jason closed his eyes, pausing, before continuing. “Call it instinct, but I knew it was my job to protect you. No-one told me to do it, not Talia, but you were my focus, in there. Ointment, the smaller one.”

Damian passed the ointment in question over, watching Todd take a small blob and apply it to both knees. “I heard you." He blurted out, and in the next moment, wondered _why_. "The other day. You spoke with Pennyworth.”

A small smile appeared on Todd’s face. “I know.”

Now Damian really did jerk back. “How?” His tone was a little demanding, and Todd raised an eyebrow at him. “I meant.” Damian corrected himself, voice less abrupt. “How? You couldn’t have known, Todd. Pennyworth did not even know I had a half day of school.”

Todd grinned. “So we’re telling porkies to Alfie now, are we?” He finished with the knees and tapped a finger against his foot. “Lemme see, shorty.”

Damian muttered something foul under his breath. 

“In my day, Alfred woulda washed out my mouth with soap for saying that.” Todd shot him a less than unimpressed look, and Damian felt his skin heat up, having momentarily forgotten that the man knew Arabic too. 

“Well, it isn't 'your' day now, is it, old man?” His voice was haughty, and for a moment, Damian wondered whether that was the right thing to say, to Todd, but to his surprise, Todd laughed, the sound rumbling across the room, and Damian fought down a smile of his own. The man shook his head, mirth in his eyes. 

“The hatch, kid.” Todd took a gently hold of his foot and inspected it carefully. Damian tried not to wince, but his face must have given it away, for Todd lessened his touch even more. “Not as deep as I thought, but I think we’ll need stitches here. Don’t wanna run the risk of you mucking about and making it worse. Got a first aid kid nearby?”

Dami jerked his head over to the bathroom. “Bottom cabinet, first shelf.”

“Back in a sec.” Todd winked at him as he stood, walking to the bathroom, and for the countless time, Damian felt his skin redden, and he berated himself silently for such emotion.

“Here we are.” Todd placed the kit on the bed, and tilted his head at him. “Oh come on kid, don’t beat yourself up now. Trust me, its alright that you’ve got yourself a little crush, I’m a bloody gorgeous man, even with the split lip. S’not easy, being so beautiful, a tremendous burden in fact, but I’ve managed so far.” Todd’s voice was snarky as he winked at him, and now Damian turned beetroot red, pushing the man away. 

“Stop being preposterous, Todd. Your looks are barely passable as average- I’ve seen far better, even on Batcow.” Damian stared angrily away, hating his embarrassment, and again, Todd’s laughter filled the air. “Go away, no, we’re done here. I can finish this myself.” Damian let his anger bleed into his tone, moving towards the headrest of the bed, and Todd, laughter subsiding, sat on the edge, palms in the air.

“Alright, alright, ‘m sorry. Still didn’t deny it though, did you? I get it, its cool.” His teasing remained, and Damian muttered another unpleasant curse, arms folded across his chest.

“Hey, enough of that.” Todd tapped his knee to get his attention, but Damian stared resolutely at the window. “Seriously, it’s a bad habit to get into.”

“Pot, kettle.” Damian spat out, ignoring the surprise across Todd’s features.

“First of all, I can’t believe you got that reference– and used it correctly too, kudos to you. I remember you struggling a little with English phrases sometimes, the stuff that don’t make any sense, literally. Second, as someone whose grown up in a lifetime of bad behaviours, bad habits, I’m telling ya skinny ass now to cut it out, alright? It’s not easy to break, and I…I.” Todd looked at him before looking away. “I don’t want you doing that. Too young for that shit. And third, I get that its not a crush, alright? Would be pretty damn weird – not about to go into all the factors and whatnot, but its less crush, more…. it’s a…like you’re getting to know someone, you know? And it’s the stuff they say, their reaction even, that takes you by surprise. Throws you off guard, and cos' your not used to it, you get embarrassed, don’t know how to respond. Makes sense, kid.”

Damian stared at the man, and after a moment, nudged him not too gently with his foot.

“Unless you want me to die of septic shock, I suggest you get back to work, Todd.”

Todd huffed, but the sound was fond. “Just gonna boss me around like that, huh?”

“ _Yes_.”

A smirk, but Todd obeyed none the less, beginning to threatd the needle. “Pass us a pillow. Gonna need you to rest your leg on it.”

“How-“ Damian paused, then started again, resting his foot on the pillow. “How did you know I was there?”

Todd didn’t look up from his work as he spoke. “You think you’re the only one that knows about that hatch? Practically lived in that thing as a kid. Used it to listen in on conversations all the time, and…and when I needed some space, but didn’t want to push people away, I’d go there. Nice and warm in the winter too. Gotham's winter nights really does a number on ya, you know? Never seemed to get rid of the chill.”

Damian nodded, cheeks still warm, and for a while, the silence was….pleasant, until a thought came to him.

“When did I stop being your focus, Todd?” Damian spoke quietly.

The air in the room grew still.

It took a while for Todd to eventually respond, eyes glued to his work. “You never did, Damian.” The voice was soft, too genuine, and Damian shifted, pissed, because all the evidence pointed to the contrary.

“You’re gonna pull your stitches-“

“ _Liar._.” Damian stared angrily at Todd, whose shoulders were tense. “You lie, Todd. Had I been your focus, or someone of importance to you, then- with all that you did, why, Todd? Why do any of it? You-“ Damian struggled to keep his voice level. “You didn’t come and see me. We fought, all of us, with almost every encounter, and then you-“

“ _ **I know.**_ ” Jason’s voice was thunderous, even though he’d barely raised his voice, and Damian froze. “I know, Damian.” Todd placed his hand on his leg, but Damian jerked it away, watching the man’s jaw go tense before looking away.

“So you _do_ know. You knew all along, and yet you-“ Damian sat forwards, voice rising, but then Jason whipped back round to look at him, and it was the intensity of his eyes that had whatever Damian wanted to say die in his throat.

“No, its not like that.” The man’s voice was low, almost deadly, and Damian felt hairs stand on the back of his neck. “ The Pit, Damian.”

Damian opened his mouth, then shut it again.

_Of course._

“I…I had a lot of brain damage, Damian. No-one knew why or how I managed to-“ Todd swallowed at this bit. “I went from long dead and buried to being…alive, and yet dead at the same time, and no-one knew why. We don’t know, even now. Its, look kid, its not normal to crawl outta ya own grave six months after being covered in damn soil, alright?” Todd’s voice was harsh, and then it softened a moment later. “I…I could hear stuff, but I couldn’t read. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t operate independently – I was the living embodiment of brain-stem death, know what I mean? Pun fucking intended.” Todd glanced his way, and Damian nodded, throat tight

“Lights on, nobody’s home. That’s kinda what they call it. Your reflexes and stuff remain intact, but your brain, the actual processor- doesn’t work. That was me, for a good year and then some, kid. And then one day, I get thrown into the fucking Pit, and my brain has the jolting of a century., like paddles on a chest. Felt like-like-“ Todd’s hands twisted together nervously, and without thinking, Damian edged closer, and then a little more, till they were sitting side by side, mere inches between them, Todd’s long legs planted solidly on the floor, outstretched, whilst his own dangled a few feet in the air.

“Every-“ Todd shook his head. “Every nerve was on _fire_. My senses went into overdrive, I was seeing and hearing all sorts of wild ass shit, I was unstable as fuck, and when it came to my memories? A goddamn mess. I had- the Pit, whispers and voices and just all round torment, and they’d distort whatever good that was there, make it seem like it was all nothing but pity, charity, and the bad stuff would be magnified, deliberate, til I- I didn’t know what was real, and what wasn’t. Half the time, I couldn’t even remember my own name, kiddo. I’d go days without sleep, kept awake by horrible images and that stupid clown’s laugh and-“ Todd swiped a hand on his face, breathing heavily, and Damian moved as close as he could now, thighs touching. Todd seemed to relax a little at the contact, so Damian remained where he was.

“You-“ The older man’s voice was somber. “I couldn’t remember you, at all. I- I would get voices, a small one, sometimes in my dreams, sometimes in nightmares. Very young, very small. Sometimes a shadow of a tiny figure, graceful, light moving. Hazy images, pictures, colours, just the sounds sometimes, and I didn’t know whether it was real, dreaming, was I straight up insane, I had no idea. It was only after things levelled out – and by that, I mean a fucking whole lot of hard work to get it under control and function on a decent level without breaking the fuck down- that things started coming back to me. Pieces. Even now, I remember much more, a whole lot, but not all of it.”

Damian swallowed, looking down at his feet, minuscule in comparison to Todd’s.

“Why didn’t you mention any of this at the time?”

Todd snorted unkindly. “Did any of you guys ask? Bother to find out how I came to be here, alive, years later? Would you listen, to what I had to say, or was I just another madman in a Hood, with his own brand of vigilantism, too red and too damn much for Gotham?”

Damian didn’t want to answer that. The answer was clear.

“Great, I’ve broken the kid.” Todd muttered, running a tired hand through his hair, hair devoid of that lightening white streak that so marked him, more silver instead now, and Damian reached out to touch the tuft, curious. Todd smiled at his action, but only just and leaned a little closer, that Damian could have a better look. 

“How? I thought you said dyeing it makes no difference?” Damian murmured, hand light on the man’s hair, before Todd pulled away.

“The more stable I am, the less…obvious it is. Fades, kinda, gets silvery instead of white. You can imagine then, getting and staying in control is a big ass deal to me.” The older man ran a hand through the curls, before turning to his side, fixing him with sharp, green eyes. “Wanna walk around with half a stitched foot? Or can I finish the job?"

There it was again, that intense stare, and Damian blushed furiously, eyes pointedly in his lap as he willed the embarrassment away. It was a small miracle Grayson was absent, the man would give up his badge if it meant possessing the ability to cause full bodily flushes such as this.

“If you must.” Damian went for unconcerned apathy, but the smirk Todd gave him told him otherwise, and to his frustration, his skin reddened _again._

The air was quiet as Todd finished, and it was only at the last few stitches that Damian broke the silence.

“ _IIlaa alaihtimam, ya fata_.” He looked Todd right in the eye, voice fierce, and a small part of him relished it when the older man himself looked away, guilt in his eyes. “Never again, Todd.”

Todd glanced at him, understanding, and held his eye. “I won’t.”

A few moments later, and their work was done.

“Right, then.” Jason looked at him before getting up, packing the first aid kit away, and Damian watched him for a moment, then stared down at his sheet, wondering what to say now. He hadn't expected any of this, neither of them had, and now the prospect of Todd leaving, without knowing when next he'd see the man- Damian swallowed, finding his mouth so very dry.

Todd came to sit by the bed, right next to his leg, and for a long moment, none of them spoke.

"So." It was Todd's turn to break the silence. "What, um." A small sigh, then Todd turned to look at him, green eyes fixed on his own. "What is all this to you. Us. Or not an us, mere curiosity perhaps. I mean, I...kid, I dunno what you want, and why."

"When you-" Damian stared up at the ceiling, unable to meet those eyes. "When you were...holding me, something happened."

"You mean like a b-" Todd asked, mildly confused, and Damian felt his cheeks heat up, not wanting to make any such association. 

" _No!_ " He shook his head angrily, jaw tight, before a light hand was placed on his ankle.

"Sorry." A gruff apology. "Go on, kiddo. I'm listening. You freaked out real bad, I wasn't sure if I'd done something or what. Was...was it some kinda PTSD thing that I set off?" The voice was softer this time, and Damian found his shoulders relaxing minutely in response.

"No. Not quite. I...Todd, I don't know what it was, but it came on suddenly, like a flash, or a light being switched on. One moment my mind went blank, and the next-" Damian met Todd's eyes. "I saw this place. A...a garden of sorts, I think. Clear skies, green grass, but what held my attention were these two people. A...a young boy, a few years older than me." Damian watched Todd carefully, and the man was suddenly tense all over, the hand on his leg firm. "I did not see his face. But in his lap, was a child. No more than three years of age, holding a book, and the child Todd, he was reading, his mouth was moving, though I could not hear anything. Both seemed engrossed in the book, but I- I noticed the older boy. He was- I mean, his attention, it was more-"

"-It was on the kid, wasn't it?" Todd's voice sounded far away.

Damian wet his mouth. "I, there was also this smell. Very distinct, and very familiar. Jasmine, vanilla, and a sharp tang. In the background, I heard a little something like china being used, a liquid being poured."

The older man nodded, and a smile grew slowly on his face, though it was small. Todd turned to him now, but his eyes held a note of pain, and Damian felt his chest catch slightly.

"You recognise them?"

Damian nodded carefully. "Mother has always loved her tea."

Todd snorted at that. "Damn right she does. Can't cook to save her life, but tea?" He shook his head, smirking slightly. "You still take ginseng white with hibiscus leaf?"

Damian stared, ignoring his flush. "I...I do, actually."

"And the one with the ginger, cinnamon, sugar, spice?"

Damian opened his mouth, then closed it again. Really, there was no need to ask.

"Todd, I don't understand why I cannot-"

 _Ringgg._ _Ringgg._

The sound startled Damian, and he furrowed his eyebrow, trying to conceal his flinch.

"Relax, kiddo. I've gotta take this, expecting a call." Todd's tone was apologetic, and before Damian could protest, the man was on his feet, speaking quietly in another language. Russian? Damian edged closer, but stopped as Todd sent him a _look_ , bordering on amused, and Damian huffed silently, crossing his arms. Strangely enough, he did not approve of Todd's attention being diverted elsewhere, and he sent a rather displeased frown in the older man's direction, but Todd only winked at him, and his face coloured again, betraying him. A few more minutes of conversation, and Todd ended the call abruptly, standing by the door.

"Kid, gotta run." Todd yawned, and Damian scrambled to stand, only wincing at the pressure he put on his foot.

"Hey hey heeey." All of a sudden, Todd was at his front, kneeled on one knee with an arm around his back, steadying him. "No rush, alright? I took my time with these stitches, don't mess them up-"

"You can't _leave_." Damian knew he sounded childish but he didn't care. This was _important_. "We have not even touched on the matter of-" His voice demanded, but all Todd was to smile softly, tracing his cheek gently.

"One step at a time, shorty." He grinned as Damian scowled, batting his hand away. "But seriously, Damian." Todd looked him in the eye. "There's a lot about me that I...stuff I just can't talk about, stuff that'll take time, alright? You, kiddo, need to decided what exactly you want."

Damian opened his mouth to protest, but Todd cut him short with a look. "Listen. I don't know what you want from me, or why, but you need to decide what is it you're hoping to get here. I-there's still a hella lot for me to work out when it comes to you, 'cause that also means Talia, the League, and that's a lot on a good day like this, so bear with me. Look, I don't wanna step on anyone's toes here, you get me? You're Dick's kid-"

"Grayson does not 'own' me, Todd. I can make my own decisions." Damian shot back, but Todd simply nodded, and placed his hand very lightly at the nape of his neck, soothing.

"I didn't say anything about 'owning' anyone. Fact is, Dick is pretty snappy when it comes to you. I know for a fact he didn't take it well on learning about me and Tim, and I suspect a good part of him isn't quite there yet. Not that I give two shits when it comes to Dick and his feelings, but I've gotta accept that the guy is Tim's big brother too, he's your big brother, and I- look, I'm not about to enter some weird ass family dynamics thing, capsiche? Nor am I forcing anyone into anything; I think you've got a good enough head on your shoulders to think about what it is you want, and what you're trying to achieve here. My- Damian, listen, look at me would ya?"

Damian refused, staring at the floor instead. 

"Fuck me, we're, fucking hell kid, why do you guys have to make everything so _aaurgh_. Fine, you wanna play tantrums, that's cool. Still not gonna change the fact that before anything can happen, on any side whatsoever, you, kiddo, need to talk to your Dad-"

Damian whipped his head up, eyes wide. "Father will be upset-"

"Talk to your dad, oh my gawd, talk to him! He's your dad, and all he wants is the best for you, to be safe, to be protected. Hiding stuff from him like this won't do you any favours, _believe_ me. Talk to Dick, try and explain your feelings. Heck, I-" Todd shook his head, looking away. "Look, I didn't expect any of this. You heard me tell Alf just how hard it is talking about you, seeing you, 'cause it brings up a whole load of memories, and I'll be honest, not all of it is good. I too have to sit down and think about where I'm going with all this, whether I can even _do_ any of this, because it ain't easy, opening up, it ain't. It takes trust, it takes time, it's damn fucking hard, and I- I need to know that if I'm gonna down this route, it's gonna be all in. Not half hearted, not 'maybes' or 'give it a go' - none of that shit. It's go for it, and accept that some days will be better than others - or, not at all, and that's something each of us are gonna have to think about."

Damian nodded, throat tight.

Todd moved in, head lowered, and spoke quietly by his shoulder, despite towering over him. "This isn't me saying I don't want...this. You. It's not a rejection, I swear. All I'm saying is - you need to think about this. Talk to your dad, to your brother. Heck, if you really want some advice as to what to expect, talk to Tim. We went through hell and high water to get where we are today - he better than anyone can give you some insight. And then-" Todd paused, and with a finger, lifted his head to meet him in the eyes. "When you're ready, a-and, if I'm- well, you know."

Damian nodded. "That sounds...acceptable, Todd."

"Atta boy." Damian was rewarded with a kind smile. "One more thing, kiddo. Alfie. Apologise, 'cause you're in a lot of shit, but I've manage to talk him out of the most of it. There's a good chance your Dad is gonna find out too, so prepare yourself for a lot of shouting, alright? S'not that he doesn't trust you - 'tis the lying, kid. Lying is hella exhausting, you know. Bruce, he's gonna shout, especially as this isn't your first time."

"But-"

"But nothing, Damian. Lying to Alfie and Bruce is a no-go area, everyone knows that. _You_ know that. So, here's what you're gonna do: You, royal princelling, are gonna stand there with your cute lil' button nose and take it, the shouting, the lectures, the disapproving hmms, all of it. Even if it means patrol is suspended or you being benched-"

"What ludicrous nonsense- I cannot and _will not_ -" Damian curled his fists, but the sudden fire in Todd's eyes had him pausing.

"You _can_ , and you _will_ , Damian. They're after your damn safety, and the more you lie to them about where you truly are, when you're supposed to be at school, or at home, or doing homework or at a friend's house, fuck knows where - you keep this up, and you'll break their trust. It's an easy thing to break, and damn hard to restore. You want to be able to go out, then they need to be able to trust you, and that starts with the small things. That the stuff in your sports bag, for instance, actually contains your sports shit, not Gotham ninja uniform tracking my ass. What was up with that, by the way? I swear you're miles better than that shit you pulled. Definitely not what I expect from you."

"The area is not an easy study, Todd. And I wasn't 'tracking' you - I was simply observing your movements." Damian mumbled, knowing his excuse was weak - he had run recon missions as a six year old in the Swiss Alps, for crying out loud. A few hundred people in the rough side of town was nothing in comparison.

"Uh-huh." Todd didn't buy his excuse entirely either. "Well, stop that shit. First off, its none of your business as to what I'm doing in town. It's mine alone, not Hood's, not as any of you weird ass bats, just me, so back the fuck off, or I won't be so nice next time. Not here for long anyway. Fine, it's not an easy area, you're half right - even as the Hood, it was a real challenge, but still, don't rush next time. Study the area carefully, a couple of days of observation is necessary kid. Assassin training 101 - cover your bases, cover your ass. Look, if you-" Todd sighed, as his phone bleeped somewhat. "Kid, I seriously have to go. If and when you're ready, talk to Tim. C'mon, let's go." Todd stood, beckoning him with a palm. 

Damian took a small breath, and nodding to Todd, walked ahead of the man, exiting the room, and Todd a few steps behind, till they came to the kitchen, with Pennyworth waiting calmly for them.

"Won't you stay, Master Jason?" Already, Pennyworth was making his way round to Todd, and the younger man hugged him tightly before stepping back, a strange look on his face.

"You know our deal, Alf." His voice was thick as he reached out a hand to the older man, and Pennyworth who instantly reached for him, clasp tight. Damian looked away; it felt too intimate, to private to intrude, and so he stared at the floor, white tiles neat and clean, matte grey cupboard doors, before a voice called out to him from the main door.

"Remember what I said, Damian."

Damian listened as the door closed, before Pennyworth turned to him, brown eyes gentle, but there was more there, and the thought made him nervous.

"Tea, Master Damian. Your Father will be home shortly."


	74. Quick update

Hi all,

Sorry I haven’t been posting as much - I’m just about to start my new job and things have been pretty busy over these last couple of days in the run-up!

I will continue with the story whenever I have free time, but it won’t be as frequent as before I’m afraid, since my job is full on. Thanks to all who have been following the story!

Vells

X


	75. A little bit of heaven, and a lil of hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Damian talk. Jason runs into an old ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: Sorry for the delay. It's been busy, new job and all!

Bruce felt his eyebrow twitch. "Yes, I understand Alfred."

The older man simply looked at him, raising an elegant brow, lips pursed, but those brown eyes _knew_ , and Bruce willed himself not to flush.

"I sure that you do, Master Bruce. But before you go charging in, I suggest that you take a few moments to gather your thoughts-"

" _I'm not a damn child, Alfred._ " Bruce snapped, sighing only half a moment later. "Sorry."

Alfred only continued to survey him carefully, noting the tense, rigid posture, the vein at the temple that was throbbing furiously, how hard he tried to breathe slowly, deeply, but the breaths came out shallow, a pitiful sight indeed, and it was a struggle to maintain the facade.

"If you need anything, I shall be in the pantry." The butler left him then, stopping briefly to pause at his side, a light hand on his shoulder, before taking his leave

Bruce waited for a solid minute before slumping his shoulders, feeling the tension drain out of him. He loosened his tie, eyes suddenly heavy, and not out of tiredness either. Making his way to his desk, he grabbed the nearest bottle of alcohol within reach, not caring that a little spilled over.

" _God_." He muttered, and threw back a glassful, wincing at the dull throbbing at base of his skull. He poured another glassful and threw that one down too, before gazing over into the distance, the light of the room warm and falsely lulling. There was too much going through his mind, thoughts of his youngest caught in the madness that was _Crime Alley_ , that this hadn't been the first time either, and- most surprising- that it had been _Jason_ who'd brought Damian home, Jason who Alfred admitted had been here just a day or two before, Jason who'd apparently spent a little time in his boy's room, before they'd finally come downstairs together, Damian quiet and yet on edge-

and he'd missed it _all._

Damian who had clearly been trying to learn more about so called 'black sheep' of the family. The one who'd strayed, who'd left and was now back, a stranger and son in one, who, everyone had gotten to know- everyone but him, that is, Dick too. The boy didn't want to upset him, nor had Damian bargained on Alfred finding out, but the two had kept their little secret, and Bruce couldn't lie, he was somewhat hurt that Alfred had compiled, and willingly too. He understood of course; Alfred and Jason had once shared and still did share a special relationship, a bond that Bruce himself had never quite managed to forge with Jason, at least from his perspective.

But Jason had called him his _world_ , didn't he? Back then on Gerebeta, that warm, twinkling night, that he, Bruce Wayne, dark hole of emotionless constipation- that little curly haired boy had once thought of him as his _everything_ , and Bruce half choked now, swallowing painfully, forcing his eyes to clear, the welling threatening to spill over.

No, he couldn't blame Damian of wanting to know more, not really. Yes, the lying had to stop, _obviously_ -

but Bruce knew, he just _knew_ that somehow putting an end to Damian's 'searches' would be a true turning point in their relationship, in the family, and for the worse too. It had taken close to a year for Bruce to work on Damian not putting him on such a damn high pedestal, _Batman_ , and more as Bruce, Father, Father who sometimes got it wrong, who made mistakes on occasion, who liked black and white films on a rainy night, hot cocoa and popcorn, who, strangely enough, had _friends_ -Clark, Barry, Gordon,- less than a mere handful, but people who he knew would show up for a drink if he asked, hell, dinner perhaps. _Father_ who had to manage dealing and working with Gotham's elite, hating their snobbery, disdain of those they considered 'beneath' themselves, and yet- money that was used to prop up important elements of the city, network, infrastructure, areas that the Wayne Foundation couldn't sustain by itself. Damian who, unknown to anyone else, reached for his hand when they went out to the local animal shelters. That small, soft, lithe nimbly weight in his own calloused hand, feathery light but there nonetheless, and Damian, God forbid, would never admit it out loud lest he skin those present, Damian who had never acknowledged such a gesture -and _yet_ \- that same child would tug on his, would sometimes tell him of literary pieces that struck him as interesting, and Bruce would listen in silent marvel, at a child barely past his hip who spoke with a quiet confidence, faltering here and there, but spoke, not as _al Ghul_ , or heir to a kingdom marked with bloodshed and violence, not even as trained assassin-

but as _Damian_ -

Bruce stood abruptly, ignoring the pounding in his chest. No, Alfred was right, had been right- he needed to tread carefully here. He'd rushed into something exactly like this with Tim, rushed in and brought his boy pain, hurt, Tim whom he knew still kept his distance somewhat, in the process of forgiving, the awkwardness that lingered now between them at times, when they'd run out of things to say, Tim who'd bite his bottom lip anxiously, Bruce who'd scramble internally of what to say next, almost desperate not to mess it up again, not to scare his boy away even more than he had already-

"Dick." Bruce spoke aloud, voice sombre in the stifling air of his study. He walked briskly over to the window, welcoming the breeze at his collar. Dick was good at this stuff, understanding what he wanted to say but for the life of him, somehow _couldn't_ , Dick who knew how to get across to Damian better than anyone, even himself. Of course, a part of him would always be jealous of this fact - Damian was _his_ child, not _Dick's_ \- but now was not the time.

Bruce held the phone to his ear, a small smile appearing the corners as he heard the croak of his eldest child, clearly having being woken from sleep. 

"Urgh. What the _fuckurghtitsgoddamnnit_. Nearly ten for pete's sake, Bruce. What gives, huh?" Dick half bleated, a rumble of something relatively akin to a curse word, and Bruce raised an eyebrow at the sound, forcing down a chuckle.

"Well good evening to you too, Dick."

"Seriously, B." Dick spoke more clearly now, huffing, but Bruce could detect a smile in the overgrown child's haughty voice, and a part of him was lifted on sensing it. "What's up? Everything okay up there?" The tone grew serious, and Bruce swallowed down a lump, instead opting to push a lone armchair closer to the window, settling himself down heavily, all while Dick listened on in silence.

"That much of a day?"

"Hn."

For a while, it was quiet between them, each focused on the other's breathing. Surprisingly, Dick had yet to offer a comment, a joke of sorts, teasing him about his old man status, and Bruce loved him for it, the maturity that the man showed, somehow wordlessly understanding the need for _intmacy_ , to be close, and for the countless time that evening, Bruce swallowed again, forcing down a whole host of emotions to speak.

"I need you to listen."

The immediate ruffle, that slight shift of static material across the phone - Dick was sat up, heck, probably completely off the bed, now wide awake and alert, and Bruce hated that he'd caused the change, but it was important that Dick _not_ panic, not jump to _conclu_ -

"Oh God Bruce, what happened? Shit, what's wrong? Is it Timmy?Dames?A- _ohgawdgawdifanything'sthemattergawdImcomingoverright_ "

Bruce pinched his nose wearily, forcing himself to spoke slowly, and very calmly. "Dick." His voice was firm, level - it _had_ to be - anything else would have Dick freaking out worse than he was beginning to already-

"No, I'monmyway-"

" _Dick_."That was Batman now, harsh, unyielding, and the sound caused a pause of movement over the phone. He winced, only briefly. Both of them knew how much Dick hated that, a once ago reminder of their fights in the past, a teenage son rebelling in search of his independence, an overprotective father who took any intolerance to his orders rather badly-

"Sorry." Bruce spoke quietly, but Dick didn't respond, the silence a little less warm than it had been just moments ago.

"I'm listening." The younger man spoke eventually, though it was a touch more clinical, _cool_ and Bruce half closed his eyes, knowing his son was not happy. He had to make this right, and he would, but could wait till later.

"It's been a long day." A little weariness leaked into his tone, and the tension softened now, Dick lack of response a _go on, I'm listening_. Bruce swallowing, grateful, and took a small breath, staring out into the darkness of the Manor gardens. "Jason was over earlier, with Damian."

For a long, tense moment, all air seemed to suck itself dry in the room. Bruce could practically _see_ his son's face, in the darkness of his apartment, the heartbeat picking up, jaw clenching, posture rigid, fists clench, rolling onto the balls of his feet, bright blues deepening in dark anger.

" _What do you_ -" The tone was harsh.

"Damian's been trying to learn more about Jason. That's how Alfred explained it." The air felt heavy with silent confusion, Dick who was clearly taken aback, and Bruce continued, choosing his words carefully. 

"It started a few weeks ago, but I wouldn't surprised if its been going on for longer than that. Basically, Jason in Bolivia...it created a whole host of questions, several of which I imagine Damian has been harbouring. Questions, confusion, anger, disappointment, and me being me, I failed to at least attempt to reach out to him." Bruce's tone was deliberate."I...You know that I didn't react....I struggled, Dick. With what I learnt in Gerebeta, and then Boliva and I just..." Bruce stared into the moonlight, eyes soaking up the deep grey white, ignorant of the shadows that formed on the ground. Dick made no effort to dissuade him otherwise, and Bruce nodded, because the truth was-

he'd acted rather selfishly.

"I. Tim. I hurt him badly Dick, and I'm still paying for my mistakes. I...I can't afford to do the same with yet another son."

It took a while for Dick to respond, and his voice was careful. Cautious. "What happened tonight, Bruce?"

So Bruce told him. The beginning - apparently when Alfred had first had his suspicions, and later on, seeing as Damian was serious, studying old school papers, notebooks, novels, some classics, some historical. And then, Damian secret ventures into Jason Todd's childhood: _Crime Alley_ , the belly of the beast. The darkness of the city, whee Jason had spent the first few years of his life rowing up, immersed in her ways, her culture, and despite the comfort of the manner, something resembling a _family_ , Crime Alley had kept her claws in her boy, long enough to take him away, and Bruce would never forgive her. That.

There was a reason why Batman rarely ventured into Crime Alley. It was...difficult, difficult to hold it together, not to grind bones to dust, to beat until disfigured, the hopelessness entrenched into corner shops, addicts lining dark alleyways, children worn and despondent. If Batman had a hard time going there, Bruce? 

_Never_.

Not since Jason's-

-And now Damian had been _twice_ , both times unsupervised, lying to Alfred, hurt enough to require stitches, that Jason had thankfully intervened somewhat, clearly not being pleased at being followed-Alfred had said as much-, a small miracle that Jason had decided not to retaliate.

It was a little after midnight when Bruce decided to call it a night. Dick, to his quiet surprise, had asked relatively few questions. Several long pauses, and then they'd start again. One question, an answer, a pause, each listening intently to the other. But Bruce knew better - of his eldest son's over protectiveness over his younger brothers, especially when it concerned Jason, or rather, the Red Hood when he'd been around, and Dick's apparent 'calmness' during this conversation of theirs was no true indicator of what the young man truly felt about the whole thing. First Tim, and now Damian. Bruce wasn't sure whom Jason hated the most- himself or Dick. Whereas he had once shared a loving relationship with the man, the same couldn't be said for Dick. From the start, the tension had been there. Of the very few times Dick had made an effort to visit, when himself and his son weren't fighting, then it was Dick and Jason, insults quickly flying, punches thrown, and scathing bitterness left in the aftermath. It was a sobering thought - the two young men, adults now, he as Father should be taking out to dinner, small road trips, talking about various life lessons, advice with women- ha, as if he was even qualified to do such a thing, that's why the boys had Clark- no, one son was part time vigilante, with a whole host of issues to work through, including a tendency to overcompensate, a deep seated fear of being unwanted, fear of losing another family, this family, _his_ family. As for the other? Hated his very being, pretended he didn't exist, despite all the people they had in common, one who'd grown up and matured without his help, his guidance, without the pride of a parent.

Tim, Damian - Bruce knew enough now that the same mistakes could _not_ be made with his youngest children. And yet, it was already happening, with Tim, two steps forward, three steps back, every apology and somewhat reconciliation dented with his lack of ability to reach out, _demonstrate_ -

Bruce stood up slowly, hands braced on the armrests as he stood. Almost twelve thirty am- Damian should be fast asleep, and yet Bruce knew that his boy would be lying awake in the darkness, wondering if his Father was angry, displeased, betrayed even. Dick had made it clear over the phone- that Damian- if he, Bruce, didn't tackle this right now and speak to Damian tonight, that his little boy would go to bed upset, which would cool, resulting in distance, a topic that wouldn't be broached until it was thrown back in the other's face during a moment of anger, a screaming match. No, it _had_ to be tonight, Dick had stressed it, quietly but firmly. Resentment grows over time, a series of missed opportunities to explain, to clarify, to understand, and Bruce caught the second meaning - the same had occurred with Dick and Jason, that their hostility had soured into resentment, helped by a lack of proper intervention, a Father who should have made it explicit clear that there were no _favourities_ , that each were his-

Bruce blinked, once, and then again. In the midst of his musing, he'd made it to Damian's room, a soft glow creeping underneath the carpet. The boy, of course, would have detected his presence almost immediately, and was probably lying ramrod straight, waiting to see what his Father would do.

So Bruce knocked.

It only took a half a second for Damian's "Enter" to be heard, but even that second felt like eternity. 

Bruce walked in, finding Damian sitting neatly on his bed, legs crossed, fingers claspsed white at the knuckles, back to attention, chin jutted, almost definant, but his eyes gave him away. They kept flickering, darting across his frame as he approached, reading, interpreting, and Bruce saw it then, the _uncertainty_ , unsure of how he would react, and Bruce chose his spot carefully. Not quite parallel, no; angled in a little, that he was half facing Damian, half away, giving the boy the opportunity to speak without feeling overwhelmed. It was no surprise then that even _before_ Bruce had sat down, Damian started, his voice not quite as level as he'd clearly hoped.

"Father, I understand you are displeased, but I cannot and _will not_ stop trying to-" A slight rush came tumbling out, and Bruce forced himself not to wince at the sound, his headache becoming worse. God, his eyes felt gritty. When was the last time he'd even slept properly?

"Damian-" Bruce started, but the boy continued, volume rising, pitch more adamant.

"I will not be deterred on this, Father. You and Todd have your own history, but as I have fairly recently discovered, _so do I_. I have questions that require several answers, and Todd, he too shares similar sentiments-"

"What sentiments?"

That seemed to stop Damian in his tracks, and he shut his mouth rather quickly. The boy looked away then, to somewhere on the floor, not wanting to answer, and it dawned on Bruce then -

Damian- he didn't trust him with such information.

Bruce ignored the sting, opting to take a few moments for himself. There was little point on pushing the matter; whatever it was, Damian considered the matter private between he and Todd, and once Damian had his mind made up on something, it was nigh high impossible to persuade him otherwise. At the same time, this was Jason, a Jason whom Bruce didn't know, not like Clark, or Talia, Diana, Shayera, _of course not_ \- a Jason he'd jump at the chance of getting to know, but until he knew more about him, then his children's safety would take precedence. Which meant, for example, addressing the secrecy and lies Damian had been telling both he and Alfred when he went out in search of information, or was supposed to be at school but was instead in Crime Alley, surveying a man who'd once shot him point blank.

Bruce turned to his son now, wetting his lips before answering.

"What happened tonight was unacceptable. That includes all the other times you've done something similar without our knowledge-" Bruce spoke firmly, a little hardness in his tone.

"And what of all the other nights we go out, doing what we do?" Damian threw back angrily, but Bruce shut that down with a _look._ Damian was really going to play the _Robin_ card to get out of this?

He watched as Damian's head turned to the side, jaw prominent, but the boy made no move to argue the stance, and a small part of him was taken aback at the lack of protest. Damian had fought for less than this, so what had changed? Alfred spoke about he and Jason spending some time together - might they have come to some sort of understanding? But Damian didn't forgive easily, and nor did Jason. 

"You've been lying, Damian." Bruce's tone was softer, but it held disappointment, and Damian's shoulders slumped just a tiny bit. "Whatever the reason- and you may have your reasons- at the end of the day, this is the second time, at least, that your safety has come into question. Alfred failing to tell me about your first trip was him giving you a chance not to do it again, although I would have very much appreciated it if he'd told me about concerns regarding the well being of my _youngest son_. And yet, here we are, in the same situation, except you're hurt, Alfred's blaming himself-"

Damian turned wide eyes to him but Bruce continued. "Yes, he is. For all your training Damian, Crime Alley is _not_ a place you want to take lightly. Even Batman has faced a few challenges in that area. In fact, let me ask you this: when was the last time I took Robin or Red Robin out there?"

Damian didn't answer.

Bruce nodded his head. "And Nightwing: of the times Dick has joined us on cases, how many times has he attended to a call, alone, in Crime Alley? Patrol even, let's try that: how many times have I or Nightwing gone out on patrol to that area alone? Answer me, Damian."

"Not often." The boy's voice was quiet. 

"That's right. Even with all our training and experience, we still make sure to have all the necessary back up if we ever need to go to Crime Alley. At times we've patrolled together, Nightwing and I, just because it can be that difficult. And you expect me to believe that an 11 going on 12 year old-"

"Highly trained and well versed in-" Damian glared at him, eyes cutting, but Bruce had had enough, and his anger bled into his tone.

" _Civilian_ , Damian! Civilian identity, civilian clothes, no weaponry, no protection, no-one who was aware of of your whereabouts, no-one who could offer you assistance should you have required backup-which you _did_ need today, coincidentally!"

"It was nothing but a simple cut!" Damian's fists were clenched, eyes bright, and he made to stand, but Bruce's patience had run out.

" _ **Sit down**_." He bellowed, and the sound seemed thunderously loud, even to his own ears, spilling out into the hallway, where he was half sure Alfred himself would have heard, the pantry several floors below. 

Damian stared at him _hard_ , mouth angry and twisted to the side, and obeyed after a moment, coiled and tense. Bruce ran a tired hand through his hair - why was it that it always came to this? The shouting, the frustration? Dick barely raised his voice and the boy would acquiesce, and yet with him? Stubborn as a mule.

"Son." Bruce went for a different approach this time, and the change in Damian's demeanor- a tiny flinch, head tilted towards him, mouth less jutted, less furious- it gave Bruce the energy to continue. "My concern, far more than the lying, is your wellbeing. Your safety. Lying, about where you are and what you're doing jeopardises all of that. It makes-"Bruce sighed, then winced as his headache became worse.

"Father?" All of a sudden, a small pair of hands hovered in his midst, at his front, fight nearly forgotten, and Damian's eyes held concern. "Shall I call for Pennyworth?"

Bruce shook his head slowly, willing the pain away, and stretched out his hands, pulling the boy to himself. The child let out an indignant squeak but made no move to resist the movement, collapsing to his chest, and Bruce held him tightly, burying his chin into soft black hair as little feet curled into his side.

"You worried me." Bruce spoke quietly, eyes closed, and felt a small squeeze on his forearm. 

"I am sorry, Father."

"You know I can't let this go unpunished." His voice was low, a tad regretful, and even though the figure in his arms stiffened, Damian remained where he was.

"I....I know." The child eventually spoke, a little strained. "Todd said so."

It was Bruce's turn to tense, and he cursed internally a moment later, having failed to hide his reaction from Damian. "He did?"

"Yes." Damian's hand had moved from his arm to his own hand, light, and Bruce clasped them firmly, tracing the light creases across each knuckle, the scar just under his left wrist. "That you would be upset about the lies, and I should prepare, no- _expect_ that. That you would be angry because I was hurt. But-" The child faltered, and Bruce, recognising how rare it was, seeing Damian as vulnerable and open as this, pressed a kiss to the child's head, nudging him gently to continue.

"I have many questions, Father." Damian murmured into his chest. "Questions...about the League, my so called destiny. Why Mother sent me here. How T...Todd, why he knows me more than I can remember, what happened back then. Why I cannot remember Todd without.... Mother and Todd, why- _how_. Mother thinks dearly of him, and from what I know so far, she is important to him. Why _him_ , and not _me_ , why Mother does not.... Why he-what happened to _him_ , back then, why he did what he did. He said a little, about the Pit, the effect on his memories, what was real and what was not- even with the little he managed to say, it was a struggle, Father. I-" Damian looked up at him now, green eyes on his. "I am not asking that you accept all this, or even try to understand, but I- Father, I _need_ to know-"

"Why didn't you tell me? Or Dick?"

Damian hesitated, playing with the fabric of his shirt, and took his time in responding. "I thought it would upset you and Grayson. I..I suppose I did not think you would understand, Father.

"I understand, Damian." Bruce held his son's eye deeply, and taking them both by surprise, placed a firm kiss on the child's forehead, before stroking his cheek. "I...I didn't take the news of Jason's return very well. Nor did it become any easier after the League's return to Earth last year, and witnessing a few of my closest friends forge a close relationship with someone I...I loved, very much." Bruce swallowed. "And still do, in many ways." He couldn't quite look at Damian. "I struggled with my own feelings, but that was selfish of me. In all of this, I didn't stop to think of all of you, Tim who already had a relationship with Jason and didn't want me getting to close." Bruce chuckled, but the sound was mirthless. "I knew Talia had kept Jason from me, you too, and theoretically, later on I realised the two of you may have spent some time in the same place at some point, but that night, at the hospital, hearing Jay-Jason refer to you in the way he did, and just how much you _meant_ to him-" Bruce stared at the door, blinking slowly to rid himself of the mist that had clouded his vision a little.

Damian's skin had turned rather cool.

"You never asked Todd what happened. Why, Father?"

Bruce found it took him a while to answer. "Because I was afraid." He finally spoke, the words like sandpaper in his mouth. "Afraid of what I'd learn. That all of a sudden, the guy in the Red Hood and propensity for violence would go from stranger to something much more familiar, he result of my handiwork, my own doing in a way, and deep down, I was afraid to confront that. Even back then, the first time I became aware of him- watching surveillance footage, and then our first meeting - I knew something was off. His movements, they were familiar, somehow. The modulator distorted his voice, but even then, the jokes, the offhand remarks, crass humour- I knew it, somehow, but I couldn't put my finger on it at first. And then....when I learned who it was under the Hood, it was- Damian, it was like my mind, it shut down. Couldn't function, couldn't see past the fact that the child I'd once buried and...and _mourned_ , _daily_ , was alive, warm flesh and blood, and I couldn't reach him. And with every reconciliation, it was like...like the more we tried, the further we broke. He broke, I broke, until one day....when it was too much, too tiring, I stopped, Damian. And I think Jay,-I think he'd knew I'd stop one day, stop trying to reach him, because he- he was too much. Too-"Bruce swallowed. " _complicated_. Dangerous, to the three of my boys, the ones I had left. To my family, whom he never stopped attacking, never stopped pushing away, despite...despite trying to tell him otherwise. But I see it now. I mourned for the dead boy I'd lost, never stopped, and I kept seeing Jay-Jason as the boy, my boy. Except that boy was gone, Damian, and in his place was someone unrecognizable, somewhere I either couldn't or wouldn't or failed to see, perhaps all three."

For several moments, neither Wayne spoke.

"I can't stop you from trying to learn more about Jay, Damian." Bruce held the child, gently rocking him to and from. "Alfred would kill me if I tried and if...if it helps Jay on some level too, then honestly, the thought of him being happy, even if we never...well. The first thing, however, is this: no more lies. No more sneaking out. You're off Robin duty for two weeks. School, and then straight back home. No laptop, no music. We have a whole library, you can do your research and homework the old fashioned way. "

Bruce waited for the outburst. The screaming, yelling, shouting, claims of a superior heritage, an insult to his intelligence, a waste of an elite skillset-

Damian tensed, slowed his breathing quite deliberately, and though his fists did automatically clench, Bruce watched them unfurl, all the way, until the boy let out a small, pointed huff. Not as relaxed as before, but certainly nowhere near the full blown tantrum he'd a pulled on a good year ago, and for Damian, _that_ was impressive. Bruce pursed his lips in thought. Whatever Jason had said tonight had likely had a calming effect on the boy.

"I take it there's more." Damian tried to keep his tone cool, but Bruce could still detect the steel lining his voice. 

"Alfred. He'll have a number of things for you to help out with." Help, of course, being involuntary. 

"I see." The boy muttered something else, Arabic sounding, and Bruce gave him a little flick at the side, to which Damian let out an irritated grumble, but remained quiet.

Bruce took a deep breath, and spoke once more. "I said earlier, that I can't stop you from learning more about Jay. I wanted to, with Tim, but they'd already established a pretty deep friendship that any effort I would have made would have been futile, and Tim has a few good years on you. Despite this, he knows I check every now and again, because own apartment or not, VP or not, Tim is still my son, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Now, as for you- being underage and required by law to go to school- your case is a little different. You want to reach out to Jason- I accept that."

Damian looked sharply at him, surprise evident in his eyes. "You're not upset?"

"No, I'm not. But in order for me to, practically speaking, allow this, free of sneaking behind Alfred's back and lying, then I want Jason to talk to me about it."

Damian stared at him, indignant and wide eyed. "You and I both know Todd would run for the hills before doing such a thing."

"I don't care, Damian. Yes, you have the right to converse and reach out to him, it _is_ your choice. But in light of recent events, and with your safety my priority, I would srongly prefer that he come to me and we talk. Doesn't have to be anything related to our past history, but when it comes to you, then I'd like to have a decent idea as to what this means to him. How we go about this so that I don't come home to bad reports, to get a phonecall that you're hurt-"

"But-"

"And think of it this way: instead of the pretense, Jay will know that I'm not trying to dissuade you, or hide, or that I feel ashamed of him, nothing like that. It will hopefully give you guys the freedom to learn a little more about each other without the fear of me finding out and disapproving. Tim hid his relationship with Jason for years for that very reason, that I wouldn't understand, that I'd try and stop him, all because Jason and I were not on good terms, and even today, its a sore topic between us, one which I regret. So I'm not going to make the same mistakes again, Damian. You want this - Jason comes to talk to me about it, like an adult, and that way, we establish boundaries, and on proper terms. Not hiding."

Damian stared at him. "Todd will not go for this."

Bruce stared back at him, expression firm. "Believe me, if Jay is as willing for this to happen as you are, then he will. I'm not trying to embarrass him, or to "lord" one over him; this is about doing things properly. He's an adult, as am I. The very least we should be able to have is a civil conversation, that's all I'm asking."

Damian watched him again, and after a moment, turned away, face thoughtful. Eventually he nodded. "That is acceptable."

"Very good." Bruce glanced at the clock, trying not to scream internally at the time, but his face gave it away. " _One am?_ Christ."

"I'm sure _Christ_ has nothing to do with your poor time management skills, Father." The haughtiness was back, and Bruce failed to suppress his smile, opting to _boop_ his son on the nose instead. Damian, the poor lad, let out an indignant squeak, face delightfully pink, but the happiness could not be hidden.

"Damian." Bruce spoke once he'd tucked the boy in. He ran a gentle hand through the boy's hair, resting it on his check. He opened his mouth to continue, but the words couldn't come this time. Damian only smirked, a small thing, and squeezed his hand in return. 

"I know, Father."

Bruce nodded, and bending to kiss his son goodnight, closed the door gently. The prospect of seeing Jason, talking to him, a _thump_ , and Bruce swallowed, chest missing a beat.

It was a start.

 

 

_Gotham Library_

Really, Jason should have known this would happen.

He'd half been banking on the library being open; 24 hours, that what the notice usually said, but staff were only present between 8 am to 5pm, and after that, you were left alone. Thankfully, the Library was in the nicer part of town, away from the undesirables over on the lower East side, who couldn't even afford to get here, anyway. The city had tried of course, opening a little bookshop and internet cafe in the heart of the East, but barely two weeks later, cat piss stained the carpets, human waste decorated toilet stalls, books had been vandalised, stolen by the homeless to start fires and keep warm, and as for any _computers_ that had happened to be lying around? Fucking stolen, that's what, pawned for cash quickly, just in time for the next fix. _The_ Library here, however, home in the city square, was a decent size, not too big that one could end up lost, dwarfed by the sheer volume of books, but not too mall that you'd felt like you'd seen it all. Fiction, non-fiction, history, literature, fashion pieces to think pieces, journals, art and theatre, comics for the kids and cooking books. Cozy reading spaces in the nooks and crannies, that smell and old wistfulness one could get by thumbing through the pages of a book - _vellichor_ , Jason had learned the term for that a long time ago. He'd known this place like the back of his hand, his favourite spots, hours lost in the passage of time, Alfred who would eventually have to come inside, always knowing exactly where he'd be on any given day; the back on Fridays for instance, overlooking the cherry garden, second floor, to the right, by _biographies_ , that was Wednesday. There was even a tea and coffee machine on each floor, wih all the sugar a little gap toothed gremlin like himself craved without care, and Jason went back for a refill almost reflexively, aware of the 21 steps between his reading spot and the machine, 38 seconds for tea- or chocolate to be made, nowhere near as good as Alfred's but that was besides the point. He even had his own little group of 'regulars'- Maggie, a kind black woman likely in her sixties but looked at least twenty decades younger- she had a soft spot for him and usually saved his seat by way of a quilting blanket that smelt like her, warm vanilla, and together, they'd get through a basket of freshly baked home goodies, just the two of them in their own little world.

God, he missed her.

Then there was Jules, a young twenty something year old college student. Quiet, often with a heavy backpack of sorts on his shoulder, bags under his eyes. Maggie usually had a lil something prepared for him too, and though they'd never formally spoken, Jason considered him part of their little group too. There had been a shared understanding between he and the young man, for some reason, and Jason could only hope Jules had made a life for himself far away from here.

Maria was next. A young mother of three, she usually stuck to the Mothers and toddlers classes every Tuesday morning, but on occasion she'd stop by, basking in her short freedom. Back then, she'd had a young'un, Charlie was it? A little cherub of a thing, boy or girl, Jason hadn't known, but Ma and the kid would usually bagsy the small couch by the window, and the pair would fall promptly asleep for the next few hour. The couch was their's, heck, everyone knew that - once a newbie had tried to take the spot, and it was the first and only time their group of misfits and strangers had spoken up, declaring the couch 'taken', and Jason had been damned proud of them all. 

There were others, Jason was sure of it, though the Pit had meant a few had been lost to him. Libby, John, Aja the cool sixteen year old with awesome braids and skin that he could stare at practically forever- it glowed in the warmth of the room, and shone a midnight velvet when the sky began to darken. Fine, so he'd had a crush, big deal. Aja was great about it though -never made fun of him, not once, and had let him listen to her mp3 on several occasions as he read, pieces of Jazz and blues that half lulled him to sleep. 

Jason wondered if they ever asked about him. The short, thin kid with unruly hair and a gap toothed smile, who spent hours lost in a book, a little shy, but proud nonetheless.

God, it was all still the same, Jason thought, running one had down the spines, tracing paperback novels, the slight dust that tickled his nose. His phone had been low on battery, so Jason had settled into a computer way at the back to research some of the things he'd seen so far during his stay in dearest Gotham. St Mary's was the biggest orphanage, and needed major repairs. Crumbling walls, faded paint, staff who were trying their best but obviously work ragged, kids who didn't have enough- enough clothes, enough food, enough to occupy their time with. A garden that was less grass and more weed, unruly and unwelcoming. He'd asked for an application from to work as a volunteer, once a week perhaps, at least for now, and the lead worker had stared at him for a few moments in shock, before mumbling a _come this way, Peters_ , half falling over her words about _no-one ever volunteers to help_ , that anything he could offer would be much appreciated, his experience would need to be detailed though, and Jason had nodded throughout it all. They were genuine, he could give them that. It made for a refreshing change - the staff that had worked here back when he was shuffled around from home to orphanage didn't give two shits about the kids, the poor state of facilities, not the scarcity of it all, not really. So long as they got paid, that was that, so long as paperwork was shuffled and the place was spruced up once in a blue moon for the odd 'inspection', the state didn't give two fucks. The heating would need sorting out, that one was probably on the top of his list. The weather was getting warmer- summer was on the way-, but Gotham nights could prove notoriously chilly, and threadbare, measly blankets were a waste of time for all. Getting the kiddies and staff warm, he could do that, by himself, but the plumbing could prove tricky- those old pipe would need replacing in a good year or two, but until then, they had to survive. Next would come _food_. Good food, not shit stuff in shitty cans, watery cardboard that served as "bread". A good, reliable supplier, that's what they needed. There were other things to; walls needed a fresh coat of paint, maybe three, carpets to re-do, books to stock, but if he could just figure out the heating and food stuff first, then that was a start.

And so Jason had spent a solid three hours since his arrival to the Library around 8 or 9pm, jotting, thinking, the sky getting darker by the hour. It was heading towards twelve when his eyes began to drift, and neck sore, he rubbed at it, stretching, when a sound caught him to attention-

 _squeak-squeak_.

Jason paused mid-stretched, furrowing his eyebrows slightly.

 _squeak-squeak_. _squeak-squeak_.

It...honestly, it sounded like a pair of wheels, and as Jason wondered to himself who or what was here with fucking wheels at this time- pram, perhaps- the owner of such sound came into view, far right hand corner of his vision.

And for a moment, he didn't know what to say, not that he had to. Back towards him, Jason could just about make out a chignon bun, wips trailing past the shoulder. The back was bent over something, a book, and then straightened, turning to the side, where glasses dangled precariously from a nose, a small pile of books from her lap. The mouth was still that firm line, focused, and eyes intent behind thick frames, but the hair gave it all away. A copper red, fiery in the light at times, but red was still _red_. They'd met no more than three times back then, at the Manor, Barbie being Dick's girl, Barbie who'd never taken to him, clearly on Dick's side, the little robin impostor who was nothing like who super duper handsome boyfriend, whatever they were. Babs who'd treated him coldly upon his first return, distrustful, tone always accusatory the few times she bossed her way in on his com-line to rat him out, _Oracle_ on his ass.

And yet, here she was, in the distance, still in a wheelchair-

Given to her by one very generous clown.

Jason watched her for a moment, fingers scurrying down volumes, bending. He watched as her small pile shifted from her lap, then slipped, falling into the floor, and the quiet but audible swear word the redhead let out in response. He continued to watch, the slight struggle of reaching down fully as collected her books, facing flushing red, one wheel that was apparently a little too stiff, courtesy of the carpet, and Jason thought about offering to help. Probably wouldn't recognise him, he had changed that much. Barbara, yes, she would blush, say thank you most likely, and just like that, they would part ways, back to whatever the other was doing.

But Jason didn't move.

A part of him, though he felt a little sick to admit him, find it....comforting, in a way, to see the barbie struggle. Struggle at something that was so easy, for back then, all those years ago, he had once struggled _too_. Struggled, in the Wayne world, struggled to make friends, to connect, mouth uncouth and crass, dirty. Barbie, who he'd recognised even _before_ she'd come round to the Manor that first morning, before he knew about Bruce and his fucking eldest, _before_ , when Gordon wasn't quite the big dog back then, still a relatively young cop, with a wife who was- _but that was a story for another day._

Jason watched the woman smack her wheels in irritation-

and still, he remained seated, eyes never leaving the scene.

For all that he'd caused, all his troubles, Jason had had to admit - the Bats had tried in their own ways, misguided attempts or otherwise. They'd failed, of course, but they _had_ at least tried with him.

Who had tried with _her_? With Barbara?

Even in the height of his madness, shooting sprees galore, it was always a strange but odd surprise seeing a Bat in his worn out living room, back when they were into the whole "reconciliation and bring Jason back into the fold" way of doing things. If it wasn't that, then it was Alfred's cookies left on a counter top, or getting patched up half drug-addled by an exasperated Bruce, who still offered an invite to stay at the Manor, even though Jason would storm out, offended. Tim who kept his distance but had, once, twice, read to him during half unconscious states, always gone by the time Jason fully regained his senses.

He wondered now, watching Barbara finally collect the remainder of her books - had they done the same for her? Dropped by with food? Attempted movie nights? Asked her how her day went, knowing well enough that her legs were now and forever fucking _useless_? That sure, Barbara went by Oracle now, held up in the Clock tower, was it? Were she and Dick still a thing anymore, or had that all changed? Two lives forever changed by one madman, and Jason wasn't sure who had come out better. Perhaps that's why the woman had always been cold to him - resentment that he had all this attention which he promptly spat out and ground to dust, and to her, nothing?

Jason returned his gaze to the computer screen once Barbara had left, but his thoughts were too disorganised now, and he sat in silence for a long moment, thinking. Talia had taken great risks with him, especially concerning Lazarus. Yes, he was here today, but it had taken a _lot_ to get to his current state, and even then, he still had his moments.

Who, Jason wondered, had given _Barbara_ the same consideration?


	76. Not Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim dishes out a little criticism. Dick visits the Manor but Alfred knows better, Clark has a bad night, and Damian seeks advice.

From the barstool, Tim watched his brother, lips pursed in deep thought.

Mr Okasanya had done a great job with the Hitami report, he had to admit. Accurate, concise- the one report he'd been dreading reviewing had actually been the most straightforward of the day, and as a result Tim left work early, stopping by a small coffeehouse a little off his usual route home, enjoying the sunshine. For once, things had been going rather... _well_ lately, and as unnerving as it was, Tim had taken the chance to just _relax_. Perhaps it was having Jay stay over at his, late nights spent talking, eating, or maybe it wasn't rushing to work every day, but taking that extra half an hour to himself, a light read in the morning, stopping at Freyike's bakery on the way in, letting the waft of fresh, warm bread soak into his suit, dull his senses, Tim wasn't sure, but this week had been....lovely. Sure, the phone had barely stopped ringing, and the pile of reports never did seem to diminish in size, but for the first time in a while, Tim had taken it easy. He'd actually delegated tasks appropriately, instead of trying to do everything himself- man, the look on some of his employee's faces, at actually having to do the _work_ he _paid_ them to do, instead of coasting the day away. Even his secretary, Tam, had seemed a little taken aback at having shit to do, but Tim was sure she'd get over it soon enough.

Even Bruce hadn't been spared from such wrath- the man had spluttered out half strung excuses upon Tim walking in one Tuesday morning, paperwork in hand, but Tim had only dumped the pile with a satisfying smile, before waving a lazy hand goodbye. For once, Bruce could do his own damned work, could feel what he felt, fucking _tired_ , and Bruce had certainly been showing it. A full hour for lunch, and it _was_ a full hour mind you. Food, fresh air, and no work. Phone on silent, and a little cup of coffee steaming to his right. And when the clock struck five, Tim was already in the car, unraveling his tie, briefcase left at the office. Jay had taken to threatening to shred his work if he caught Tim peering over it, and so Tim had, at first, left it all at the office, miffed that he was being harassed in his own home...but then he saw what his brother was trying to do. Leaving work at _work_ , so he wouldn't burn out decades before his time. Getting him to chill for once, de-stress from the day- that not everything could be solved at once and by him alone, and for the first time in a long while, Tim had taken a hard look at himself in the mirror. Pale, dark bags under his eyes, and silently, Tim had sworn that things would change. And now here he was, just after six in the evening, kitchen smelling _heavenly_ , music in the background, throw rugs on the couch, room dimly lit but so _cozy_ , phone in his room, laptop to the side-

and he felt _naked_ , as if- 

_as if_ , without his gadgets and paperwork, fancy suits and gelled hair, all that was left was the real him, holed jeans, oversized sweatshirt, pony tail, and Tim couldn't remember when he'd last seen this side of him, he the _boy_ , teen rather, being all coodled by overbearing big brother, who for the last hour, had been whinging about something Alfred had mentioned. Bruce, yeah, apparently _Daddy-o_ had found out his precious youngest had been sneaking off unsupervised in Gotham, and Bruce, instead of putting a stop to it as they expected, was actually open to the idea of his two wayward kiddies "reconnecting" or whatever....but wanted _Jason_ to speak to him about it first.

And Jason, as Tim had well expected, had thrown a full blown tantrum on hearing the news. Something about Bruce _not his dad_ , him _not his son_ , trying to "control" him, the same old played out bullshit, and Tim had to pinch his palms _hard_ to stop from yawning loudly. God, this was getting fucking old. And tired, too. For all that talk about "control" and "being his own person"- a simple, civil conversation with another adult, and here Jay was, losing his shit? _Nah_. Surely the man was past all this?

"I mean, c'mon! Like, who the fuck does he think he is, anyway? It's the brat's choice as to who he wants to talk to! S'not my fault he keeps sneaking out, is it? I just can't believe A thinks this is a good idea, it's like he's never met the man." Jason rambled into the pot, adding another spoonful of spice Tim couldn't be arsed to learn the name of into the pot. By God, did it smell great in here, but that was besides the point. It was clear, at least where Tim sat, that his brother _did_ want this. Damian, or at least, a chance to form some sort of connection with the boy. The thought did make him a jealous, and not by a little either- that little prick already had one older brother who practically kissed the ground he walked on- Tim knew that, but Jason had history with the League, with Talia, and logically speaking, Damian too played a role, no matter how small. It was also clear, that the little shit was likely to benefit as well in some way, not that Damian would downright admit that fact- not to his face. But watching Jason now- half rambling, half agitated, it had dawned quickly on Tim, and Jason seemed too caught up in feeling _affronted_ as to see the truth.

At the heart of it, stripped down to the core, it was _Jason's_ pride that was stopping him. Yes, it was- his brother's _pride_ was what had taken the hit here, was why Jason had all but focused on the audacity of that _Big bastard back in that Bastard house trying to control him, to stage the narrative,_ because dear old Daddy _hated_ not being in the loop, hated not having things done _his_ way, the way _he_ expected it, and all Tim had done was to nod, _hmm_ even, at times, never taking his eyes off the scene.

Bruce, for once in his stubbornness, was _right_.

The man had his issues, heck, both he and Bruce were still working things out, but one thing Tim had never doubted since his arrival into the Wayne Manor, the _Wayne_ added to the Drake, was that Bruce _loved_ him, _cared_ about him, and wanted him, above all else, to be _safe_. Sure, B had a weird way of showing it, strict rules and what not, a little lackluster on the praise, but all Tim had to do was watch for that approving nod, a thin smirk now and again, and the _pride_ , Fatherly pride - it was _there_. Bruce himself had made himself clear, back when Tim had first told him the details of he and Jason's relationship - not that he understood, or even accepted it, but that Tim's safety was his number one priority, as Father to son, and that he would not apologise for that. Bruce was simply doing the same thing here- Damian, whether or not he agreed, had lied about his whereabouts, taken advantage of the trust both Bruce and Alfred had given him, and as a result, put himself in real danger, his civilian identity especially. No matter if he made his first kill at donkey years old in diapers, the lies and the lack of trust, that's what Bruce was getting at, and why, at the centre of Jason's incessant rambling, Bruce was right. For all of Tim's secrecy, he had never once _lied_ about Jason, or at least, where they stood in relation to each other. Back then, when Jason was the black outcast of the family, fighting and retreating, Tim too feeling like an outside, no-one had questioned how he spent his time. _Who_ he spent his time with, and more importantly, _why_. Had they asked, Tim might have been in two minds to tell them, but they didn't. If by chance they'd asked where he was going, or how he'd spent his day, then Tim might have responded with a 'hung out with a friend' or 'watched a few movies' - which was the truth, since he did just that, his companion however being _Jason_. 

The problem with Damian, was that the princelling thought himself unreadable. Stoic, like Papa, or more accurately, Batman dearest, untraceable even, as if he were this enigma, profound, complex, but that was _Tim_ , not Damian. For all of the boy's training, if Tim really wanted to, he could set a day aside to watch the little demon, and come to a few accurate conclusions about the boy. Call it age, call it immaturity when it came to _life_ , all one had to do was observe the little brat. Hoarded creatures up in his room, 'cause he liked animals. Animals were easy to love, easy to shower whole-hearted attention because they never argued back, couldn't hurt him the way people did. Painted, because it kept his mind focused, and doing so outdoors was rather refreshing to a baby assassin who spent the day cooped up in a little torturous exercise he called 'school'. Enjoyed classics, literature, because it was a solid reminder of his "royal" heritage, and also because it would make dearest Talia proud if she knew, Talia whom Tim knew kept a large library of her own. The woman had scoffed at his tastes when it came to books, preferring everything to do with space and time, clucking her tongue with that little _Tt_ at the end, nose curled as she labelled such things _juvenile, Timothy_ , and _unbecoming_ of a young growing man like himself-

"Tim! _Helloooo?_ Stop zoning out on me! Seriously, what are we gonna do? Like _fuck_ am I walking into that shitpile of a house and asking to speak to _Brucie_ , my ass."

Tim rolled his eyes internally. He had half a mind to call his giant oaf of a brother out on his dramatics, but effort would be too tiring, and Tim tuned himself away from his brother's rambling. What did _Dick_ think about all his, Tim wondered. Did Dick even know? Pfft, of _course_ he did. No way Bruce would attempt to talk to Damian first without getting some advice- and guidance too, but Bruce would never admit it- from the Demon whisper himself, Dick. If there was one person, in the entire _world_ , who could speak Damian, it was his older brother. His shining, handsome, can-do-no-wrong oldest brother, Dick _fucking_ Grayson, and Tim had to hold back a sudden flare of irritation at the mere thought of the man. Before, Tim had never quite understood Jason's hatred of Dick, why any little interaction between them quickly devolved into an utter shitfest, insult flying, fists even quicker, but over time, Tim had begun to see why. Not that it was Dick's fault completely, no. He didn't think the man realised the effect he had on people, his personality that could warm even the blackest heart. How standing next to him was akin to being _drowned_ in the sun, a constant comparison whether you invited such a thing or otherwise. Of course Dick would be the one Bruce turned to. Dick, who would be all smiles and comfortable silence, Dick who'd make Bruce smile, chuckle even, who'd be sure to tell Dad _I love you_ in that soppy yet sincere way of his-

Tim shook his head. No, that wasn't fair now. Dick was very good at a lot of things, good at _polishing through_ the tension and _smoothing over the cracks_ , but Tim knew the man had his faults, his limits, and one big one was Bruce, or at least, the relationship they shared. For the most part, they appeared like two peas on a pod, reading and understanding the other effortlessly, the trust unspoken, unwavering, but every so often, if one knew where to look, the strain was there. Hints and echoes of a time when they _weren't_ so close; Dick had alluded to that fact several times in the past, when they were alone. That the golden boy, believe it or not, hadn't always been so golden, but rebellious. Stubborn, highly stubborn, with a strong desire for independence, wanting to carve out something for himself. At odds-and it took Tim a _long_ time to believe it- with a Father who was trying his best. A dad who was too overprotective, who couldn't quite understand why the child he'd raised was now pushing his limits, testing, picking fights. Yes, they were great now, Dick who'd sling an easy arm over Bruce's shoulder, _like it was just that easy_ , Bruce who'd smile affectionately in return, squeezing his boy's arm, and Tim would watch them, body language easy and open, stances mirrored, a cock of the head here, an eyebrow raised there, smile creases at the corners of their eyes, a twinkle, a smirk, the charm that Dick used to get Bruce to acquiesce into yet another of his ridiculous demands - admitting hot pink lycra leggings looked great on him, for instance. Tim would watch, and away, headphones in, Damian's eyes would cut over the corner of a book, silent and observing, the two younger boys wishing for an ounce of the ability Dick seemed to so readily ooze from his very pores, but that was life. Different, and unfair, that's what it was- but every so often, once in a navy blue moon, the smiles would ashen- become _grimaces_ , tones steely, chest puffed with anger, fists clenched with indignation, eyes sharp and nostrils flared when Father and son _clashed_ -

"Oi. _Oi_ , nerd brain! Pay attention, fuckhead!"

Tim barely had a second before a large hand came swooping into his vision, determined to muss up his hair, and Tim ducked smoothly off the barstool with practiced ease, and made his way over to the fridge, pulling out a large slice of Alfred's banana cheesecake pie, his favourite. He ignored Jason's incredulous look, slicing a large portion onto a plate and began to eat slowly, savouring the grit of the crumbly biscuit in his mouth. 

"What's up with you today? I swear, if I wasn't-" Jason stared at him, arms crossed.

" _Shut. up_." Tim didn't other looking in his brother's direction, choosing instead to close his eyes. God, Alfred was magnificent. Eight wonder of the world, it had to be said.

"Tim? Are you al-" Jason shifted uncomfortable, and Tim rolled his eyes, taking another forkful of pie.

"For someone who claims not to care, you sure _do_ care. A _lot_ , actually." 

Silence.

 _Good_.

"All that shit about _I don't need him_ , _he's not in my life_ , _not my dad_ \- Good _God_ , give it a rest already." Tim knew his voice sounded caustic but he didn't _care_. "All B is asking for is a conversation. Wants to know where you stand, how to go about doing this so that neither of you two step on each other's toes. He doesn't wanna make the same mistake-" Tim waved his hand between himself and Jason, whose eyes were rather focused on him. "I snuck around a lot when we started hanging out. Didn't lie, but they never asked, and I never told. Kept it secret because I knew B wouldn't understand, Dick would get hurt, see it some kind as a betrayal, and the demon would feel validated that I wasn't...wasn't truly one of them, like it was proof I didn't belong. Hard enough feeling like one brother didn't care." Tim swallowed and looked out of the window. 

"Tim, I-" 

"Look." Tim turned to Jason now, eyes sharp, voice sharper. "I get it. I get Bruce, I've been there. I know your history, I'm aware of how long its taken you to _get_ to this point, _what_ you did, I do. If- like you've said- you've moved on now, then bro, being able to hold a civil conversation without getting all in your _tits_ should be more than do-able, Jay. It's a sign of maturity. You don't have to like the man, heck, no-one's asking you to even smile his way. But if this is important to you, whatever this means to you and Damian, then why not start off on solid footing? Clear boundaries and all that, so that neither you nor Damian feel like you have to "hide" shit or sneak around, like we did. Doesn't have to even be at the Manor- heck, find somewhere you can tolerate if you can't do the Manor. Whatever is is, if you're ready to do this, then you and your _pride_ need to _get over yourselves_ , 'cause that's life, Jay. That's what happens in reality- people have to work and deal with others they don't particularly like to get certain shit done. So, from one brother to another, here it goes-" Tim bored his eyes into his brother, whose jaw was clenched. "Talk to Bruce. You don't have to into details, but between the two of you, decide what goes and what won't. If you need a mediator, welp-" Tim raised a fork and pointed it to himself. "Look no further. Until then, _stop whining_. It's ruining dinner."

Jason didn't say anything for a long while, eventually returning to prepare dinner. The air was quiet between them, but Tim made no move to break the silence, to apologise, no _nothing_. It was only halfway through their meal that the big man spoke, voice quiet.

"Didn't think of it like that." Jason stared down into his plate, re-arranging its contents.

Tim nodded to himself, before taking a sip of water. "Get so caught up in yourself that sometimes, you need someone to reel you in and take a good look around."

Jason shot him a brief smirk. "Was kinda harsh though." He muttered, voice childlike and sullen, and Tim barked out a snort, then a laugh, Jason smiling at the sound.

"Yeah, well." Tim finished his laughter, nudging his brother's foot with his own. "That's me. Gotta deal with the cuteness and the snark, two in one."

"Oh please." Jason rolled his eyes, then ate a little more stew. He was quiet for a moment before speaking quickly, one eye on him."Have yet to find out what you think about all this."

Tim paused for a second. _All this_ meaning the demon brat- drat, why did he keep calling Damian that? They hadn't talked since Tim practically fled the Manor several nights ago, after realising Damian was in Jay's old room. Tim _had_ thought about calling the kid, maybe even dropping by unannounced, but the thought of all that awkwardness, long pauses, unsure of what to say lest things kick off, it made him queasy, put him on edge- so Tim had put his phone away, ignored the little whisper in his head _the only one stopping you, is you, Drake_ , tried to block out the mental image of Alfred setting out a plate at the table, expectant of his arrival at the family dinner, and the wait, how they'd all wait for him to show up, even though he wouldn't, never did. And then with that image, came Damian, and Tim tried to picture the child's expression- eyes darting to the empty spot across from him, then looking to the side, fiddling with his napkin, glancing at his Father who seemed so heavy and yet so short of words, at Alfred- _Pennyworth_ , whose disappointment was all but palpable. And now their estrangement was made even more strange; Damian expressing a desire to connect somewhat with Jay, but he already had Dick for _fuck's_ sake, and Tim knew it was wrong, ludicrous in fact, to feel jealous of his younger bro- but he _did_ , and it wasn't fair that Damian _always_ got wanted he wanted-

"Tim?" That was Jason's voice, soft, and Tim forced himself to look up at his brother, the concern across his face, before looking away. "Got quite a grip on that fork, kiddo."

Startled, Tim looked down to see that his grip was indeed tight on the instrument, enough that his knuckles were stark white in contrast to his already pale skin. He loosened his hold lowly, aware of how closely he was being watched. If he showed anything other than support for this, then Jason would shut the whole thing down, no questions, because Jason was like that- putting him and his well-being first, and if Damian threatened that, then Jason wouldn't stand for it. Except, Damian would be _crushed_. Tim remembered the look on the kid's face, when he'd gotten off the phone with Clark not long ago, bull about the farm being busy and _not a good time to visit_ \- or, in other words, Jason didn't want him there, and God, it hurt to admit it but seeing Damian... _crestfallen_ , his prospects dashed, the way the kid shut down and quickly walked out of the room- _rejected_ -

For all their history, Tim never wanted to see that look on Damian's face again.

Even...even if that meant him playing second fiddle, _again_.

"Tim. Look at me." Jason's voice bordered on commanding, and Tim had to swallow, then force himself to breathe, to keep calm. No, Jason had to _do_ this, and Tim could _not_ be the one to stand in his way-

"Kiddo." All of a sudden, Jason was in his personal space, hands on his lap, then rubbing his arms comfortingly, then came to rest atop his shoulders. It was difficult to speak, so Tim focused on a point just below the tip of Jason's ear, in the corner. That way, he supposed, Jason wouldn't see the sheen that had formed across his eyes, or hear the little croak his throat made, all stuck and pained, and he bit his lip, just a little, because damnit, he was fucking _tired_ of crying, of feeling miserable, and for once, he was _not_ going to cry, _no_ , no he wasn't, not, not the fuck _at all_ -

" _Oh, Timmy._ " Soft, even as a thumb traced his cheek, and yet, Tim didn't move, not even as the thumb made contact with something warm, wet.

"Listen, little brother." The voice in his ear was low, deep, and Tim half sank against his brother's chest, words strangled in his throat. "I'm not sure what's going on in that big, mighty complex brain of yours, so I'll make this as clear and as simple as I can. You, Tim, are my brother. You're my best friend, and I love you, more than you can understand. I doubt you'll....you'll ever truly know just how much you mean to me, and I'm glad you wont, because it sometimes...kid, there are times I think about you and the love that comes from that, its crushing, you know? All I gotta do half the time is picture you smiling, or laughing, with ya hood up and yer hair all over the place, and that does it, my day gets better, gets manageable, do-able, and that's all cause of you. Timmy, listen here." A kiss against his temple, and then a short pause. "You listening, kiddo?"

Tim nodded.

"You're number one. _Always_. None of this- me tryna do whatever the fuck knows when it comes the brat- none, none of any of that will ever overshadow or diminish the fact that _I've got you_. **Never**. You're _not_ getting replaced. You're _not_ getting shafted, or being put on back burner, I swear. I'm _not_ pushing you to the side in favour of Damian, _hell no_. I'm not Dick, kid. I...look, I ain't tryna bad-mouth anyone here or what, but I ain't him. I ,em >ain't gonna inadvertently favour one kid over another, that's not me. Don't forget, I know very well what it's like to feel second best. _Not enough_. I do, and I know you're probably in two minds about all this, wanting to support me on one hand, but on the other, the fact that its _Damian_ of all people." Jason sighed, and brought a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it soothingly. "Kid, if you don't want this, all you have to do is say the word and I'll-"

" _No_!" Tim broke through, wiping his face rather roughly with a sleeve, eyes fierce, and Jason moved back an inch, palms up to placate him. "Bro, you're not handling this very-"

"No! Don't you _dare_ , not even for me." A rare spark of anger leaked into Tim's tone, and it took them both by surprise. 

They stared at each other for what seemed like minutes, before Tim spoke again, voice level. "You need this, as does Damian. You weren't there, when Clark told him he couldn't come to the farm. Damian had asked, if he could visit, presumable to see _you_ , Clark said _no_ , and God, the _look_ on his face Jay-"

"Wait." Jason frowned at him. "When was-I don't understand. Clark stopped by the Manor?"

Tim frowned back. "He didn't mention it? I mean, A told me but only briefly. Apparently the first time Damian snuck out, he ran into a bit of trouble and called out for help, loud enough that Clark heard and flew over. Clark brought him home, and that's when D had asked - if he could go to the farm. Probably hoping to talk to you, I guess."

Something dawned across his brother's face, a mixture akin to shock, a flare of anger, then thinned once again. "I see." Jason's voice was dangerously quiet. 

"Don't blame Clark." Tim sat forward, a little defensive. "He was only trying to help, and knowing Damian, he wouldn't want anyone other than Clark-who'd rescued him- and Alfred, who happened to be the only one home at the time, to know."

Jason nodded slowly. 

"You guys are doing this. If it were the other way round, me wanting to learn about you and my other 'brother' against it, so far as to stop it altogether Jay, I'd be...I'd be upset. We're trying, Jay, me and Damian. Damian more than me, and I'm, God, I'm trying not to react by instinct, distrustful, all of that, but it's hard because I don't know how to go about it. How to 'switch' my thinking from 'this demon is out to kill me' to 'my brother wants to make amends and tried to make civil conversation with me over dinner'. I can see he's trying not to push me, to choose his words carefully, but its awkward as hell. But whatever I may feel about it, if this can help him, then maybe it can help _us_ too, you know? Dames, to learn a bit about you, and in turn, learn about me in some way, I dunno. But listen- _do_ this, alright? I'm not a kid, Jay, I don't need my feelings minded all the damn time-"

"I never said-"

"I know you didn't but that's how it comes across. Over protective big bro. It's great, but you gotta give me a chance, here. If I...look, if I can't handle it, then you'll know, but until then." Tim straightened up. "Stop worrying about me."

It was a while before Jason responded. "If that's what you wa-"

"It's what I want."

"And you're..."okay" with-"

"No, I'm not." Tim answered truthfully, looking Jason in the eye. "I'm not sure that I will be, at least for a while. But here's the thing: it's not about _me_ , and that's why I got a little pissed at you earlier, 'cause in all your ranting, you were making it about _you_ , _your_ feelings, how dare B do this to _you_ , treat _you_ like this. If I can put aside a little of my pride, then so can _you_."

They said little for the rest of the night, Tim opting to go to bed early. It wasn't long before Tim felt a slight padding on the floor, and then the space next to him dipping slightly, before a large arm encircled him and pulled him in close. Neither said anything for a few solid minutes, the room dark and cool.

"I'm sorry." Jason's voice was low.

"Me too." Tim whispered, and after a pause, snuggled in as tight as he could against his brother. There was a time Dick would have moved heaven and earth to get a picture of them like this, _brotherly bonding_.

"That better not be what I think it is. Can't be that attractive, _or can I?_ First the kid, now you. Incest, that a family thing or what?" Jason murmured against his scalp, breath warm and tickly, humour in his voice.

"You're actually disgusting, you know that right? And hang on, what about Dames?" Tim stifled a laugh, opting for mock disgusted instead.

"Kept blushing when we talked. Stared a whole lot too, I swear, it was so confusing. Dunno how Dick does it." Jason laughed.

Tim snorted loudly. "You caught him off guard, that's all. Doesn't know how to react to you-"

"So get's all embarrassed and blushes like a lil' girl. Got it. Hey, how come you never blu-"

"'Cause I'm as cool as shit, Jay. Seriously though, don't be mean about it. I may not like the kid, but I get it, you're a mystery, real different from what you used to be, _how_ you used to be. You showing up in his personal space- it would throw anyone off."

"I get it, kid. I'll try not to tease him so much, can't make any promises though."

"Hn."

They stayed like that for a while, aware of each other's breathing, before Jason spoke once more.

"I meant what I said earlier. You and me, that's not going to change. Not _ever_."

"I know. If...Jay, if I stay away a little-"

"I understand. Won't hold it against ya skinny ass." Jason chuckled quietly, pressing a kiss to the back of his head, even as Tim swatted him hard on the chest.

"That's _lean_ to you, fatty."

"Muscle, you mean." His brother's voice was fond. "Go to sleep, you need to grow already. I'm tired of you being five foot five."

"Five eight, prick. Goodnight to you too."

 

 

_Gotham, the Manor._

Alfred watched the young man with slight amusement. Master Dick could be so obvious when he wanted.

"Quite the surprise, I must say." He spoke over the dough, folding and kneading, before flattening it once again. Across from him, Dick did his best to appear unruffled, almost nonchalant, but Alfred knew this was not the case. Try as hard as Dick could, they both knew he was here to snoop. The excuse the young man had given was fairly reasonable, had it been anyone else. Damian was indeed grounded, and Dick thought it would be nice to spend their weekly catch-up sessions here at the Manor since Damian couldn't go out, rather than attempting to convince Bruce to let Damian spend the day in Bludhaven.

"Can't a grandson visit his _dearest_ grandfather?" Dick's voice bordered on sugary sweet, and the man turned to bat baby blues at him, dark hair swept back, but Alfred saw through the act with practiced ease. Years of experience with this one taught him much better, and after a long moment eyeing the man, Dick sighed, flopping over rather ungainly across the counter-top.

"What do I do, Alf?" The man whined, and Alfred held back a chuckle, sending a disapproving look his way instead. Dick pouted, oddly befitting to his immaturity, and Alfred turned to the sink now, letting out a smile.

"You do nothing, Master Dick." Stoicism returned, Alfred turned back to the young master, only to find said man now sitting on top of the counter, legs swinging as they dangled in the air.

Childish indeed, and it warmed Alfred's heart greatly.

"There's so much I want to ask, A. Why he didn't tell me, or better still, why he felt like he couldn't come to me and talk to me, about any of this. He could have gotten hurt, A. And I...I'm just-" The young man stared down at the floor, voice solemn. "I'm tired, A. Tim did the same thing, kept he and Jay- _Jason_ , their relationship from everyone until much later, and I wish he'd just given me a chance. They, the two of them assume that I won't understand, that I'll be against it-"

"Are you, Master Dick? _Against_ it?"

Dick didn't answer straight away. "Not exactly. Distrustful yes, but not entirely against the idea. Look, the whole point of being 'big brother' is so they can come to me with this stuff, you know? Stuff that that bothers them, that they wanna ask but feel they can't quite go to you or B, no offence."

"None taken."

"But if they're not even doing _that_ , then what's the point of my being here? Why bother at all?"

Alfred sensed it was time then, and so he moved, placing a gentle hand to rest on the young man's thigh. "The fact that you're asking all these questions, Master Dick, shows that you care. You worry about them, for them, as a big brother should. I can only tell you what I have observed, and that is this: the two young masters love you _dearly_ , my boy. Enough that the prospect of telling you about their thoughts towards Master Jason are far outweighed by the possibility of upsetting you, knowing quite well the terms between you and Jason are not...good. Therefore, rather than risk hurting you, they chose to keep whatever feelings they may have had on the matter to themselves, putting _you_ first, and anything to do with Jason _hidden_ -"

"Almost like a dirty little secret." Dick looked away at that, and Alfred didn't argue otherwise. "We did that, a lot. When we found out who the Red Hood was. He...away from the League, from friends, Jason was this....it was like we weren't supposed to acknowledge him, but he made it impossible _not_ too. Like he understood exactly what we were doing and showed us up for it."Alfred could detect bitterness in the young man's voice and said nothing, opting to _Hn_ instead as he proceeded to cut ovals into the large, flattened dough.

"How is he, anyway?" Master Dick looked at him before looking away quickly, and Alfred felt sad. "He and Damian talked, I gather."

"Master Jason is very well." Alfred focused on scooping his minced meat mixture into each oval, folding the edges carefully, and sealing them flat with a fork. The edges were a little uneven, but no matter. The dough would rise in the oven. "As for the content of such conversation, I'm afraid I do not know." He cast a careful eye to the oldest Wayne, who deliberately stared at the floor. Master Jason, had, in fact, told him a little of his conversation with Master Damian, but it was _not_ Alfred's place to tell.

Dick didn't respond, eyes focused on the floor. 

"Tell me, Master Dick." Alfred started on the second oval, carefully arranging the meat mixture in the middle before folding the dough over. "What are you most afraid of? That Damian will somehow see Jason as the 'better' brother? Or favour the man over you, perhaps?" The butler dipped a brush into egg-yolk at the side and painted carefully over the meat dough. He did so love that brown roasted look when it came to pies. The darker, the better.

It took Dick a moment to answer. "Maybe." His words were careful.

Alfred too, didn't respond immediately. Had it yet dawned on the man that what he was feeling, the fear of no longer being needed, _wanted_ , being _replaced_ -

was how Master _Timothy_ had felt, not long ago?

As did Master Jason, on a similar level?

And why Master Jason was so important to the young man?

Judging by the silence, it appeared that Master Dick _did_ understand what he was hinting at. "I've fucked up, haven't I?" The man laughed dryly, a hoarse, strained sound, and Alfred held in a wince. Clearly, Dick's tendency to self-blame was another matter that needed tackling if this family was to ever come together as one. Yes, the man had made his mistakes, but his intentions were good, Alfred had never doubted them so.

"I shall pretend I did not hear that." Alfred warned. "I merely asked because it seems that-"

"But I _have_ , haven't I?" Dick looked at him now, and Alfred was taken aback by the vacant, and yet _intense_ look in the man's eyes. Piercing, as if daring him to _lie_ , and Alfred paused momentarily, in an effort to conceal his startle. 

"I mean." Dick began slowly, eyes never leaving him. "Here I am, sitting like an idiot, waiting from my little brother to come downstairs. He's going to greet me with with a mild insult, I'm going to smile, attempt to hug him, which he'll half-heatedly duck but eventually huff and give in, though timing it so its never more than five seconds before he pulls away with a _Tt_. I'll ask him about his day, Dames will launch into a rant about belligerent, nonsensical fools in hideous uniforms and even more preposterous teachers, _Father_ who has yet to rectify the gravity of mistake for daring to send him to 'school', and then it'll either be a mixture of history, literature, art of music that Damian will quite happily school-I mean, _lecture_ me on, pinching me every now and again to _pay attention_. Then, it'll be time for dinner, and Bruce will magically appear at the head of the table, grunting a hello but watching us the whole time, thinking no-one can see him damn near grinning behind that coffee mug of his but more fool him, we all know. Afterwards, after you raising an eyebrow to help clear the table, Dami and I will go upstairs to his room, maybe pop in a film or read together, and if I'm lucky, he'll snuggle against me with minimal protest, if not, I have to drag the boy to me, but by _God_ he loves it, and so do I." Dick paused to stare up at the ceiling, and for the first time, Alfred noted a sheen in the man's eyes, how he took a breath to swallow, fists taut against the marble-top.

"And yet, throughout all of this, spending time with my youngest brother, whom I love to _bits_ , you know what I'll be thinking Alf, hmm?" The man's eyes were full of tears, and close to spilling too. Alfred made to move but Dick recoiled, as if slapped, and he froze where he stood, staring at his grandson. Master Dick was looking at all of this the wrong way, as if he was the only one to carry the burden of famil-

"That I wish _I_ was enough, A. Enough for the both of them, _enough_ that they didn't need anyone else, because I'm selfish like that. Yep, that's right, deep down, I'm _selfish_ , A. I _want_ them to need me, hell, I _need_ it. And every...every time they show me otherwise, its like they're saying I'm not...I'm not _good enough_. Not _enough_ , and A, it-it _kills_ me, you know? It's horrible and selfish and _cruel_ but I can't, I can't stop feeling like- like." Dick put his face in his hands, then ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Jason said it once, you know?" His tone was bitter, and something in Alfred's bones turned cold at the sound. "We were in the middle of a fight, really going at it, when he said it, said that I was such an "attention-whore", that I couldn't function without being wanted, _needed_ , and it was embarrassing that a grown ass man could lower himself the way...the way I did, self-respect be damned. An insecure, whiny, man-slut. That if he-if he were to take everything away, I'd be an empty shell, a pretty, empty shell, with nothing of worth in there. Nothing meaningful, nothing deep, just.....grasping at something to hold onto, and that's why I was so obsessed with "family", with bringing him in, because without it, I was nothing. Just...there. It's why Babs got sick of me too, always needing attention, and she more than anyone knew what the deal was. God, we used to be so....she barely ever comes round, anymore. And I still- if she could only just _see_ how much I...." There was a hollow look in Dick's eyes, and it was _haunting_. Yes, Master Dick did seek a little more attention than the others did, but that had been the case since childhood, not in the least growing up with a Father who didn't shower attention so readily, not initially anyway. As for Miss Gordon, those two had been on and off for years, even more so due to the injuries given to her by that madman. Her smile was sorely missed around the Manor.

But-

Master Dick truly believed he was nothing without them? 

That he wasn't needed, wasn't _enough_? 

It was clear this had been building up for a while, and whilst frightening, Alfred knew he needed to put a stop to this right this instant. Unfortunately for him, his timing couldn't be any worse.

"Master Dick, this has to _stop_ -"

"God, Alfred, what a bloody awful- _Dick_?" Master Bruce, suit crumpled, eyes worn, seemed to appear out of nowhere, and stared at his eldest, who in less than an instant, had wiped his tears, cleared his throat, and had leapt off the counter-top with _glee_ , voice like saccharine as he enveloped his father in a big hug.

"B-man! Finally, you're home, I'm starving! How was work? No, don't tell me: suits, paperwork, more paperwork, half hour lunch-" Dick spoke quickly, a little too quickly, eyes too bright, and Bruce stared at his son for a moment before holding him at arms length.

"Dick? What's wrong?" Bruce stepped forward, but Dick only moved back, arms flailing about, half laughing. "It's nothing, Dad. Was just telling A about the movie I watched with Babs yesterday, _The Notebook_. So beautiful, you don't understand. Get all weepy eyed just thinking about it, Babs just laughed." Dick wiped another tear as he looked at Alfred, eyes pleading for him to _lie_. "Wasn't I, Alf?"

Alfred looked at the young man, tiny tremors across his frame, eyes rimmed red, _deflated_ , and Bruce, who kept staring at his son, knowing there was something more. Taking a small breath, Alfred plastered on a firm but disapproving look, and Dick's shoulders seemed to slump minutely in relief. "Indeed, Master Bruce. Master Dick has been regaling wonders about young _Rachel_ -"

"- _Alison_ -"

"Yes, _Alison_ and her rather tumultuous relationship with Ne-"

" _Noah_ -"

"Of _course_ , my apologies dear boy. _Alison_ and _Noah_." Alfred finished rather dryly, as Dick looked at anywhere but the two of them.

"Well!" The younger man straightened, mega watt smile plastered brightly on his face, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Gotta see my Dami poo, catch you guys at dinner!" Dick leaned forward to reward his Father with a sopping wet kiss on the cheek, grinning, before skipping out of the room. They watched him go before Bruce turned to him, a questioning look in his eyes.

"What did I miss?"

Alfred paused, then looked at his son in the eye. "I believe Master Dick is on the verge of a breakdown, sir."

 

 

 _Metropolis_.

Clark woke up, gasping, shuddering, hauling the sheets up his chest. Besides him, Lois stirred, then opened her eyes, concern evident.

"Honey." She whispered, moving in close to run a hand through his sweaty locks, but Clark ducked from the touch, too afraid. 

"I'm sorry." He croaked, voice pained, but Lois only smiled, resting a hand lightly a top of his. That was all he could do when it came to these things, _nightmares_ , after what happened on-

Clark closed his eyes. "Breathe, honey. That's it, just take your time. Slow, deep breaths. In and out, that's it." Lois voice was low and soothing, but Clark's chest still thumped away wildly.

"Feeling better?" Lois nuzzled his ear gently with her nose, and Clark managed to nod a little. 

It was a _lie_. He'd been lying the whole time, whenever Mag- that _foulsome_ creature invaded his dreams, his home, his marital bed and tried to dig her filthy claws in him, before cackling, lost to justice and free to unleash hell as she pleased. He was never fine afterwards, _never_. He only said so as to not worry Lois, slowed down his heartbeat enough and closed his eyes seamlessly that she would think him asleep once more, and then Clark would wait. Wait for Lois to drift off again, back to sleep, that slow thrum of her heartbeat against his-

and then his eyes would _snap_ wide open, big round saucers in the darkness, and he'd lie there for hours, waiting for sunrise.

On a braver night, he might go for a run, the wind fresh on his sweaty face. Sometimes he'd fly, the air quiet and chill, just him and the darkness circling the city. Other times, it was the mountains of Sicily, or gliding slowly across the Pacific ocean, listening to the whaling of the great depths beneath him. But tonight, even as he slipped into a robe, pressing a ghostly kiss to Lois's cheek-

it wasn't _enough_.

The mountains were _boring_ , the sea _dead_ , the people stick figures of his imagination, clouds dull, rain foreign, wind cutting, buildings cardboard and without thinking, Clark found himself outside the fortress of solitude, air frighteningly silent.

Being alone was one of the scariest things in the world, and Superman felt it, every. day. 

He entered the fortress tiredly, movements heavy, and for a long time, sat staring into nothing, savouring the quiet. Then, without warning, Clark _screamed_ , as loud as he possibly could. Screamed till the walls shook, till his voice grew hoarse and tears pricked at his vision, and, exhausted, Clark slumped to the floor, head in his hands.

Jason had said it before, hadn't he? That, as part of the recovery process, he'd have days like this. _Nights_ , haunted by terrors of his capture of his _r_....Clark couldn't say it. Times when he'd laugh, sun on his skin, and other times, when he'd weep till kingdom come, want it all to end, the horror too great, too much, too dark and ugly. Clark tried, _damnit_ he did, to think of his beautiful wife, beautiful, smart, scarily passionate Lois, who was currently asleep in their apartment, safe and sound, with their little _baby_ growing in her belly, his wonderful little boy-

Clark let out a sob.

His bright-eyed, curly haired boy, so strong and smart-

Another sob, and Clark held a clenched fist to his mouth, shaking.

Childish glee across tiny fingers a-and tiny toes and big soulful eyes that stared up in _awe_ at him, an-

Clark wept.

 _You can't escape me, boy. Not now, not ever._ Red nails raked against his scalp, and Clark gasped.

 _I win_.

Clark shook his head, pressing a heeled palm to his eyes. "I...I can. I will, I-" He sank his head against the ice wall, focusing on his breathing, _one, two_ , over and over again, just as Bruce had done the last time he'd held him in the midst of a breakdown, three in the morning, sobbing against a tired and yet concerned Ba-, no, _Bruce_ , who only held him as best he could, eyes closed, muttering quietly in Kryptonian that he was _loved_ , _safe_ , _loved_ -

 _A lie, Superman. Of what use are you now, my pet? With all that I have taken of you, dearest thing_ -

Clark staggered to his feet, unwilling to hear any more of that witch's lies. Moving mechanically to the sleek panel, he sat down at his chair, opening his chest drawers desperately, searching for something, anything he could lose his mind into for a short reprieve, to drown out that poisonous voice, when something caught his eye. Buried deep down, he must have missed it a thousand times over-

and yet Clark didn't remember bringing it here. _It_ being a slim, brown envelope. No writing, no address, and Clark scanned it once over, a little taken aback to see that it appeared to be a _tape_ of sorts. 

?

Carefully, he looked the tape over. There was nothing that appeared to be hazardous, at least to his eye. Bruce would be better suited to this, Clark knew, but for some reason, he couldn't face the man tonight, not like this, a mess. Even though his friend had seen him like this before, many times. But the tape was unusual, and even more strange, was the fact that he couldn't quite _remember_ where it had come from- had he recorded something? Had it given it to him, perhaps? Clark had no idea, but there was only one way to find out.

And so, in the peace and quiet of the fortress, Clark played the tape.

 

 

_Gotham._

Damian hoped he hadn't made a mistake. No, well and truly, he was taking a big leap of faith- and Damian did not operate on 'faith'. Logic, fact, science, yes. Magic, but only at a stretch, for Father despised it. But faith? Something he could neither see nor hold? _No_.

And yet here he was, standing outside yet another of these blasted steel grey buildings, going dizzy at the height as he craned his neck up to the sky.

How Drake managed to call 'home' in such a death contraption was a mystery, but then again, it was _Drake_. Drake, whose help he needed at two in the morning, because he had deleted the older boy's number long ago, after a series of fights. Pennyworth would skin him alive if the man found out he'd sneaked out from the Manor, _again_ , Father would be sure to take _Robin_ from him indefinitely, Damian was sure of it. 

He'd heard everything. 

_Everything_. 

Jason was right, that hatch made for a great viewing spot, seeing as the kitchen was the heart of the Manor. Seeing Grayson on the verge of tears was...unnerving, to say the least. Something had fluttered in Damian's chest, and he was quite certain it had nothing to do with caffeine, that foul beverage that Drake favoured greatly. No, seeing his elder brother agitated, almost.... _lost_ \- it was a cause for concern. That Grayson would think he was no longer _needed_ , _wanted_ , _empty_ without those he held to desperately- at that moment, hearing what Todd had said about Grayson, who had only tried to reach out to him, tried to bring them all together, juvenile as it was - Damian had had to curl his fists, before breathing out long and slow. 

There was a lot Todd had to answer for, Pit or no Pit.

Grayson had tried, bless him, to hide in front of Father, Pennyworth, who covered for him but very reluctantly, but they'd all seen it, Damian too, the tiny tremors in his brother;s frame, how he wouldn't look anyone in the eye, the way he held on a little too long to Father, as if letting go would shatter his very purpose for life. Pennyworth had called it perfectly - that Grayson, whether he wanted to admit it or not, was on the verge of a breakdown, and Damian couldn't let that happen. And so, if he'd let Grayson ramble on a little more than normal that evening, Damian said nothing, nor did Grayson mention it. Nor did he resist Grayson pulling him to his chest, or reading to him. The man's voice was two tones too high, too _off_ , wavering, as if trying to hold himself together, and Damian had listened to those quick, uncertain breaths, wondering if the older man was going to ask about Jason, now that he knew.

But Grayson never asked. Didn't even _pry_ , and so Damian had let it be, but this, he couldn't let go. The idea that Grayson deemed himself-

 _nonsense_.

Still, even as he searched his old messages from Grayson for a mention of Drake's apartment number, Damian was more than sure he was doing the right thing. He'd managed to slip past front desk security, knowing the headache that would be on his shoulders should the press ever find out, not least _Father_. Finally, having reached the front of Drake's apartment, he rang the bell, hoping the man would be awake. The boy lived not far from the roof access, but getting there would involve the Cave, Robin gear, alarms that would alert Father, and Damian was not about to push his limits tonight, Grayson or otherwise.

 _Riiiiinnnnggg_. That was the third ring, and Damian forced himself awake, rebuking himself and the tiredness that had tried to creep up on him. Sleep could wait, Grayson's well-being was at stake. He waited a few more minutes, cursing internally. Why was Drake _not_ awake? It was only after a few more minutes of waiting that Damian realised he had to _pee_ , and now he was really irritated, muttering curses under his breath. On the sixth ring, when Damian could take it no longer, the door _finally_ opened, and Drake appeared, hair tousled, bleary-eyed.

"For fuck's sake- _Damian_?" Drake half yelped, and Damian shushed him angrily, walking into his apartment.

"Bathroom. Where is it?" Damian barked out the question. He eyed the room quickly, _this_ close to bursting, and he rolled his eyes at his elder brother's confusion, still stuttering at the front door. 

"What the actual _fuck_ -oh gawd, Bruce, he's gonna kill me, A too- seriously, the fuck are you trying to pull here-" Tim glared angrily at him, dark bags under his eyes, and for a second, Damian felt the tiniest bit guilty at all this-

until he felt something leak-

and Damian ran out of patience. "Drake. Bathroom, _now_ , or so _help me God_ I will _piss all over this Persian fucking rug_ , your _fucking_ couch, that goddamn decrepit looking chair-"

" _Fuck you, you little shit. Fuck you and your stupid haircut_ -"

"Fine, I'll shall piss here then." Dignity be damned, Damian had to _go_. Mother would understand,

"Keep your voice down, fucking twerp. Jason's-"

" _Not currently asleep._ " A deep voice came from the doorway to the bedrooms, and both boys whipped round, turning to see a large shadow leaning by the entrance, yawning loudly. " _Who_ the fuck- what gives, brat?" Todd looked half asleep as he rubbed his eyes. "God, what time is it? You guys realise you need sleep, right? To _grow_? Or do you wanna be midgets forever?" His voice slurred towards the end.

Damian froze, pee forgotten. He doubted Todd was fully aware of what was going on. Nor had he heard a single thing from the man since-

"Jay. Go back to bed. I've got this." That was Drake now, oddly calm and in control. Damian cast a look at his older brother, startled when he found the teen staring at him, not coldly, just...assessing. Drake looked at him once more before turning to Jason, who was already drifting asleep again, curls in disarray. 

"Whatever it is, make it quick kiddies. A man needs his beauty sleep. And lil' brat, chill on the swearing. Use the South Wing gate, or else Pennyworth will kill you ten times over." The man gave a lazy wave goodbye and sauntered backwards into the darkness, shuffling his feet. The two of them waited until they heard something akin to a bed dipping, material shifting, before Drake spoke, voice strange.

Damian couldn't stop staring at the empty space Todd had left on his retreat.

"Through the corridor, first right, straight down, then a left. Make it quick." The boy's, voice though commanding, held less of a bite than Damian was used to, and it threw him off guard for a moment. Drake, however, only smirked, though the tension was still there.

Damian rolled his eyes, retort quick on his tongue, but then Drake folded his arms, giving him a _look_ , amusement in his frame, and Damian stared, before indeed remembering he had business to attend to, and so he dashed quickly- no, he simply walked fast to the bathroom, ears burning at the chuckle he heard from behind.

After relieving himself- and if Damian sighed aloud in utter relief, no-one else heard it- the boy made his way back to the living room, where Drake sat, waiting silently.

"I'd offer you something to drink-" The older boy's tone bordered on apologetic. "-but I only have coffee. Tea perhaps, but I dunno what you like."

"I'm fine."

"Alright."

The two looked at each other before Drake broke away, strangely enough, rubbing his neck, not quite looking at him. Where was that self-assured confidence just a moment ago?

"So." Drake turned to him, eyes back to his cool, detached front and Damian felt himself shiver. A look of alarm passed through the older boy's eyes, and without thinking, Drake reached out an arm. Damian froze. "Are, um...are you cold?"

It seemed like eternity for Damian to come up with something, and his own voice sounded distant in his ears, as if far away. "Not....a little."

Drake too took a full moment to respond, and when he did, it was to get up swiftly, walking past the couch without so much as a backwards glance. 

Damian fought the urge to follow his brother's movements, instead staring ahead at the large TV, watching the boy's reflection in the screen. At one point, their eyes met, and it was Damian who broke away first, fiddling with the cushion. Not long after, he was presented with a cup, and almost by instinct, Damian took a sniff of the beverage.

"It's not poison, you know. Not that I'd do that." Tim's voice held a note of anger, bitterness perhaps, and Damian felt his hairs stand on edge. Maybe this _wasn't_ such a good idea after all, seeing at how much his very presence seemed to antagonize the older boy. He put the cup down, about to stand, when Drake took him surprise.

"Here." The boy held out a large, dark throw of sorts, inviting, and Damian blinked in confusion, before looking at the boy. Drake only held his gaze, eyes a touch softer.

"Sorry."

Damian nodded, accepting both the drink and warmth with wordless thanks. Out of nowhere, Drake produced a beverage of his own, and Damian' couldn't stop himself from frowning. "I hope that is not coffee, Drake."

The older boy let out a snort, and then a small smile, rare indeed from Drake. "Worried about me, squirt?"

Damian felt his skin redden and he scowled. "That is silly, even for you, Drake."

" _Hn._." Drake held his mug to his own lips, but his eyes were lighter, corners of his lips just about peeking through at the sides, and Damian stared down into his own beverage, willing his blushing away. It was such a nuisance, being twelve, or nearly twelve. How he wished to be an adult already, to skip all the nonsense Grayson had gleefully called _puberty_ whilst pulling at his cheeks.

Why he was doing this for the man, Damian had no idea.

"Right, brat." Tim spoke after a while. "You turn up outside my apartment, nearly two thirty am in the morning. What gives?"

Damian opted to take a long sip, gathering his thoughts. Thankfully, though Drake did not push for a response, his eyes never left him. Without speaking, Damian reached into his pocket and pulled out a recording he'd made hours earlier. If Grayson were to find out-

but he _wouldn't_ -

"Play it." Damian spoke quietly but firmly, ignoring Drake's raised eyebrow.

The two listened in silence, first at Dick's happiness on greeting Alfred, but then the smiles disappeared, Drake's own especially, as Dick began to break down. One could _feel_ the agitation through the phone, almost picture the way Grayson had stared up at the ceiling, eyes a watery sheen, hands shaking, fidgeting, words running into each other. By the end of it, Drake's expression looked close to ash, _angry_ , and had left the couch to stand by the window for a full minute, lean frame tense and wired.

Damian did not blame him.

After debating to himself, Damian too went to join Drake by the window, blanket forgotten. It was rather nice, he had to admit, looking at the city of Gotham from here. Lights blinking, buildings tall and imposing - it suited Drake, up here, fitted his detached demeanor-

but Drake, as he would gradually come to understand, was anything _but_ detached.

"I can't believe he'd think-"

"I know, Drake."

"But-" The boy whirled round to him now, eyes _fierce_ , and Damian held them with the same intensity, the same unjust fairness. 

"I _know_." 

Drake stared at him for a moment, then returned his gaze to the view, posture straightening, cooling. _Protecting himself_ , and his emotions, Damian realised. That was one of the differences between he and the older boy. Damian was quick to anger, short tempered, hot headed, easily provoked. No wonder Father had been afraid for him - Damian reasoned he must have reminded the man of another young boy, taken too soon. Drake was his opposite - icy to his fiery temperament. Detached, of sound mind, clear thinking, emotions hidden behind that blank mask of his, but Grayson had told him long ago, and Damian had been learning throughout; Drake was an _onion_ , layers to peel, to discover. The more he _uncovered_ , the more he understood, and yet-

the more Drake took him by surprise.

"He's on the verge." Drake spoke levelly into the quiet of the room. "All it'll take is one push, just one."

Damian nodded. "That is why I did not bring up-"

"That was smart. Good thinking." 

Damian didn't dare to look up at the praise coming from the older boy, even if his ears did burn. As if Drake's praises meant anything to him anyway, _Tt_. Instead he looked away, unaware of Tim's gaze on him.

"We can't rush this, but at the same time, we have to act soon. You have access to his schedule?" There it was again, that trace of bitterness in the teen's voice, and the...understanding that had blossomed just the tiniest bit between them seemed to die at that statement. 

"You don't?" Damian was surprised by that, but Drake seemed to close off again.

"No _pe_." The _p_ was jarring in the darkness, and Damian let it hang there for a moment. "Cut myself off for a while. Couldn't do it, be around him and - _yo-_..."

Drake trailed off, jaw tight, and Damian felt himself mirroring the stance. Why did it always feel like walking around eggshells when it came to Drake? Even Father, as....tormented as he appeared sometimes, lost in his own thoughts, his grief, wasn't as difficult to decipher as Drake could be. It was time to go, anyway.

"I must leave. Pennyworth will not be so forgiving this time around." Damian let a harshness of sorts slip into his tone, deflecting, and out of the corner of his eye, he noted the effect it had on Drake, whose very hairs prickled at the sound, posture rigid. Damian didn't wait for a response, mechanically putting the throw to one side before slipping on his thick hoodie. It was only at the door that Drake spoke.

"I'm not very good at this, am I?"

The tone was much softer this time, and it halted Damian in his tracks, enough that he turned to look at his older brother. Drake was looking at him, hands clasped, then unclasped- _nervous_ Damian read, and he made to take a step forward, before pausing, watching the teen, and turned back to the door, half stepping into the light of the doorway.

"Grayson likes to say Rome was not built in a day, Drake. I think we'd all do well to remember that."


	77. Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick spirals out of control, Clark feels conflicted over the tape, and Jason receives an unwelcome surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probs my favourite chapter so far. There are so many I've enjoyed writing, but I think this one is something rather special.

Jason stood, overlooking the impossibly tiny figure curled into the couch.

God, it had been ages since he'd stepped foot in this pl- _No,_ Jason firmly told himself. He wasn't going down this path again. 

What the hell was he even doing in here, anyway? _Helping_? Because he fucking _cared_? 

He ran a tired hand through his hair. Seemed as though the place had somehow been drained of its light, its laughter, just as the owner appeared to be. The sink was overflowing, fucking rank it was, plates that had to have been weeks old piled up on counter tops. Takeout boxes haphazardly littered across the floor, stacked into unstable columns against the front door, random pieces of clothing strewn about, sneakers scattered-

 _disarray_ , that was the word that came to Jason's mind.

As if one were falling apart, too fast to notice, and too unable to stop.

Alfred had said it once, hadn't he? That the state of one's home was a reflection of one's mind, and standing here, at a scarily empty fridge, mouldy milk, the old man couldn't have been more right. Fucking hell, Jason swore things have never been this bad with _-_ or had it? None of this could have been recent, at least. For shit to look like _this_ , _this_ bad - 

The figure before him suddenly letting out a breath, a shuddering thing, and Jason froze where he stood, a puff of air escaping from his lips. Why was it so cold in here? Did the guy just forget to turn the heating on or- _ah_. To the corner of the room, Jason could just about make out several unopened envelopes, a few with large, bold red font angrily printed at the bottom.

Clearly, paying for utilities had been far from a priority.

The figure made another sound, strangled, garbled, and Jason moved now, slowly, deliberately, making his way across to the end of the couch, less than a foot away from pale, worn skin, sunken eyes, and tangled hair. If he leaned over just a bit, small patches of skin seemed to glint like moonlight in the room - _scalp_ , then. Fucking hell, were things so bad the guy was losing his _hair_?

Twenty four, and whatever hidden stress that had Dick here looking more like death than he ever did, was now causing his hair, that oh so precious mane, to _fall out_. The man had tucked himself inwards as tight as he could, foetal-style, as if trying to _hold_ it all in place, _protection_ of some kind, against whatever that lurked in the darkness, physical or otherwise. Beneath the man, the smell of bile and vomit pierced Jason's nose, and he turned to the side for a moment, breathing through his mouth. The man had stopped vomiting a while back, but something in the back of Jason's mind had convinced him to stay, just a bit longer, in case the fool decided to choke to death on his own vomit. The guy had dry retched a few times, once bringing up water, but nothing since the last half hour, still breathing, though laboured and Jason decided to take his leave. 

But then, just as he stepped away, trying not to inadvertently touch anything-

 _there_ it was.

A sheen, shimmery glob of water trailed down- Jason couldn't quite tear his eyes from the motion, soft, delicate, wetting dark eyelashes, gliding over the curve of cheek, fucking hollow, ever so quiet, past the corner of the half trembling lip, then chin, before disappearing into the darkness of the ratty, thin sheet Jason had managed to scour out from the filthy apartment.

And whatever hate, disgust, _resentment_ Jason had for the man, stranger turned adversary, seemed to lessen by just a _touch_. He stared at the sight, appalled, remembering a time not too long ago where he'd have _dreamed_ for a moment like this. A chance to catch that golden prick off guard, unaware, defenseless, and _end_ him. Make him _suffer_ , just he had done for years, years of the Pit, of that horrible goddamned hell-sprung clown laughing at his every move, mocking his cries, his-

Jason swallowed, steadying himself, but the flood of memories grew too great to stand here a moment longer, anger and _rage_ beating against his chest, clawing up his throat, misting his vision, and so he set about collecting stupid take-out boxes, stupid ass pink T-shirts and neon fucking bright leggings, hoarding them to the side, swearing silently as he threw away mouldy, dirty plates, scrubbed the white back into that greying fridge, opened windows he'd climbed through long ago, when Nightwing would drag his sorry, drunk, injured ass back to his, muttering bullshit about _Why do you keep fighting us, Little Wing_ , and _can't you see how much we love you_ , all whilst he would fight, bat the man's hands away, but inside fall for that lulling voice, false promises, that yearning for acceptance, that one day, Bruce might-

"Yeah, _no_." Jason half spoke aloud, shaking his head.

"B." A sudden whisper cut through his thoughts, the sound high and childlike, and for the countless time that evening, Jason froze, hoping what he'd heard was a mistake, a figment of his imagination. _Oh God, nope, not doing this right now, no-_

" _B_ ". A wet sounding plea, and followed by a sniffling of sorts, and Jason had enough.

He left quietly.

 

 

 _48 hours earlier_. 

_Watchtower, morning._

Dick shrugged off the stares and concerned whispers he'd been receiving all morning. Okay, fine, so he'd barely slept over the last day, _days_ if he were honest, and the dull ache that had started off mild was now full on banging, the sides of his head throbbing, and now he felt nauseous. Wasn't exactly hungry either, and alright, so his costume _was_ a little looser than normal. And yes, he _had_ been snappier as of late, but look, he had good reason, at least today he did. These new recruits were far more consumed with looking 'fly' for social media and being seeing rolling with the 'big dogs' than actually _wanting_ to be here. He'd had it up to _here_ with their laziness. Even the Bats had been sub-par in their performances today, and Dick hadn't hid his disappointment. Damian in particular had been poor, missing steps, falling over, and for some reason, kept watching _him_ \- Dick had screamed twice at the kid to keep his eye on the _fucking_ ball, and though Damian had blushed angrily, humiliated, he'd said nothing in return, shrugging off a concerned hand from Tim on his shoulder with practiced ease, Tim who too also shot him a look, _disapproving_ , Batman style, but whatever.

"I don't _care_. Run the simulation _again_ \- if you can't even bother to get it right, why show up at all?" Dick stared down at the newest batch of young recruits, gaze hard. Teens in their little stupid costumes, with powers they failed to control, indignant, brash, too headstrong, too stubborn. Why waste his time on people who only ignored his advice? He missed the look shared between Black Canary and Batman, who stood overhead several feet above, watching in muted silence.

"Nightwing-" Black Canary's voice entered his nearby vicinity, low, almost concerned, and less than a second later, her touch on his arm followed, but Dick shrugged it off. 

"And you-" Nightwing switched his gaze to Robin, whose eyes he'd felt on him right from the beginning. "What the hell was that? You were too slow on that second run, nearly missed your footing during the fourth loop- you were lucky to even get in a shot at all. Do better."

The throbbing at the side of his temple had yet to subside, and the longer he was here, the worse it became. Dick gritted his teeth.

Something in Robin's eyes flashed, before his expression smoothed out, but the flush of embarrassment, that telling pink tinge on the boy's cheeks, remained. Damian never did like being put on the spot in front of others, especially those of a similar age -people he considered himself far superior. Nightwing waited for that retort, for the boy to argue, so that he could finally _snap_ , sick and tired of the pressure building behind his eyes, but oh no, Red Robin just _had_ to step in, a little in front of their youngest brother, and Dick visibly frowned.

Since when were those two so buddy-buddy?

He rebuked himself seconds later - surely it was a _good_ thing that his two favourite people in the world were finally getting along?

What had gotten _into_ him lately?

" _Nightwing._ " Red Robin's tone bordered on commanding, and Dick couldn't stop himself from bristling at the sound. Nightwing too straightened to his full height, eyes blank as he bored holes into his younger counterpart. "You've been pushing us non-stop for the last three hours-"

" _And?_ " Dick didn't care how harsh his voice sounded, but his chest _did_ flutter a bit at the small startle across Tim's face, before it disappeared.

Tim was clever like that. Always hiding what he truly thought, his buttons concealed under all that quiet assurance. Like Father, like son.

"You think whatever is out there gives a _damn_ that you've been fighting for hours and might need a break, hm? That they'll say 'Why don't you guys sit this one out, lets stop and take a breather, go back it in a couple of minutes, eh?" Dick took a step towards his younger brother, and then another, shoulders tense. Tim, to his credit, remained where he stood, but Dick noted how part of his body _shifted_ a little to cover more of Damian, whose eyes flitted to the back of Tim's head, in almost silent appreciation.

"All I'm saying is-" Tim wouldn't be deterred, but the respect he normally used to address Nightwing was slipping, and the tone was turning defensive.

"Are you the head of this team, Red Robin?" Dick barked. "How many years of experience do you have, at this? You've barely been in that costume three months!"

Something _ugly_ passed across Tim's face. "You would know. _Dick_."

Dick's eye twitched, and all of a sudden, without registering the movement, he had reached the teen's face, one hand hauled into the collar of the snot's uniform, eyes flashing.

"Nightwing!" The voice sounded young, alarmed at the sight, but Dick could only focus on one thing at a time. "Care repeat that-"

" _Dick_." That came from Red Robi- _no_ , _Tim_ , whose palms were slightly raised in a placating gesture, and the boy's tone was softer, concerned, speaking low as though it were only the two of them in the room. "You're scaring me, big brother. You're scaring _Damian_."

" _Oh?_ " Dick shook the boy's collar _hard_. There were shouts above him, a _Nightwing_ growled in the background, but Dick paid them no mind. "I'm big brother now, am I?" He chuckled, the sound mirthless, dry, and bitter. "Funny that. You guys sure have a _funny fucking way_ of showing it-"

He missed two separate bodily flinches.

"Dick, please. You're...you're not well."That was Tim again, tone ever so soft, if it were even possible, and by now, a slim hand had wrapped itself around his wrist, nimble and birdlike. 

"I'm goddamned _fine_ -"

" _Nightwing_." All black came into his vision, and now it wasn't Red Robin who Dick faced, but _Batman_ , eyes glowering, chin angry. " _Enough_."

The air was deadly quiet.

"I don't take orders from _you_ , remember?" Dick spat out, chest thumping, blood rushing to ears. _Oh God, what have I done, did I hurt Timmy, oh no-_

Batman stared down coolly at him, face impassive. Dick had always hated the height difference between them, and he crossed his arms over his chest, anger radiating off his frame.

"That will be all for today." The voice was neutral, detached, and yet held a note of warning - the relief was palpable in the room as it emptied, Red Robin still close to Robin as they left too. Dick stared at a point over Batman's shoulder, pissed, skin hot. To his credit, Bruce waited till the room was empty and retreating footsteps cleared entirely before speaking.

"Son." Bruce made to reach out a hand to him, but Dick shifted, adrenaline racing. "Red Robin is right-"

"Yes, let's all take the wonder-boy at his word, shall we? Darling genius Timothy, great wonder of the world." Dick couldn't help it, the words seemed to spill out of their own accord, blunt, unforgiving, and Bruce only watched him, mouth a tight line.

"Listen to yourself, Dick." The man's voice was low, but Dick refused to listen. "You're not well. This _isn't_ you-"

"Like fuck you'd know." His eyes flashed angrily, and without it registering, his fists had somewhat curled, primed for action. "Barely had time for anyone and anything else other than that fucking _prick_ of a disg-"

" _Dick_." Bruce warned. "I know there's been a lot going on lately, and I apologise if I may have inadvertently-"

" _Fuck. you_ " Dick hissed, and in a split second, sent a fist flying towards his Father's face, wanting more than anything to calm the taunting at the back of his mind, _not needed, not wanted, they don't need you anymore, do they_ -

Bruce seemed prepared though, and neatly as can be, had his arm pinned behind his back in less than a blink, voice low and concerned in his ear, speaking over Dick's struggling. "Son, I'm worried about you. We all are."

" _Get off me_!" Dick screeched, struggling, but Bruce continued as if he'd nary spoken at all.

"You've got bags under your eyes, Dick. You've lost weight too, you lose your temper at even simple things - you swore at one of the canteen ladies this morning, Linda, and I know you two get along very well normally. Even Clark told me you brushed aside his 'Hello'. I'm worried about y-"

"Yeah, well, I'm _fine_. Just a little stressed lately, and you know who else get's stressed, B? _Everyone_. I'm fine, just _let. me. go_." Dick tried to kick backwards, aiming at Bruce's shin, but his aim was off, clumsy, and Dick staggered. Again, the man was ready, and Bruce hauled him upright, voice firmer this time. 

"Really?-"

" _Really, dickhead._ " Dick attempted to use Bruce's body as a board, to backflip his way out of freedom, but the bigger man squashed any chance of that happening, kneeing him in the back and bringing him to floor, ignoring his cursing.

" _GET THE FUCK OFF ME, NOW!_ " Dick felt his face turning red. God, there was nothing more humiliating than this. He was sure whoever was up in security was having a right laugh at this, getting shafted to the fucking floor by fucking Batman himself.

"Look at yourself, Dick." Bruce shook him a little, voice rough, as if to get his point across. The man paused for a moment, then spoke quietly. "Are you using, Dick? Drugs-"

"What?!" Dick too paused from his struggling, incredulous that Bruce would even think such a thing. He wasn't fucking Arsenal, for pete's sake. Probably strung out in some God-forsaken hole out in the fucking desert. "Why the hell- _no_! God no, what's wrong with you?"

Bruce seemed to mull that over, and in the seconds that he did, Dick could just about make out a fluttering- _cape_ \- oh _Christ_ , and then a pair of red boots came into view. It wasn't long before he was hauled up to his feet, now facing the infamous blue and red crusader himself, who stood next to Batman in pensive thought, both men watching him.

Dick couldn't quite look either in the eyes, and so he remained standing, eyes on the floor, heavy, pinching his arms hard enough to break the skin. No fucking way was he about to cry in front of _Superman_. Clark, maybe, but not goddamn _him_.

"Dick." Superman's voice was odd, too much Clark, and Dick swallowed, throat tight. "We've both noticed the same things."

Dick looked away. Of course those two wouldn't have missed anything.

For a long, strange moment, the air was quiet.

"I." Clark paused, as if looking to Bruce for confirmation, but Dick didn't want to know. He knew what was coming anyway.

"We think you should take a break from your duties here. Just-" Clark came into vision then, eyes concerned. "Just for a little while."

"I-" Dick worked his jaw, but it was difficult to get the words out properly, so he took his time, measuring out each breath, whilst the renowned duo watched him carefully, eyes never leaving him. 

"Just until you're feeling better, Dick." God, for all of Bruce's constipation when it came to feelings, sometimes the man had a way with words when it came to the simple stuff. Was it the way he said it, perhaps? Or was it the sombre hum of his tone, deep, _caring_? Dick didn't want to know, he _didn't_ -

"Why not stay at the Manor for a few days-" Bruce suggested, and all at once, Dick's defences were back up.

" _No._ I-I _can't._ " He shook his head, voice watery. "Not like this, B."

Tim and Damian didn't deserve that.

Bruce seemed to understand perfectly, not pushing the issue. "Alright, we'll work something out. But you _are_ getting help, son. That I won't let go."

Dick brought an arm to his eyes. "I....I don't think this _can_ be fixed." He placed a hand on his face, then stared up at the ceiling. "I-I...I don't think so, B. I-" He stuttered, and then moved backwards when Bruce reached for him.

"Dick-"

"Son-"

"I just need some space, alright?" Dick force himself to look at Father and Uncle, who stared at him, obviously wanting to make it _right_ , and he offered a smile in reassurance, but it was shaky, and more tears spilled out.

"Oh, Dickie." Clark breathed out, but Dick shook his head, taking another step back.

"Space, okay? Just...let me, let me clear my head a bit. Get a few things. Please Dad, just-" His voice came out strangled. "I know." He made eye contact with Bruce, chest having. "I know, I know I'm....I _know_."

Bruce tried again, to make contact, and this time, Dick let him. It was nice for once, to sink into the older man's embrace, feel the slight stubble against his face, chest broad and warm, _safe_ , and then Dick let go, wiping his face hastily.

"Son, plea-"

"I'll see you later." There was a lump stuck in Dick's throat, and he tried again, to smile, but his muscles had all but died with the effort, and his shoulders slumped. "I'll call you."

Bruce wasn't so easily convinced, and he remained holding onto his arm, eyes piercing his. " _Promise me_."

That took Dick by surprise. "What? B, I'm not a little kid anymore-"

" _ **Promise me, Dick**_." The older man's tone was almost harsh, blunt, and Dick stilled for a moment. "Promise that you're not going to do anything stupid, that I'm not going to find you...that you won't do something that you can't take back, that I- that I can't _fix_." Bruce couldn't finish the words, pain written across his features.

Something heavy and sad enveloped the older man then, like an invisible cape, drowning him, and Dick stepped forward quickly, hugging his Father as hard as he could, pressing a kiss to the man's temple. "I won't."

"I can't lose another one." The sound was muffled against his shoulder, but Dick heard it clear enough.

"You won't." Dick managed to whisper, eyes closed, and then he stepped away again, Bruce letting him go this time.

Clark threw him a kind smile, and Dick nodded, eyes watering again, before he tried straightening to his full height, wiping his face.

"if you need anything, Dick-" Clark cocked his head at him, and this time, Dick let a small smile creep on his face before disappearing. 

"I'll shout." 

Clark seemed satisfied by that, stepping forward to place his giant hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, before moving back to stand by Bruce.

Dick walked away.

 

 

Bruce watched his son walk away, shoulders too tight, arms shuddering, as if protecting himself from some unknown force.

"Why does it feel like my family is falling apart, bit by bit?" He murmured to himself, softly, staring at the empty spot Dick had left in his wake. "Just as one pulls himself _out_ of something, another falls _in_ to something else."

Beside him, Clark made a non-committal noise, also staring ahead where the boy stood moments ago. "I don't know." He spoke eventually.

Bruce nodded once. "How do I help him, Clark?" He swallowed, the sound loud in the silent expanse of the room. "How do I convince someone who means the world to so many, that he _matters_?" He shook his head a little, staring at the ceiling. "How many must I lose?"

It was Clark's turn to look at him, a long sideaway glance, before he felt a hand on his shoulder. "You're not going to lose him, Bruce."

Bruce felt his jaw tighten. "And yet, it feels like I am." He kept his voice level, not willing to betray the frustration inside of him.

"I won't let it." Clark seemed so sure, so certain, and it was all Bruce could do, to close his eyes, and focus on the roaring in his ears, the sudden _fear_ that had overtaken his senses, thoughts of his firstborn being taken from him, losing that pair of bright, happy eyes, and he-

" _Bruce_." The grip on his shoulder became stronger. " _Nothing_ is going to happen, I swear." His friend's voice had turned steely, but Bruce didn't trust himself to speak, not just yet. They remained like that for a few more moments, before Bruce gently freed his shoulder, bringing himself up to full height, and without so much as a backward glance to his friend, began to walk ahead. It was only mere feet from the door that Bruce spoke once more, though his gaze remained forward.

"Thank you, Clark."

Clark didn't respond, only to nod, and then Bruce suddenly looked at him, curious. There was something on edge about his friend, and yet....a calmness he couldn't quite place his finger on.

"Are you alright?" Bruce spoke in Kryptonian, and this time, it was Clark who stared back silent, who seemed to debating what to say.

"I'm...I'm better, I think. A work in progress." He managed back in the same, dead language, and Bruce continued to watch the man, a little puzzled.

"You know where I am."

Clark smiled then, small and silly, goofy on his overgrown frame, and something in Bruce's chest felt lighter at the sight. "Yeah." The whisper carried all the way across to where he stood. "Yeah, I do."

Bruce nodded, satisfied, and took his leave.

It was Clark who would stare at the black flowing cape as it left, Clark who would release that pent up breath he'd been holding in, finally letting the tension in his jaw show, pulling to the side, fingers hiding their anxiety. He still couldn't get the tape out of his mind. _Still_. And what made it worse- that as _appalling_ as it was, crudely violent, almost uncaring, the _torture_ , yes, that's exactly what it was-

Deep down, Clark was _glad_.

Horrified, and deeply conflicted that Jason had done such a thing, seemingly for him, at least on his behalf, call it justice, call it vengeance, Clark wasn't sure, but Jason had done it and sent it to him for good reason-

She was _gone_. Not free, as his nightmares led him to believe, free to poison and destroy others as she had tried to do to him, but _gone_ , never to inflict such suffering again-

Clark let out a slow, agonising breath.

It wasn't that he hadn't _killed_ before - no. Superman, believe it or not, was no stranger to killing. Back then, when he was still new to the Superhero scene, when Zod and the last of his kind had invaded Earth, when he was still getting a grip on the full range of his powers, and then Zod, with his superior tactile strength, command, who wanted to lay to waste all that Superman loved about Earth, her people, the generosity one could show, hope, opportunity-

Snapping that neck, was, hands down, _the_ hardest thing he'd ever done to date. 

Worse than witnessing the ruthlessness of the Justice Lords, in a world where killing was as routine as taking a dog for a walk.

Part of him knew that he'd need to confront Jason over the matter, that this couldn't fly, Earth or not, good intentions or otherwise. But then he remembered the pain, the _shame_ , nights spent balled up in the corner of his bedroom, a weepy mess, Lois at his side, unable to withstand her touch, but her presence comforting.

"Watchtower to Superman." How Diana managed to sound so regal over a communicator, Superman would never know. "Your presence is required immediately. The visitors from Elbertross will be arriving shortly."

"Superman to Wonder Woman. I'm on my way." Clark gave himself another moment to pull himself together, and then adjusted his cape.

Time to play another day of 'hero'.

 

 

_Percy's bar, outskirts of Gotham._

Jason stared at the sad figure to his far front.

Of all _fucking_ days-

He took a sip, trying to push down the anger that had suddenly risen.

He'd been here once, long ago. Dick, who had been hellbent on playing hero, reuniter of the family, had dragged him here one night after patrol. Hood had lasted a whole night without actually killing anyone, and Dickiebird thought that was cause for celebration. And even though Jason had rolled his eyes the entire way, missing the way Bruce had smiled softly at them, he'd allowed that overgrown octopus to drag him about the town, looking for a spot where they could have a decent drink. Dick had been hyperactive the while fucking way, nattering on about how much he wanted to spend time with his little bird, little brother, and for the life of him, not that he could remember _why_ exactly- Jason had _let_ him. Maybe it was the idea of being treated to a drink and spending time with someone who appeared to give a damn, a feeling of belonging, that he was _part_ of something, important to _someone_ , but Jason had put up little protest, hurling an insult every now and again to uphold his bad boy, don't give a shit image, but Dick had never once left.

The older man had merely laughed through it all, managing to ruffle his hair on a few occasions, and Jason had _let_ him.

They'd found-well, _Dick_ had found Percy's, a small, rundown looking shack of a tavern on the edge of town, bordering Bludhaven, and they'd entered that sad little front, decor worn, music old, but it had been dimly lit, warm, quiet, and so they'd stayed. Jason couldn't lie, he had been nervous as hell, eyes constantly flicking to the door, wondering when the illusion would shatter, the drape fall from his eyes, the laughter of his clown ring in his ears-

but no such thing had occurred.

One drink, and then another, and within a short while, Jason had found himself becoming....relaxed, if he could call it that. At least, 'relaxed' for him was not being on edge so much, jumpy, not constantly scanning people and drinks and heavy coats for weaponry, _attack_ , and then Dick had opened up. Nothing about Nightwing, nor the B-word, both B's, not even Timmy tots and his fights with the Demon brat, but about what made _Dick_. What it was like, growing up in Haly's circus. How he spent his time most days, the last film he'd watched, and Jason had found himself listening, riveted, that for the first time, this wasn't Dick the golden boy, but Dick who maybe didn't have it all together as he made it seem. Dick who loved soppy movies because it reminded him of his parents, of something he thought _he_ could have one day, possibly, maybe with Babs, maybe not. Why he loved sweet things - his mother was a sweet tooth, and one of their many after circus rituals, after a successful night, was to sit together with a bag of candy between the two, and watch the crowds mill past. Screaming, happy children, who'd run past their parent's heels, yapping away at what they'd witnessed, families strolling in large groups, cameras flashing, lights dancing. Elephants being led back to their sanctuary, lovingly petted by their owners, praised for such good behaviour. Dancers and magicians linking arms, singing cheerily, bands playing folksy tunes, clapping hands, and Dick would sit beside his mother, head resting on her shoulder, soaking the sight in. Dick had regaled the tale with a seriousness Jason had never known was possible from the man, and by the end of it, said man was close to tears, voice on the verge breaking, and Jason... _touched_ , one could say, by the generosity in sharing something so personal, had told _Dick_ of the little he remembered of Catherine. When she was sober, and had enough change to feed the ducks, or by chance, if she read to him, but towards the end, her voice-

Jason shook his head, mind back to the present.

Dick looked so _broken_.

Once ago, he'd have _killed_ for this. A broken Dick, sad and lost, but looking at the man here tonight, disheveled, head stooped so fucking low like a dog, _Jesus_ , hair ratty, uncombed, unwashed, clothes which seemed to hang off him, like he'd forgotten to goddamn eat over the last couple of days. Even his skin seemed grey in the light, and that was fucking hard to achieve in here, the rosy glow that bathed the small tavern. Dick looked like he neither cared nor wanted to, not with the drinks that poured down his thought without a second's hesitation, how his words slurred, batting invisible hands away.

All Jason had done was to sit there, watching. As far as he was aware, Dick was a grown ass man who could take care of himself. He didn't need 'saving'.That's what he told himself anyway, as he watched the glasses fill the table out of the corner of his eye, once familiar blue eyes now dulled, red rimmed, as tiny tremors overtook the man every now and again. He told himself that he was here to enjoy a drink or three in peace, thinking, and he did. It was only when Dick made a move to stand, to leave, and stumbled, ramblings incoherent, knocking glasses to the floor, that Jason looked up sharply. The bartender had come round to Dick now, attempting to help him up, steady him, but to his surprise, Dick lashed out, pushing the gentleman away, and _pulled_ at his hair, as, as _if_ -

 _tormented_.

What the fuck was up with him?

The few other patrons in the bar had turned briefly at the commotion, only to resume their drinking. Not enough drama to keep their attention, anyway.

Jason debated with himself- wait, why was he even questioning this? That man was a stranger to him, had advocated to put him in fucking _Arkham_ , for God's sake. Dick didn't deserve _shit_ , that's what Jason told himself as he stood, shrugging his coat on, ignoring whatever the fuck was happening. Not his goddamn problem.

 _Except_ , a little voice whispered _Dick saved your ass countless times, even when you cursed him out_.

"Not listening." Jason muttered, patting his jeans for a twenty.

 _When you were flat out drunk, on your way to blacking out - Dick was the one who had one arm around yours, struggling to hold your weight upright as you swore at him, eyes glassy_ -

"I don't care." Jason spoke a little louder, adjusting his leather jacket. He finally fished out a crumpled note, faded and worn, but it would do.

_He did, didn't he? You would punch him, grab, curse, and even then, with vomit trailing down your chin, Dick would haul you home, all the way. Could have arrested you, a fucking cop remember, but he never did, did he? Even when he was frustrated- and you always knew just how to push his buttons, you did-_

" _Shut. up_ -" Jason ignored a raised eyebrow his way as he left his seat.

_Dick always held his tongue. Got you home, into something fresh. Even stayed to make sure you didn't choke on your own damn vomit-_

"Oh for fuck's sake." Jason huffed loudly. He approached the bartender slowly, who was having trouble keeping a clearly intoxicated Dick upright.

"Jesus fuck, kid. How much do you bloody weigh?" The bartender cursed aloud, one hand reaching to the telephone. Jason quickened his pace then. Why he felt the need to intervene, he couldn't fucking tell, but the last thing Dick probably needed was potentially getting picked up and booked by one of his own.

Jason snorted unkindly. Like any of them would even contemplate booking of their own, let alone _Dick_.

"Hey." Jason let a little his Gothamite roots seep through, accent sharp. He jutted his chin towards Dick, who by now was all over the place, disturbing the peace. "I know the guy. Want me to take him off your hands?"

The bartender looked hesitant, unsure, but then Dick belched, and to Jason's ever increasing joy, _vomited_ , all down his fucking front, and it was enough that the bartender handed him over instantly, disgusted. 

"Gerrhim outta here." The man was not happy, and Jason didn't blame him. Already, the smell was vile. He nodded, and doing just that, linked Dick's floppy arm over his shoulder, hauling them upright.

"C'mon." Jason spoke roughly, not one for empathy, aware that this was the first time, free from fighting, than they'd been this close in _years_ , and it was unnerving.

" _Whataydopdaowhy-huh_ " Dick slurred, eyes unfocused, legs even worse, and Jason had little warning before the man threw up _again_ , and this time Jason let his impatience really seep out, shaking the man by the collar.

"The fuck is wrong with you, huh? Get it together, already!" He hissed, ready to call it a night and dump the prick right here, right in the parking lot.

Except, Dick, with those stupidly big eyes of his, looked up at him, so _lost_. His bottom lip trembled, and to Jason's utter amazement-

 _tears_ began to leak from the older man's eyes.

Fucking _tears_ , and Jason had stopped momentarily, staring, lost for words.

Since-when-the _fuck_?

"Hey." Jason cursed himself on hearing how much softer his tone had become. This _dickhead_ didn't deserve his help, his sympathy, none of it. "Hey, look it- Jesus Dick, you're a fucking mess. God-" Jason shook his head, the sniffing become louder. "Alright look, I didn't mean to-"

" _They don't need me_." Dick suddenly whispered, and the hairs on Jason's arms stood still.

He closed his eyes, breathing hard, wishing he could just ignore whatever the suck-ass _sob-ass_ confession Dick had just muttered out.

"No-one-" Dick choked, voice so _broken_ , and something in Jason's chest grew tight. The man shook his head, attempting to push him away. " _They don't need me._ No-one-" The tears fell faster. "I'm alone. I-I don't know how to fix them. Fix _me_."

Jason screwed his eyes shut tighter. This couldn't be fucking happening.

"I'm no good." The voice was so sad, so heartfelt, that Jason felt himself swallow heavily, the ground unsteady beneath his feet. No, nope, no no _no no no_ -

"Not true." He managed to ground out, having reached his car now, but all Dick did was to slump against the door, sinking to the ground, expression mournful.

"Fuck." Jason was getting frustrated. "Dick. _Dick_ , c'mon, get up. _Get. up_."

"I wish." Dick stared into nothing, and Jason slapped his hands on his head, swearing. How the fuck, of all days did he get caught up in-

"I wish I told him." Dick played with his fingers, and Jason stared at him, on pause from cursing him out. _Him_? What was this fuckhead on about-

"I wish he.... just what h-he meant to me. Us-used to." The man's nose began to run, but Jason couldn't move, not with his chest beating as wildly as it was. Dick shook his head. "I-." The man opened his mouth to continue, then grasped at his hair and _pulled_ , _hard_ , burying his face in his folded knees.

"Alright." Jason snapped into action, ignoring the sudden wave of nausea that had overcome him. Last thing he wanted was to be stuck out here with a bald-headed Dick. This shit sure as hell wasn't happy hour. "Enough, no, I've had it up to _here_. Up, up, no, leave the wheel, stop fucking struggling and get in-" Jason ignored the older man's protests, flailing arms, and with considerable effort, including a dark bruise on his jaw, courtesy of an inebriated _Dick_ , finally managed to get the prick inside, where, upon making contact with the polished leather, threw up once _more_ , and Jason slammed the car door _hard_ , fucking pissed at the way his night had become.

"Just had to throw up in my _fucking_ car, didn't ya?" Jason snarled, slamming his door as he entered the driver's seat.

"IbleurgIfeel _sick_." Dick whined, like a fucking cat, and Jason was tempted to end the man right there, put him out of his misery, and he sat fuming, knuckles tipped white as he gripped the steering wheel, before fishing out his phone. Tim was good at this stuff, he'd know what to do. But as his hands hovered over speedial, Jason paused to look over at his passenger, who-

who, he had to admit, looked fucking _distraught_.

Somehow, the prospect of Tim seeing his big brother like this didn't sit well with him. Nor was it fair to call Alfred at this hour, the man did far too much for them anyway. Bruce was obviously a no-go, Jason had long since deleted his number, neither did he have the patience, nor sanity, to deal with an accusatory Bruce tonight.

He eyed Dick's slumped form warily. The man had on a thick sweatshirt, slacks - no jacket in sight. Fanfuckingtastic. He wasn't about to stage a pat-down for a wallet, let alone goddamn phone either, _Daddy_ would probably just buy him a new one.

" _Fuck_." Jason rested his forehead against the wheel, thinking. He'd long since gotten rid of most, if not all of his safehouses in Gotham. The one or two that remained were simply shells, retained in case he ever returned to Gotham, but he hadn't until now. Tim changed safehouses like he changed socks, and as for Damian, Jason didn't have a clue where the kid had his. Probably fancy as hell, if he did have any, and something told Jason the princelling would not appreciate stale vomit and drunken stupor messing up the essence of such space.

Bludhaven it was. Shit, did he even remember where the fuckhead lived?

"Oi." Jason patted the man on the cheek- okay, so it was a full on backhand, wasn't like the prick was gonna remember this shit, anyway. "Remember your address, by any Godforsaken chance?"

"Belruodvnidofvfldpfd." That was all he got in response, before Dick made to heave, and this time, Jason wasn't about to take any chances.

"Nope. No the _fuck_ you're not." He reacted instantly, winding down the passenger window and shoving Dick's head through it. He winced as he heard splashes of sick against the car door, but at least it wasn't _in_ the car this time. Already smelled like a cat disemboweled itself everywhere.

"Oincihomeisksiej." The man slumped back against the seat, one hand cradled over his stomach, and Jason rolled his eyes.

"Uh-huh, yeah, that's great." He started the ignition. "No fucking help whatsoever." He muttered, setting off. And if he took care to drive carefully, aware of his sick passenger, Jason refused to acknowledge it. It took a full hour driving around, peering at apartment buildings, numbers, before they finally made it to Dick's place, the familiarity hazy, and another twenty minutes of him puffing as he dragged the man to his door, who by now, was out cold, sneakers cuffing against the carpet.

He had half a mind to leave him outside his apartment door, call it a night- or morning, by now- and head home. 

Except Dick didn't live in the nicest of places, and who knew what his neighbours were capable of. It would be... _irresponsible_ of him, leaving a barely conscious vomit stained individual in their own filth, out in the hallway, for all to see. As much as he hated the man, for some reason, _that_ was too much, and so after much fiddling, and praying Dick's booby traps wouldn't be too painful, they were finally in-

And by _God_ , Jason had never seem such a fucking mess. Not even Tim was this bad, and everyone knew that boy was a hoarder. The figure on his arm mumbled, then belched, and Jason, tired of this shit, this smelly ass _shit_ , took little care in dragging the man by the arm to the bathroom, watching in wrinkled disgust as vomit filled the basin, then toilet bowl, until the man seemed unable to bring up anything else.

"Alright then." Jason half shoved the man forwards till they made their way to a couch of sorts. Looked expensive, but Jason couldn't tell, not by the mountains of clothes and takeout boxes stuffed in the corners, oil stains seeping into the material. 

"Gross." He muttered unkindly, and with a finger, poked Dick in the back, who fell into the couch with a dull _thud_ , dead to the world.

Jason stared a moment longer, shaking his head.

A _mess._

This was who Tim and the baby bat had to look up to?

 

 

Batman frowned. 

The air was chill but thankfully his suit provided enough warmth, that overall, the balance was comforting. _Comfortable_ , and he crouched against a pillow, overlooking Gotham.

For once, he had listened, giving his eldest son his space since his departure from the Watch-tower that morning. He'd only started calling in the evening, figuring the boy would be more receptive to talk, but so far, his calls had gone to voicemail. His worry had increased with every unanswered call, and now, at almost two in the morning, Bruce could no longer sit around doing nothing. Patrol was rather light, and having stopped only two muggings so far, Batman decided to take a break, a rare one indeed.

It was a form of courtesy, to notify one of the intention to enter the city of another, a respect of sorts, but tonight wasn't about capes, not about pride and ego, but a _Father_ concerned for the well-being of his _son_ , and Bruce hoped Dick would understand. Swinging from roof to roof, Bruce found an urgency develop that wasn't there before, as if something was calling out to him, and with every swing, he hurried, faster, silently cursing at his lack of speed, of strength, the limitations of mere _man_ , but finally, he reached the apartment building just opposite his son's, surveying the scene.

Below him, there were few out at this hour. Batman watched for awhile, cool and distant, but Bruce only had eyes for his son, trained on even the slightest movement. Satisfied there was no immediate danger, Batman made his way to the fire escape, feet soundless, till he had reached the boy's window, and stared inside, tracing out various shapes. Unpicking the lock, Bruce carefully disabled Dick's firetraps, and made his way gingerly inside, noting the... _disarray_ of the bedroom, and frowned, standing still for a moment.

Dick had always been messy, even as a child. Despite all of Alfred's teaching, and insistence, the boy had refused to change, and the same could be said now. The wardrobe, for instance, despite Dick's _many_ clothes and even more hangers, was almost half empty. Sneakers lay in a heap, laces tangled. The bed sheets smelled as if they hadn't been changed for some time, stale, sweat, and Bruce opened the window a little, thankful for fresh air, as smoky as it was. To the side of the bed, Bruce could just about make out a beeping, and after shifting through several pants thrown haphazard around, Bruce fished out Dick's phone, noting all the missed calls, as well as two from Tim, one from Damian, Clark, texts from a few of his League friends, Wally most notably. Clearly word had spread about Dick's behaviour, and Bruce made a mental note to have a word with the rest of the junior teams, reminding them of the importance of discretion. At least the rest of the apartment was marginally better. Empty boxes of takeout piled in a corner, clothes too. Empty fridge. The sink was relatively clear, that was good. The windows in the living room were open a little, but the staleness still remained. Finally, assured that the apartment held no immediate threat, Bruce made his way over to a sleeping Dick, stopping at the sight of dried tear tracks on the boy's cheeks, vomit bucket to the side.

"Oh Dick." Bruce spoke softly into the darkness of the room, and sat down heavily on the coffee table for a moment, watching the young man sleep. The room, much like the bedroom, smelled stale, of sweat, vomit of course, but there was something else in here....something like polish perhaps, leather maybe, and Bruce furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, curious, before Dick shifted, half moaning into the couch. It reminded him a little of-

" _Urgh._ " 

Or at least, that's what it _sounded_ like, and Bruce let out a small smile, removing his glove to card a hand through the boy's skin. Dick seemed to savour the touch, and leaned in, breathing slowing as he settled in, and without realising it, Bruce found himself humming a lullaby his mother once sang to him as a child, whenever she curled up beside him in bed, the two of them waiting for his Father to return home after a long day at the hospital.

 _Thin_ , Batman supplied, as he caught sight of a small but discernible bald patch on Dick's scalp. His hair was thinning - an indicator how stressed the young man must have been as of late, and Bruce clamped his mouth shut tightly, blaming himself. How could he have missed this? Even his cheeks appeared deflated, hollow, sunken, as if drained of colour, and Bruce traced his palm against them.

Dick needed to come _home_.

He understood of course, why Dick didn't _want_ to. Fear of his brothers finding him in such a state, of living under the same roof once again, fear that his independence would be hampered in some way, but the man Bruce was looking at was unraveling, and now more than _ever_ , Dick needed his family. Needed to feel _safe_ again, and that wouldn't happen out on a sunny resort in Cuba, nor in the bustling streets of San Francisco.

"Come home, Dick." Bruce shifted, sitting on the couch and placed Dick's head gently on his lap, pressing a kiss to exposed scalp. _Cold_ , and after momentarily searching, Bruce managed to find the least smelly blanket to cover the boy with, over the one that was already there, ratty little thing, and hugged Dick to himself. Dick by instinct wrapped his arms around his knees, as if hanging on for dear life, and Bruce let out a small chuckle, remembering how the man did the same as a young boy, whenever he wheedled to stay up an extra hour, an extra cookie, _just one more movie, Bruce_.

"it's alright, son." Bruce spoke aloud, half to himself, cradling the child against him. "Everything will be alright."

 

 

_Percy's tavern, four am._

Percy laughed, bidding the last group of regulars goodnight. "See you Thursday!" one yelled, and Percy raised a glass in response.

Tonight had been a rather different night, and Percy got to thinking.

He set about cleaning the tables, dusting the seats, clearing away dishes, when he reached the table that young, poor soul had been sitting it a few hours earlier. The man had been very young, no more than twenty-five tops, but by the way he sat, arms curled inwards, hair messy, Percy swore he could have passed for much older, at least by the way he kept ordering. It had been a little unusual, having this young man step into the place, as if he knew it well. Not that the man made any effort to converse, and Percy found it difficult to place him- certainly wasn't one of the regulars, he was sure of that. 

From the moment the man had sat down, leather jacket still on, the man had ordered non-stop. Kept going, even as his hands began to tremble, speech becoming less coherent by the hour, but still the man wouldn't let up. All one point, the jacket had come off, but strangely enough - and deep down, long after closing, Percy would find the gesture touching- the man would stare at the jacket for long periods, even holding it to himself at a point, as one would cradle a newborn babe. A treasured gift, perhaps. Tears would form in the man's eyes, and then he'd blink it away, like nothing happened, and Percy would divert his eyes elsewhere, not wanting to intrude. The drinks didn't stop, the man failed to slow down, even with all of Percy's prompting- _hey, take it easy fella, slow down there_ , or _you gotta a place to go, son?_ Not even _maybe you should call it a night, hm?_ He even offered to get a cab, just for him, on the house, but the young man had simply turned a pair of sad, big eyes on him, shiny as hell, and whatever Percy wanted to say next died in his throat.

Those eyes. In all his years, he'd never something quiet as sad as those, and it had put him on edge for the rest of the night.

And then, as if hidden in the dark all along, another gentleman had popped up, almost out of nowhere, offering to help the gentleman whose drunken state had started to cause a ruckus. Percy couldn't remember when the man had walked in, but he supposed it was because he'd been so _quiet_. Kept to himself, right at the back, staring out of the window. Dark, rugged, _tall_ , Percy had had to look up at the guy, but the man only had attention for the other one. Looked real conflicted, like parts angry, parts sad, confused even, and though Percy _had_ hesitated, not wanting to leave the broken man at the mercy of a stranger, the man was causing too much of a disturbance, and Percy had his regulars to think about. Thus, without so much as a protest, he let the two be on their way. And, as he returned to serving drinks, apologising to the rest for the noise, laughter filed the tavern once again, and Percy forgot about the man, the other one too, the leather jacket that had slipped to the floor, and was now in his hands.

He looked it over carefully. There was no name tag, nothing in the pockets. The leather smell was all but gone, merged with smoke, a sharp tang - pine, maybe? A dark brown, black even, Percy couldn't tell in the dim lightening, worn around the collar, flaking by the sleeves. Well worn, then. He thought about selling it perhaps, a little cash on the side, but the memory of the man, holding that damned jacket, staring at it-

and so Percy hung it in the back room of his office, hopeful that someday, that young man with the sad, broken eyes would come back for his treasure.


	78. Choices(1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce gears up to meet Jason, who in turn is also decidedly nervous, Tim keeps Damian company. Dick wants to make amends.

_A few hours earlier: Raleigh gardens, outside Bruce's private study._

"Don't ask him what he's up to, he'll think you're nosing around, and God knows the kid likes his privacy. Let him speak first. Stick to the topic, no deviating. Don't rise up to any jabs, let them pass without comment. If things start looking bad, call for Alfred." Bruce muttered, then rubbed the sides of his temples. "God, I haven't been this nervous since the first time I brought him here, to the Manor."

Beside him, Clark let out a small chuckle, and then moved, placing his glass on the table with a quiet tap. Bruce half rolled his eyes; the sound was even more ridiculous coming from such a big man, but Clark only grinned, sensing his frustration.

"I'm not anxious."

"Yes, you are." The man in question came to stand by his side, one hand in his pocket, the other pushing up his glasses. "Anyone would be, Bruce."

Bruce let out an unpleasant curse, hating to admit his friend was right. Clark raised an eyebrow, but said nothing else.

"Is he still at the Farm?" Bruce spoke a while later, and Clark let out a _hm_ , musing. "Pa says they haven't heard from him. Figured he's pretty busy up here doing what he needs to do. Trying to give him space, I suppose." Bruce let that sink in, then took another sip of his whisky.

"You sure you should be drinking that-"

" _Yes_." Bruce bit out, unapologetic as Clark raised a placating hand towards him in surrender.

"Sorry." He added later, and thankfully Clark didn't tease him on it. 

"The girls are planning Lo's baby shower." Clark took off his glasses, cleaning them with he collar of his shirt. Bruce held back another internal eye-roll and from a drawer nearby, handed the man a cleaning cloth. "Ah, for me? You're ever so thoughtful, Bruce. Wait, I've never seen you wear glasses? Do you? Maybe not ones for distance but for reading-"

"Shut up. Diana, I take it?"

Clark grinned. "Shayera, Ma, Iris, Dinah, a couple of others. Lo knows they're up to something but so far, they're keeping it tightly under wraps. Diana shouted at me the other day when I accidentally walked into the living room. They were all there, with all these bits of paper and gifts and stuff lying about, and Diana shouted at me to _Get out_. Even used my full name too. _My_ own living room, Bruce. They wouldn't even let me go upstairs. Ma said I had no right to anything, I have to grin and bear it all." Clark looked so pathetic, eyes all big and voice so pathetically mournful that Bruce outright laughed in his face, watching his friend struggle to keep his own laugh at bay. 

"So, essentially, you were kicked out of your own home. A fully grown man, part time Superhero, kicked out of his own damn place. Clark, you're a goddamn disgrace." Bruce wheezed, and Clark joined in now, eyes creased in laughter.

"How is Lois doing? Baby too." Bruce took another sip, watching his friend over the rim of the glass. Clark's laughter simmered to a soft, silly smile at the mention of his wife and child, and Bruce felt lighter on seeing it. His friend deserved all the happiness in the world. 

"Baby's growing really well, no issues there. As for Lo? Oh you know." Clark paused, looking at him right in the eye. "She's, uh, well Bruce, she's kinda cranky as of late. I mean, not that I have any room to complain, she _is_ carrying our child after all, but still. It's like, one moment we're great, she's great, happy as Larry at noonday, the next, I'm getting yelled out for stacking the dishes the wrong way round - dishes she barely ever washes, mind you. Either that, or the food is too spicy, or too bland. The room's too hot, oh, no its not, its far too cold. She's snuggled against me, woo, it's great, she's great, the next minute I'm practically halfway off the bed, clinging on for dear life because I'm apparently 'built like a fucking furnace'."

Bruce was wiping his eyes at this point, unable to stop his laughter. "Clark." He spoke, once he'd managed to get a hold of himself. "That's _pregnancy_ for you. It's the hormones - didn't you read _any_ of the books I got for the two of you?"

"I _did_." The man's tone was sulky. "I just didn't think it would be that _bad_."

"Really?" Bruce raised an eyebrow at his friend. "This is _Lois_ we're talking about- you know the one. Zero to 100 real fast, sharp talking, no-nonsense Grade A in your face-"

Clark shot him an unpleasant look, but didn't argue, and Bruce jutted his chin in mock triumph. "That was _before_ pregnancy, Clark. What did you think would happen? That she'd mellow out? Clark, I'm honestly for the life of me surprised she hasn't kicked you out of bed for _breathing_ too loudly. And hovering, too."

"I do not _hover_ Bruce. S'not my fault." Clark seemed to whine, though there was a tug at the corner of his lips.

"You know you do. First time I saw you floating midair, it scared the utter shit out of me." That set the two of them off again, Clark slapping a hand to his forehead, face red. "Had to slap myself awake, that it wasn't a fucking premonition I was seeing at 3 in the morning."

"I heard you shriek, you know. It was so high pitched, like a little girl in pigtails."

"For the record, a) you were sleep-hovering, and therefore unaware of your surroundings, let alone able to hear anything. b) I may or may not have _yelped_ , but only for a moment. c) liar liar _pants on fire_ -"

"Wasn't me who ended up with a seeping wet patch on my pyjama bottoms-

"If you want me to "attend" this so called baby warming shower atrocity, Clark, then you'd better think carefully about your next words." Bruce warned, wincing a short moment later upon realising what he had just said, and worse than that- Clark had caught it _too_.

"You'll come?!" The man squealed, and without warning, Bruce felt himself lifted several feet into the air, a pair of arms tight across his mid-section, and the air slowly sucked out of him.

" _Clar-_ " He managed, but Clark was still fucking squealing, and Bruce felt his blood supply begin to close off.

"I _knew_ you would! Barry said you'd hold out until the day itself, and then turn up with like, I dunno, a giant _crib_ or something. Shayera had bets that you'd show up briefly, leave a gift, then make a proper appearance after everyone had left, oh Bruce, I _knew_ you'd come-"

" _Clark_ -" Bruce struggled, dots appearing in his vision.

"Ma and Pa said you'd show too, that we're too close _not_ to- oh, by the way, Ma wants to know if you want some of her peach cobbler again, oh and to ask Alfred whether he anything specially-"

" _Clark_ -" Bruce managed to wheeze out, so very close to passing out - God, was this the way he was going to go, after all these years? Not taken out by some low life criminal, or succumbing to the after effects of torture, but _hugged_ to death by one overly zealous, overgrown Boy Scout, Clark _fucking_ Kent?

" _Shit_ , oh shit, God B, I'm so sorry-" Bruce felt himself pulled back from the edge of the afterlife, meeting the eyes of one wide-eyed reporter, who batted him up and down like a Mother fussing over her child, and Bruce reached out a hand to steady himself, closing his eyes against a wave of dizziness.

"B, oh God, I keep- I'm sorry, after all these years, I keep making the same mistake don't I-" The man's voice bordered on frantic, and now Bruce frowned at the sound, the light-heartedness of a moment ago disappearing quickly. Of course he was used to such hugs, that's what made Clark _Clark_. There was an agitation in his tone that Bruce didn't like, didn't fit his friends face, and so after counting slowly to ten in Japanese, he straightened, staring at his friend, who had backed off a little.

"Clark." Bruce spoke slowly, approaching the man, and placed his hand on his friend's arm. Clark tensed, but didn't pull away, and Bruce frowned again. "I'm fine. I'm used to your hugs, you know that."

Clark didn't meet his gaze.

" _Clark._ " Bruce ordered, a little more sharply, and for a shirt second. his friend's jaw tightened, then smoothed out. "Talk to me."

It was a long while before Clark spoke again. "Sorry. Just haven't been sleeping well, that's all."

Bruce watched his friend. "Nightmares?"

Clark's careful nod confirmed what had been plaguing his sleep, and Bruce felt his own jaw tighten. "When was your last session with J'onn-"

"A couple of days back. To be honest, it's not so much the nightmares now." There was something there, at the end, that Clark was either hiding or unwilling to elaborate further, and Bruce cocked his head in thought. _Now_ \- so something had changed recently? What?

"If I ask you something, promise not to get all-" Clark spoke suddenly, a little rushed, and waved a hand in his direction. " _Batman_ -"

" _Batman_ -"

"You know." Clark darted a glance at him, then looked away. "Retreat. Get all moody and upset, then I'll feel guilty, just all of that. Just...humor me, would ya?" The man's voice held a note one could liken to _pleading_ , and Bruce nodded slowly, noting how the tension lessened in his friend's frame.

"If.." Clark began hesitantly, then looked at him _again_. Bruce found himself on edge - what was it that had Clark so _weird_ all of a sudden? As much as Bruce wanted the man to _spit it out, already_ , he knew he couldn't rush his friend. Those nightmares, echoes of the horrors he'd endured all those months ago, were not easy to dismiss, not even for the Batman.

"You know how... _close_ you were to killing the Joker?" 

The question hung in the air, even as Bruce forgot to breathe. It took several long seconds to remember _how_ , enough that his blood stopped rushing past his ears. It was a testament to their friendship that Bruce didn't leave there and then, aware that Clark could detect how _hard_ his chest beat.

"Yes." He answered steadily.

Somewhere in between Bruce forcing himself to go on re-start mode, Clark's glass was back in his, and as Bruce looked to his own hand, his own had now made a magic appearance. He took a sip, and then a huge gulp, before trying again.

"Yes, Clark. I remember."

Clark nodded, gaze somewhat distant, then took a long draw of his own glass. "Alright. If you could put that aside for a moment and um, imagine, if you will. Imagine that someone had done what you've always wanted to do, and I mean the very _worst_ \- imagine someone doing all that and _more_ , so you wouldn't have to."

Bruce closed his eyes, and fought very hard to keep his emotions under control. He wet his mouth. "The worst-"

"The very worst. The thing's you'll never tell me or Alfred about, Bruce. How..." Clark found it difficult to speak. "How would you feel-"

"Relieved." Bruce spoke without hesitation. "Like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders and I could finally breathe again." He paused. "Gutted too, that I couldn't do it, by my own hands, and watch the very _life_ drain out of him, but having _that_ responsibility off my chest?" He threw back the contents of his glass, then reached for another one, momentarily surprised that Clark already held out the bottle, hold firm. "Fucking _freeing_ , that's what."

Whatever this meant for Clark, it was clearly a good one, for the man seemed relieved by such a response. Bruce watched his friend curl inwards, then stretch, chest taking deep breaths as he came up, eyes closed, and when they re-opened, his eyes were _lighter_ , jaw much less tense.

"That's all I needed to know." Clark gave him a grateful smile, and Bruce held his eyes for a long moment.

"All you needed to know." Bruce's tone was flat.

"All I needed to know." Clark spoke, a touch softer, and Bruce, as much as he wanted to question what on earth had brought this up, saw the utter _relief_ in his friend's eyes, and nodded, leaving the matter to rest. The man of Steel had his personal demons, Clark more so, and Bruce could see it then, how frustrating it was for his friend, who constantly had expectations to maintain, standards to honour, who couldn't unleash his full _strength_ and fury like _he_ could, at night.

"Alright."

The two of them resumed drinking, slowly, until a familiar set of tyres made they way into the entry of the compound. Bruce felt his pulse quicken.

"He's a little nervous." Clark spoke into the glass, aware that Father too was also feeling the same.

Bruce said nothing at that, reciting all of Clark's advice, the mini pep talk Alfred had given him before his friend's arrival.

"I can't afford for this to go wrong." Bruce said, voice quiet.

"You go in placing all that pressure on yourself, it will, Bruce, go wrong." Clark ignored his scowl, then straightened, leaving the glass on a nearby worktop. "Take a moment to clear your head. Clear your mind. Today is just about hearing what Jay has to say. Calm and collected, you can do that. You've done it with me loads of times, with our friends, you can do it now." The man moved, stopping to pause by his shoulder, and placed a hand there, squeezing it gently.

"If you need anything."

Clark took his leave then, and Bruce remained standing, listening intently for a car door opening, but none came. Clark was right - Jay was taking a breather, just as he was, and Bruce threw a grateful look at the empty space his friend had occupied just moments ago. Just then, his phone beeped, and Bruce scanned it briefly-

_Good luck, Bruce._

_-love, Diana._

He quirked a smile, remembering how they'd spent a few hours in bed that very morning, talking, before joining the boys for breakfast. Diana had left afterwards, pressing a kiss to his cheek, reminding him not to fret, as if he was one of Damian's farm animals for goodness sake, but her smile had only grown at his scowling-

"B." That was Tim's voice, somewhere from below him, and Bruce looked down to see his teenage son by his side, concern in his eyes. He reached over, taking the boy's hand in his and held it, chest lighter on receiving a squeeze in return.

"I won't let you down."

That surprised Tim, Bruce could tell, and he placed a hand on the back of his boy's neck, rubbing it soothingly. 

"I'll take care of Damian." Tim stood straighter, determined to take his new found big brotherly responsibility seriously, and Bruce chuckled to himself.

He had made many mistakes, but his children?

 _Never_.

 

 

 _Manor_.

Jason stared up at the entrance to the Manor, and then cast a rather wistful look back to his car. 

There was no point in turning back now. They knew he was here.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way up the once familiar concrete steps. He had planned to arrange whatever the hell this was somewhere public, away from this place, but Alfred had promised to stick around, and it was easier this way, having him there for support, knowing he couldn't afford to lose control. Tim had mentioned something about distracting the brat demon, so that was cool, plus, Dick wasn't around, so that things a ton easier. All he had to do was go in, say what needed to be said-

and not feel like punching Bruce's lights in.

Alfred, to his credit, gave him a good thirty seconds or so before opening the door, even though they both knew he could have had the door open at any time. The old man greeted him warmly, offering to take his jacket, and led him to the kitchen, freshly baked cookies in the air.

Ah, then. That was Alfred's way of warning him, and Bruce too probably, to 'play nice'. Bribery at its finest, and after pleading a little, Alfred finally gave him the go ahead to help himself to some cookies, which he did rather heartily. It was during his third scoop of Pennyworth delights that a voice came from the hallway, deep, rumbling, a false comfort, and Jason remembered why he hated coming here, why this place put him so on edge.

"You always did like Alfred's cookies the best." It was quiet enough, but the familiarity couldn't be mistaken, and Jason found himself having to pause, then stop, _breathe_ , and re-wind. It took a slow effort, putting own his hand, dusting off the crumbs, and _not_ tensing up as Bruce waited in the doorway, his eyes on him. Alfred very wisely said nothing, though a glass of water appeared as if by magic, quenching his nerves.

"Right then." Jason had stood from his seat rather abruptly, on edge at the whole thing. "Let's get this thing over and done with. The study?"

"Actually." Bruce walked in now, and Jason could help but stare at the man. Older, yes, a slither of silver that Jason knew probably pissed him off more than anything else, but still broad shouldered, tall and strong, and it took _everything_ not to back away then, remembering how just how _big_ Bruce appeared to be when he was a kid. A light fleece, casual pants, eyes rather blue - it screamed relaxed, casual, and Jason realised it was to make _him_ feel comfortable, not so on edge, and for a moment, the words wouldn't come. Bruce, of course, was taking him in too, noting the growth, all of it, but it was so-

 _jarring_ , being able to look the man in the eye. 

That not long ago, this was a figure shrouded in mystery, unreadable, and still was mind you-

but here, standing at his front, in his house, this was _Bruce_. Not fucking Batman, not that once ago ditzy playboy, no-

just _Bruce_ , a guy with a penchant for charcoal greys and navy blues, whose smiles were more like quirks really, whose gaze made you feel like the most important a-and treasured fucking thing in the _world_ , big calloused hands that stroked, held, _protected_ , the same _fucking_ aftershave, even after all those years, a mix of leather and old spice, fresh and yet worn, and-

It was too much. To many memories now, and the Pit was whispering fiercely in his ears, down his throat, rearing her ugly head, reminding him of just why he'd left, how he'd been failed over and over and _over_ -

Jason choked on his words, moving back a step. "I-" He shook his head, tearing his gaze from the man, then Alfred, then Bruce again. "I can't do this, no-" He swallowed, ignoring Alfred's startled concern, Bruce who made to move to him, then stopped.

"Master Jason, come now-"

"No, I can't." Jason shook his head, a sudden pounding at the back of his head, and then-

" _Jason._ " That was all- all Bruce fucking _had_ to say, in that same fucking deep ass voice that had barely changed over the years, and there it was, all those goddamn feelings again tat Jason had long since thought under control, lock and goddamn key and he-

"Jay... _please._ "

Whatever it was in that voice, the _tone_ , had Jason pausing. There was something _there_ , a slight pleading, desperation perhaps, and then Jason remembered _why_ he was here. For _whom_ he was here, Tim who'd he promised to keep his cool and not, no matter how irritating B was, lose his fucking shit, Damian, whom he knew was counting on him somewhat, though the brat would be hard pressed to admit it, _Alfred_ , who'd promised him nothing would happen on his watch.

And so Jason counted slowly, ignoring the tick-tock of the grandfather clock, the stillness of the room, two sets of eyes on his person. He remained standing till his breathing evened out, till his fists had uncurled, and finally, after what seemed like years, breathed out again, anger draining out of him. Without looking at Bruce, Jason took his seat once more on the stool, and bit into a cookie, voice deliberate and careful.

"You gonna stand there all day or what?"

 

 

_Manor, South garden balcony._

Tim watched Damian out of the corner of his eye. It was....surreal, almost, sharing the same space as the boy, but Damian seemed far to preoccupied with hiding his anxiety than to keep up his usual snobbery. They were out on the living room balcony, Tim having only arrived at the Manor not long ago. Jason and Bruce were currently in the kitchen, with Alfred playing mediator, and they'd so far yet to hear any shouting from the two. For some reason, ever since Damian had paid an impromptu visit to his apartment that night, Tim had felt a slow but forging... _concern_ for the boy. _Affection_ perhaps, but Tim was not about to go there - far too soon. It had made one hell of a surprise that night, opening the door to find a scrawny, tiny figure, short hair gelled and spiky, eyes defiant and yet a touch pleading, almost, and Tim had swallowed down a flutter in his chest. To his credit, Damian had put on a brave act, waltzing into his place as if he owned it, harsh, blunt and uncaring, but they both could see how on edge he was, flinching at every movement towards him. Tim had let the boy answer Mother nature's call, amusement in his voice, and he'd gazed at the empty spot Damian left on his retreat, thinking to himself. Even on Damian's return, Tim had remained silent for a short while, aware of the small feet on his sofa that didn't quite reach the floor, posture rigid and tense, the chill of the room that had Damian subconsciously rubbing his arms, and-

and, it _did_ something to him. Call it instinct, _brotherly_ instinct, the desire to protect, to reach out-

but without much thought, Tim had found himself making tea for the boy, rummaging his cupboards rather determinedly for something that would pass as satisfactory to the princelling. He was under no illusion, of course - the ground between them was new, and there was a fraught of emotion that could so easily destroy everything, but Damian was here, at his apartment, seeking _him_ out, and Tim- damnit to hell - the least he could do, was _try_. The kid had said it before, hadn't he? That the only one who was stopping him, was _him_ , and as _much_ as it galled Tim to admit it, the little gremlin was right.

Tim had caught the boy staring at him through the reflection on the television screen. Even in the darkness, those green eyes stayed piercing, sharp even, but strangely enough, Damian had been first to look away, shifting a little, as if....as if _guilty_ , and for a brief moment, a small part of Tim had gladdened at the thought, the idea that Damian felt _guilt_ over his past mistreatment towards him. But as quickly as that feeling came - on seeing just how uncomfortable Damian appeared, shifting backwards into the couch as if to merge as one, disappear and out of sight, a flicker of bile churned in his stomach, and Tim had turned away, focusing on making tea. Wasn't as good as Alfred's or Jason's - he'd caught the boy's wrinkled sniff, probably didn't soak the teabags long enough, and without thinking, the words slipped out, tone laced with irritation, a touch of anger. _It's not poison, you know. Not that I'd do that._ As soon as those words hit the air, Damian had frozen on the spot, still, clearly realising his mistake, and Tim realised _his_ , the bitterness that leaked in the air, old habits that wouldn't be forgiven nor forgotten any time soon, and it was...a pang, an ache maybe, seeing Damian set down the cup a little too quickly, moving, as if he too realised that _this_ , his visit, was a _mistake_ , that he'd thought _wrong_ , and so Tim had reacted quickly, thrusting an old throw Alfred had given has a housewarming present into Damian's face, eyes softer, hoping the child wouldn't take it to heart,-

and Damian had looked at him, careful, debating-

before he took it, a short simple nod, and the _thumping_ in Tim's chest lessened, _relief_ his mind supplied. But then Damian surprised _him_ , something about his beverage not being coffee, little button nose disapproving, and a smile had crept onto Tim's face then, the thought that this child, who had caused him hell, could be _worried_ about his drinking habits, and his theory had proven correct at Damian's scowl, face delightfully. Tim had hidden the full blown grin behind his mug, stifling down a chuckle at Damian's embarrassed squirm on the sofa.

And then, of course, came that recording. Tearful, agitated, and the light-heartedness that had seeped into the air for a few short moments seemed to die then, as Tim listened, quiet fury in his chest, at his eldest brother's strangulated confessions. _Not needed_. Not _wanted_ by them- was Dick crazy? Had he completely lost his _fucking_ mind? He really thought- and so Tim had taken a pause to stand by the window, knuckles tipped white, trying to control his breathing, steady his anger, aware of his companion's eyes boring into him, the fragile peace they shared. But once again, old hurts, painful memories- a reminder of whom Dick had chosen over himself, and whatever truce they'd somewhat struck in silence seemed to come crashing down again, Tim bristling with quiet indignation, and Damian sensing his time had now come to an end. It was only as Tim watched the boy set his mug on the table, gently put the throw to one side, and gather his things, reaching for the door, that he swallowed, voice thick, a tad regretful, and the truth slipped out rather quietly- he wasn't Dick, their perfect older brother, Dick who knew how to soothe and easy and make things better, no. He, Timothy Drake, kept slipping up, held onto grudges long and hard, Tim who wasn't as easy going nor as forgiving, lighthearted- _Goddmanit, he had every fucking right, after all that little shit had put him through_ \- and Damian, for the second time that evening, took him by surprise-

 _Rome was not built in a day, Drake_.

The implication that Damian appeared to understand, choosing _not_ bite back as Tim had expected, but instead react with a sense of maturity-

Tim had stared at the door a long while after Damian's departure, touched.

"Drake." The regal voice brought him back to the presence, and Tim hid his startle well, tearing his gaze from the Manor gardens to Damian, whose eyes were assessing, stance upright, but there it was again, those fingers clasped a little too tightly, that flicker of concern that seemed to disappear as quickly as it came, and Tim too straightened, running a hand through his hair. Probably needed a haircut soon. The boy was worried about Bruce, whether Jason would leave the Manor having been anatognised- Alfred had sent the two of them here a long while ago, an understanding look on his face.

"Just thinking." Tim kept his voice level, and Damian nodded- short, sharp, just like his Mother-, but Tim could tell his concern was not quite assuaged. 

"You have not answered my question." The brat had his arms folded now, eyebrow slightly raised, and Tim shot him an odd look, watching the blush rise on the pre-teen's face. "Not that I care, of course." Damian added quickly, then turned to face the gardens. Tim watched him, taking note of the tense jaw, how the boy was determined not to look his way, and something about the stubbornness of the whole thing, _pride_ and fragile ego, made Tim smile softly, and he too turned to face the gardens, noting the boy's eyes right back on him.

"You care, Damian." His voice was low, thoughtful. "And if I didn't, _care_ , then we both know I wouldn't be here."

The answer seemed to stump Damian, and for long moment, there was silence, until Tim heard a tight mutter from his side.

"You only care because it concerns Todd. That is why you are here." The voice voice bordered on sulky, and Tim fought down the urge to reach across and ruffle the brat's hair. Instead he opted to rest his chin against a flat palm, drumming slumped fingers against the railing. The kid clearly wanted an answer, despite the closed tone, and Tim looked over to Damian, who stared resolutely ahead of him. He cocked his head at the child - here they were, standing less than a metre apart, sandwiches barely touched.

"Do you remember the night you fell into Gotham Harbour?" Tim spoke suddenly. 

Damian tensed. "Why is that relevant-" His voice was rather clipped.

"It's a yes or no answer, Damian."

" _Yes._ " The boy's tone was tight, and Tim only _Hmnd_ to himself, eyes on the child for a moment, before he reached down to help himself to a sandwich.

"That night." Tim took a mouthful. "B called Nightwing to help with something. He specifically left me in charge-"

"I was and still am perfectly capable of taking care of myself-" Damian bit back, but Tim continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"I'd been cutting down on patrol as Red Robin for months, before then." Tim stared at the sandwich - God, was there nothing the old man couldn't do? 

Damian seemed to hush at that. Red Robin, or more specifically, how Tim came to _be_ Red Robin, was a tense topic for everyone involved.

"I...I hated you." Tim took another bite, closing his eyes briefly. _Perfect_. "I hated what you'd done to me and Dick. I hated that whether Dick wanted to admit it or not, he'd...he'd chosen you over me, and that shit stung." Tim forced himself to swallow, the action slow and painful before he continued. "Up until that night, we had never patrolled together, _never_."

Damian said nothing.

Tim nodded to himself. "And yet, when the call came over the coms- _Nightwing, head to 32 and 4th, ten minutes. Red Robin, stay with Robin on the Gardener's trail. Do not engage_.- when that call came in, and you got all pissy and stomped your little feet-"

"I-" Damian opened his mouth then clamped it shut.

"All I wanted to do was _scream_." Tim could feel the boy's eyes on him now, but he didn't give in, choosing instead to count the pink cherry blossom leaves on the far side of the garden. Martha's favourite tree, apparently. "Wasn't fair." He swallowed. "I felt B was just being cruel, punishing me for staying away for so long, leaving me responsible for his brat. And as for Nightwing-" He let out a dry, bitter laugh, and shook his head. "Best not to go there, eh?"

There was quiet for a moment.

"You didn't listen, as expected. Ignored all my warnings to stay back, to keep out of sight, spouting bull about being superior, better trained, an insult to be taking orders from someone so _low_ on the totem pole, yada ya, same old, same old. At one point, you even switched your comm _off_ , and I swear, if it wasn't for Barbara." Tim pushed down a flare of anger. "Despite B's clear instructions, you went right ahead and engaged in a full on attack with Gardner's men. We were outnumbred, out gunned, and yet, you charged in full commando, kicking and twisting and doing all that lil shit-" Tim moved now to help himself to another sandwich, aware of how tight his voice had become, the little flinch that Damian tried to mask, albeit unsuccessfully. 

"Strangely enough, we weren't doing too badly. I mean, we had a couple of men out cold, and a few who pretty much fled, leaving the product right there. And, as I was rounding up with the last four or so, out of the corner of my eye, I saw you fall into the Harbour."

Damian didn't move.

Tim played with his jaw before carrying on. "One minute you were there, the next, gone. And I swear, I _swear to God_ -" He looked up at the sky. Hm, no clouds today. "It was like the blood in my veins seemed to stop flowing. Just went ice-cold. I-I even before I could start swearing, before I could yell or scream or start fucking calling for help, I was diving in that Harbour, because at that precise moment, I wasn't thinking about B. Not Dad, not Nightwing, not Dick, no-one. Wasn't thinking about the last insult you called me, or the fact that you'd fucked the whole 'op up, not that I was stuck taking care of your bratty, selfish ass, nope. Everything, every goddamn _nerve_ in my body, every thought - blank, by the way. My sole focus, Damian, was on _you_. Getting _you_ back."

Tim let the words sink in. Damian still hadn't stopped staring at him.

"It was probably only about a minute or so, me in that water and desperately fishing for you, but it...it felt like fucking _eternity_ , you know, just flailing around in the water, hoping to latch onto a limb or something. And then, when I finally _did_ get you, hauling you back to land was another hellish nightmare- the water made you heavy, and my muscles ached, I was so, _so_ tired already, but all I kept thinking was _just hang on, hang on, I've got you, hang on_. Got you flat on your back - your lips were blue, and I-" Tim laughed again, ignoring how his fingers trembled. "Your lips, Damian. They were tinged blue." He swallowed. "Blue, your fingertips were cold, your skin freezing, you-" Tim forced himself to speak slowly. "I was trying to _think_ , to remember CPR and maintaining your airway, how to do chest compressions but the kiddie version, not the adult, but I was shaking so fucking hard, and I-" He shook his head. "I just kept shaking you. Shaking your arms, screaming into your face, over and over, to _wake up_ , but you- you wouldn't. Didn't. And I kept- thank God for Babs, she must have sent for B, 'cause it was Nightwing who pulled me aside, trying to get me to calm down, but I wasn't listening, I kept screaming, I-"

Tim cut off here. The memory was one that still plagued his dreams from time to time.

"Apparently they had to sedate me." His tone was low. "That's what A said. That they managed to revive you, but they..they couldn't get through to me, and so they gave me a shot, something to knock me out for a while. Woke up couple of hours later feeling slow as fuck, limbs heavy and aching, throat fucking raw, and guess what, hmm? Guess what was the first thing that came outta my mouth, hmm?" Tim turned to face Damian now, eyes sharp, voice biting. 

Damian, however, couldn't quite meet his eyes.

"That's right." He nodded, anger in his throat. " _You_. It was only after they kept telling me you were fine that the guilt set in. That I didn't do my job by keeping you safe and out of harms way, that I let B down, Nightwing down. Even after-" Tim shook his head. "Despite my feelings at the time, still, Damian, I fucking _cared_ about you. So don't- you don't get to accuse me of "not caring". You don't get to _do_ that, you don't have that _right_." A spark of something vicious had leaked into his voice, saturating the air, and now Tim leaned forwards, eyes on fire, not caring anymore. "I cared, Damian, even when I shouldn't have. When I knew it wouldn't make an ounce of difference in the end, I still fucking cared, so you, and your fucking _pity party_ can go take it up the-"

"I remember." Damian spoke suddenly, voice soft, and something in Tim's brain jolted, detracting from his rare outburst of anger. He stood there, chest heaving, at Damian who looked at him, and then away.

What on _earth_ -

"I remember that night." The child's voice was hauntingly quiet, and a chill ran down Tim's spine. "I was...unaware, I suppose, of just how close I was to the edge of the Harbour. In hindsight, it was a mix of adrenaline and wanting to make Father proud, that I deliberately chose to engage combat. Damian picked his words carefully. "I believed we could take them, round up the product and make it back in time. Doing so would, I thought at the time, allow Father to see me as more than a child, to take note of my training, Mother's training, and perhaps grant me more responsibility. Less childminding." The child paused, and Tim found himself listening, for the first time, to what Damian had to say. 

"I did not listen to you, Drake, because I did not take you as my superior. Father, yes, Nightwing...more of a mentor than anything, but as for Red Robin?" Damian darted his eyes to him, then at a corner far over his shoulder. "No. Not the same skill set, not even in the same League, Drake. It...it was an insult, to me, to my training and heritage, to be forced to take orders from you."

Tim closed his eyes. They- honestly, was there really any point-

"We were doing well, all things considered. I knew you were angry, but during the fight, you appeared less furious as time went on - we had taken care of most of the criminals without too much difficulty, and in short while, it would all be over. And then, without warning, I found myself falling back, and being submerged into water." Tim looked up at how faraway Damian's voice sounded. The child's lips seemed to move of their own accord, and Tim noted how the boy _morphed_ into himself, against an unknown force. 

"The pressure, Drake." Damian shook his head, blinking once. "Father had mentioned it a while ago, something about Gotham waters at night, that the tide rose higher, faster, and one had to be careful. When I fell in-" Tim heard the swallow, as quiet as it was from Damian, and his posture softened. Clearly the incident had had _quite_ the effect. "It- the pressure, the water- it was heavy on my chest, and much to my...I found it hard to breathe. To keep breathing."

Something in Damian's voice had Tim stopping for a moment, and he felt frightened. "Hey. Look, I-" He tried, and attempted to reach Damian, but the boy moved as if on autopilot, slowly, and Tim let his hand remain adrift, mid air. "It came faster, heavier, and the more I fought against it, the worse it became. I-" Damian swallowed again. "It was dark. Too dark, and I couldn't see-feel _anything_. It was wrapped around my throat, dragging my wrists, feet down, pulling, and I kept fighting, I did, I-" The child curled his fists, and then released them. "The next time I awoke, it was to Grayson beside himself." The child's voice was barely above a whisper. "He and Father...they fought. Kept blaming each other, and I...Father was most disappointed. He asked why I failed to listen to you, Grayson too, though later, when I was feeling better-"

"Because you refused take orders from your lowly-" the words slipped out before Tim could stop himself, but Damian looked up at him sharply.

" _Yes_. I was angry. But Father, Grayson." Damian stared down at his fingers. "I did not thank you, did I?"

That threw Tim for a loop. "I mean, it means fuck all now-"

The boy let out a small smile at that, and Tim furrowed his eyebrows, momentarily taken aback. "I suppose you think it was because _I_ thought I should not have apologise to _you_ of all people, correct?"

Tim stared at the child, then nodded.

"No, Drake." The boy let out a soft huff. "I mean yes, it was partly that, but it was also this. You....you didn't come and see me." His voice was small. "Afterwards. When I was awake, you did not come and check up on me. Deep down, in the back of my mind, I knew it was my fault, but your absence only confirmed that fact. That by staying away, you confirmed it was none of your business, that you did not _care_. And so, the next time we saw each other, you saw me, I, you- it was as if nothing had happened. Back to normal, and I believed I was on my own, apart from Grayson perhaps." Damian finished here, not looking at him.

There was silence for a long moment.

Tim put his face in his hands and counted to ten in all the languages he knew, and then backwards, before attempting to speak.

"I-" He shook his head, looking at the sky. "I don't even know where to begin." He let out a laugh again, dry, scratchy. He turned to Damian, and opened his mouth to speak, but something told him words wouldn't cut it, not this time. Damian had always been one to value _actions_ over words, not the other way round, and so, after a pause, Tim strode up to the boy, Damian's eyes who held a note of alarm at his approach, taking a step back, as if to defend himself-

and put his arms around him. Not _hugging_ , God no, but his arms were there nonetheless. 

"Drake! What are you-" the voice was muffled, indignant, and Tim ignored the small hands pushing at his chest, drawing the boy closer.

" _Shut up_. Just shut it and listen for once." He spoke quietly into the boy's hair, and to his amusement, Damian ceased his struggling. 

"I've always cared. That's the job of being big older brother, Damian - when it comes down to it, when it _matters_ , you step up to the plate, no questions. Don't you see?"

Damian had gone still against him, not quite reciprocating, but certainly no longer pushing back either, and Tim counted it as a mini win. 

"We hurt each other. I'm still hurting, Damian. It comes out sometimes, and I know you know it-"

"You did not let Grayson do his job, the so called big older brother, Drake." The voice was firm, though quiet, and it was Tim's turn to go still. "His own actions aside, you pushed him away."

Tim found he had to wet his tongue in order to speak. "That I did. He tried, but I couldn't be around him without lashing out, so I _had_ to put some distance between us, for my sanity Damian."

"And found Todd-" A note of jealously entered the child's voice and Tim flickered the child's ear, ignoring the protest.

"We shared many things in common, Damian." Tim spoke gently. "Feeling pushed to one side, made an outcast. That we didn't matter, or felt no longer needed. Second best. Even then, there was a lot we had to work through, and that took _years_. Listen up. I know you're anxious, Damian."

The boy tensed, but otherwise remained in the embrace. Tim sighed to himself. "Look, there's nothing you can do or say now. They need to sort this out between themselves, alright? It's hard enough for Jay, coming back here, its hard for B too, but they have _you_ in common-

"And _you_ -"

Tim let a smile appear on his face before disappearing. "Yes, me too. Alfred sent us out here for a reason, so that we wouldn't snoop, alright? So. We're gonna finish off these sandwiches, and then get started on the cookies. You're gonna continue reading whatever the hell that is-"

" _18th century mythology_ , Drake. How you intend to keep up our Father's legacy with such poor music and literary tastes is beyond me." The boy sniffed haughtily, and Tim paused for a moment- _our_ Father. He grunted in response, and then let go, putting some space between them. Damian did likewise, though his cheeks were flushed. 

Tim smiled to himself. 

It was a while before any of them spoke again.

"Thank you." 

Tim looked to Damian, but the boy stared resolutely into the distance. "That night, at the Harbour."

That was the closest Damian would come to an actual apology, and Tim only shifted the platter tray towards the boy. "I've had like, ten of these already."

" _Six_." Damian spoke to quickly, then flushed again. Tim raised an eyebrow, only turning away to let out a smile.

"Well, you'd better eat some, cause I'll finish it all."

"Where it all goes, one wonders." Damian muttered, though not unkindly, and Tim let out a small chuckle. 

"If you're up for it. Later, I mean." Tim spoke carefully. "I bought a couple of games recently. Have yet to try them out." He left the offer there, watching Damian at the corner of his eye.

"If you must. Though, I must warn you - I have no time for mercy. I've already won." The boy aimed for haughty displeasure, but his tone- surprise, and a hint of delight, was it- gave him away.

Tim rolled his eyes internally. Like Father, like son.

 

 

 _Bludhaven to Gotham_.

Dick drummed his fingers against the window. It wouldn't be long before he reached the Manor.

He'd woken up that morning just before 11am, bleary eyed, head pounding-

and with _Bruce_ snoring away next to him.

It had taken him a few times to blink, reaching up to get rid of the sleep in his eyes, but lo and behold-

it was Bruce next to him, legs outstretched, blankets piled high, and Dick had stared before letting out a big, sopping smile. Sure, he'd wanted the man to give him space, time, too, but Bruce never did "space." Overprotective, overbearing, that's what he did, and so really, it was no surprise that his Father was in his apartment - which was _filthy_ , by the way- snoring without a care in the world. To his front, a glass of water and two tablets were neatly laid, along with a note- Dick reasoned Bruce hadn't meant to stay, indeed trying to respect his privacy, but somewhere in between him leaving and Dick waking, the man had fallen asleep, and Dick hadn't the heart to wake him. Leaving Bruce to his beauty sleep, Dick had taken care to move about quietly, but the effects of his hangover soon made themselves known, and he only just managed to make it to the bathroom in time. By the time he'd showered, made himself a little more presentable - though by the mirror's standards, he still looked hideous-, Bruce was up, coffee brewing, blanket folded neatly to the side. The man had watched him enter, handing him the painkillers with a brief, understanding smile, before turning to the toaster, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and Dick had perched himself on a barstool and waited, waited for the lecture, the telling off, being irresponsible and all that jazz-

but the speech never came.

Not a reprimand, or even threatening to tell Alfred.

The longer Dick sat there in silence, the more confused he became, and he opened his mouth to speak, unable to wait anymore for the lecture he just _knew_ was coming, when Bruce set down a plate of buttered toast and cereal at his front. 4 slices of golden brown butter, soaked all the way through, just the way he liked it, cereal piled high, and pulled him in for a hug. Dick hadn't wasted any time, returning the hug with much gusto, sinking against the man's chest as Bruce kissed his head, an _everything will be alright, son_ reverberating across his scalp, before the man had the audacity to swipe one of his precious toasty slices, smirking as he sipped his coffee.

They hadn't said much, for there was no need - Bruce being there, that was _more_ than enough, and the man had promised that they'd talk properly later that evening, once he'd had a little more sleep- there was something about Bruce having a few things to do today, to sort out maybe, but Dick was feeling drowsy by then. That _had_ been the plan, B had even tucked him in, sweeping his hair back with a small smile, just as he did when he was a child, and Dick had drifted to sleep-

except his younger brother's faces kept appearing in his dreams. Tim's soft voice, soft eyes, that he wasn't well, Damian whose face was wrought with concern, biting his lip-

and so Dick had thrown the blankets back, packed a small bag, intending to visit Timmy's apartment and hug that skinny bean to _death_ , to beg for his forgiveness if need be, that he didn't mean the jab about Red Robin, didn't mean to take out his frustration on him, Timmy didn't deserve that, and then to the Manor and kiss his littlest brother on the forehead, apologise for scaring him. Dick had wanted to surprise them, and so, sometime in the afternoon, dark glasses on, he'd called an Uber, half wincing at the cab fare price, but it was a necessary expense. All the way to Tim's plush sky rise, but Tim didn't answer the door, and his call had gone straight to voicemail.

So Dick had tried the Manor next, and now here he was, home sweet home.

Except, as he stood, destination finally reached, there was another variable he hadn't accounted for. Parked towards the entrance of the house was a sleek, black Cadillac. It was one that Dick had seen less than a handful of times, but _everyone_ knew its owner.

 _Jason_.

Several emotions passed through him as he gazed at the vehicle. Anger, that one was always first. Jason always brought out anger in him. After anger came bitterness, resentment, then followed by a deep hurt that Dick could never express in words, and finally, after all of that, regret was last. Shame, regret, and sadness, all mixed into one, and it left a sour taste in Dick's mouth. A thought struck Dick then, and eyes still at his front, he brought out his phone. He flagged the taxi driver's attention, asking him to wait for a few moments.

"Hey, Damian." He muttered the cheeriest voice he could manage, noting he surprised startle over the phone, quickly followed by the boy's usual haughtiness, but the changeover was too quick, breath too fast, as if caught in his throat, and Dick _knew_ then.

"Grayson? How-I wasn't expecting your call." The boy tried to sound detached, but Dick didn't buy it.

"Just wanted to come round and see ya. You heard from Tim, by any chance? I was a jerk yesterday, and I wanted to come over today and apologise, maybe take you two out if that's cool?"

"Drake?" The voice sounded distant. "I...yes, Drake is at the Manor. Working with Father on something. They're very busy, Grayson, why don't you call round later-"

"Hey! Why don't you put him on for me? Just want to say hi!"

"Grayson, now is not a good time-"

"Oh come _on_ little D! Just a quick hi!" Dick wouldn't be deterred, and the tone paused, as if debating, before Tim's voice finally peeked through.

"Dick? What are you- Dami, he said you're here." The man in question sensed an element in strain in the teen's voice, but he played it off, pretending to be ignorant. 

"Yeah buddy! I've been trying to reach you all day! I went to yours and everything- listen Timbers, I'm so, _so_ sorry for what happened yesterday, I messed up, honestly I never meant any of the things I said-"

"It's alright Dick, we get it, just stress and all that. We know you love us, we love you. Listen, we're kinda busy over here, how about you call round later?" The more Tim spoke, the more tense his voice grew, till it was straining towards the end with the effort of lying. 

"Oh? Busy with what?"

The line went cool for a moment. "Just..stuff, big brother. I can always see you later? Maybe dinner and something?"

"That would be _great_ Timmy, I'd love that. Look, I'm about to reach the Manor now, is Damian around? I can at least say hi to him, right-

" _No_." The voice was insistent, and they both knew Tim had been caught in the lie. "Dick...we're in the middle of something. Now is not the best time, I swear, but I promise, we can always re-schedul-"

"Tim." Dick kept his voice rather level, consider what he was feeling inside. "You see what I'm seeing?" Dick stared at the cadillac. There was no point looking at the security cameras, they knew he was outside, and of course, _knew_ who in particular was _inside_. The fact that they were still lying to him was downright insulting.

It took a while for Tim to answer. "Dick, I'm sorry." The voice was barely above a whisper. "I am, I swear it, but I....I can't let you in. Not now, at least."

"Oh? So is this what we do now?" Dick bit back. He heard a swallow over the phone. "Let me talk to Damian for a sec."

"Dami says he's not-"

" _Now_ , Tim."

A sigh of sorts, a shuffle, and then Damian was back on the line, voice small and uncertain. "Little D! Let me in, would ya? Don't you want to see me? I've missed you."

Another swallow. "Grayson, I can't."

Dick let out a bitter chuckle. "And why's that, then? Tim told me you guys are busy, whatcha up to? Anything I can do to help-"

"Grayson, please." The voice was small. "I....I don't want to do this. Do not force me to choose."

Dick felt his jaw tighten, and he tensed. "Seems like you already have."

"You must understand, it is not a matter of-"

"Where's B?" Dick cut in, and once again, the air went silent. 

"Father is busy."

"I see. Doing what?"

Another pause. "I...I cannot say, Grayson."

Dick straightened. Was this what Bruce meant earlier by having 'a few things to sort out'? That they'd talk in the 'evening', when he was more rested? Bruce had been insistent on evening, no later, and Dick had gone along with it. Goddamn liar.

"Alrighty then!" He mustered a cheery smile, bile in his tone. "I'll call round later, shall I?"

"Grayson, we do not mean-"

"Yeah, I know."

Dick cut the call then, and turned deliberately to the cameras, staring at them full in the face, before getting back into the taxi. It stung, not being wanted, but to be lied to, even when the truth was _right_ there, right in his _fucking_ face?

"You sure you can pay for all this? The cab driver eyed him rather suspiciously, and Dick didn't blame him. He looked terrible, eye bags and all.

Dick snorted unkindly. "Don't worry about it. Let's go."

 

 

 _BatCave_.

Tim and Damian stared at the monitors, the air ghostly quiet.

"Grayson will understand, won't he?" The words came out thickly.

Tim found it difficult to answer, and so he stared at the screen, where Dick's tense and clearly pissed form was stationed moments ago.

"I don't know, Damian."


	79. Choices(2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Clark talk. Wally receives a surprise visitor. Barbara deletes spam from her inbox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd blend in a little _Man of Steel_ (just Zod attacking Earth years and years back, _way_ before the formation of the League) with the whole Justice League Unlimited universe. Hope it gives a little more insight into Clark's character!

_Kent Farm_.

Jason breathed deeply into the soft white cotton, closing his eyes. It had only been a few days since his departure, but Jason had surprised himself at just how much he'd _missed_ it here, the Farm. Against him, Pa chuckled softly, a gentle hand at the back of his had. "No need to explain it, boy. We've missed you to."

It was all Jason could do, to swallow, throat tight, before standing to and letting go from the embrace. He missed the older man's warmth almost immediately. Almost reminded him of _Bru_ -

"Yeah, well." Jason couldn't quite meet their eyes, aware that his face was slowly turning red, with Martha clucking fondly in the corner, the sound fond and protective. "I-it was weird, y'know? Just-" He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I mean, its not like I _can't_ go back or that I'm scared, I'm _not_ , its just-"

It was then that Pa stepped forwards once more, resting a large hand on his shoulder. "We get it, son. Sometimes, we need to have other people around us, even if its for a little while. It's alright to feel wanted. No-one's judging you here, believe me."

Jason nodded.

"You know this house is always open to you, hm?" Pa's voice had Jason looking up, then away at the kind expression on the old man's face. 

These people were too much. _Much too good for someone like you._ a voice at the back whispered, and the hairs on Jason's neck stood erect.

Once again, Jason didn't trust himself to speak, and so he nodded, attempting to smile to assuage their shared concern, but the action was brief, small. It was _Pa_ this time who took him by surprise - Jon made a strange unhappy sound, and Jason caught what looked like a hint of anger as his eyebrows furred, lips pulled down to one side, before it quickly disappeared. Jason was about to question _why_ , when it was Ma's turn to take over, and she did, smoothly making her way to them, and took Jason's hand in hers, before linking their arms together.

"Come, hen. Why don't you help me set the table for lunch, hm? Clark will be over in a few minutes, but until then, indulge an old woman like myself. Did you do all that you wanted to do up there?" Ma was being nosy but her tone was lulling, and all at once, Jason found himself walking in step with the tiny woman, following as if by instinct. He'd wondered, upon meeting the Kents the first time, Ma especially, why Clark took to her like a little puppy nipping at the heels of its owner, the image of an overgrown man child being fussed over and coddled at his big age, but over time, Jason had found himself, to their shared amusement, in Clark's same shoes, holding back an internal sigh as Ma tutted over his shirt, when was the last time he had eaten, why he looked so lean, all of it.

God, it was _good_ being back here again. There was something special about this place, the Farm. Maybe it was the homeliness of it all, quilted patchwork, wooden furnishings, rooms bathed in warm sunlight during the day, a rosy glow from the fireplace at night, farm animals bustling away in the background, Ma and Pa bickering, aprons and shiny eyes, deep belly laughs and gentle shoulder pats, Jason couldn't tell. After leaving Gotham, he'd stopped at Danver, somewhat intent on settling back into his own place- he was a grown ass man, come the fuck on-, but as _soon_ as he'd stepped into his living room, it felt....colder. Less alive, which was silly, it was his fucking place, but there wasn't the smell of baking coming from the kitchen to greet him at the entrance, nor the whirring of a tractor that whipped the chickens into a frenzy. Jason had stayed a night, then two, but his sleep was restless throughout, and not at all fulfilling. Even during the day, in the comfort of his own home, his privacy, Jason had found his concentration drifting at times, eyes blinking to catch the sweeping of a broom in his periphery, or to the splashes of water as Pa would fill the trenches for wee little piggies to have their fill. And so, by lunchtime of the third day, as if on autopilot, Jason had packed a large bag containing some essentials, a couple of shirts, pants, reading materials, his laptop and one or more more gadgets, before setting out to the Kent farm once again, and his return was met with delighted smiles. One thing was for sure- Clark was a lucky bastard, and, as luck would have it, just as Jason laid down the last plate on the outside table, the man himself arrived, enveloping his parents in a giant hug. 

Jason stood back, watching, then averted his eyes, excusing himself silently to the kitchen, and then the thoughts came in, the familiar whisper of _Pit_ in his ears, low and spiteful. As nice as they were, had been to him, as welcoming, as kind and thoughtful as the Kents had shown themselves to be-

he would _never_ be one of them. He could pretend, try and keep whatever madness that ran through his veins on lock down, manage on a daily basis, but the truth was there, deep in the soil of his being, and Jason knew it- He wasn't a _Kent_.

They would tolerate him, of course, and they would _try_ , at least for the sake of Clark, but _accept_ him, as one of them?

Absolutely _not_. Not when they had Clark, their pride and joy, do-gooder and good to all, yellow sun skin and bright wide smile. _Not_ with his history, all the blood he had shed by his hands, not Ma, who looked so pretty in her cotton white Sunday dress as she and Maggie, the local town secretary, headed off to church, arm in arm. Not Pa, who'd see his wife off with a kiss, before making rounds of the fields out back, whistling on his way, hens clucking at his feet, the _pitter-patter_ a comfort to hear. 

"Jay!" Clark half waved half shouted, and Jason turned towards the sound, plastering on a false smile, dusting his hands on his trousers as he made his way forwards.

The Pit manipulated, distorted and _lied_ to him all day every day, but she was right about this. This time, she was _right_. If he closed his eyes hard enough, and screwed his eyes as tight as he could, Jason could just about make out that tiny but discernible smile that Bruce had let out that day in the kitchen, at a joke Jason had half muffled out, face getting heated at Alfred's reprimand, and for the briefest of moments, that li-

little _catch_ in his chest, on seeing that smile, on what it used to mean, how he had once treasured it so, now two strangers in a strange kitchen with a strange distance between them and all manner of strange, strange, _strange_ -

"Sorry, C." Jason managed to say, forcibly putting all feelings of you know who aside, and stepped up to greet Clark warmly, one armed hug. In his effort to appear...unruffled, Jason had missed Clark's scrutinizing eye, the tight creases at the corners. "How's Lo? Baby alright?"

Clark's smile grew a little more. "Both are fine. Lois is a....ahem, a little _cranky_ as of late-" The man darted an eye to his Mother, who cast the same look back at him, and Jason held in a chuckle. "But all in all, we're okay. It's all good."

Jason stared at the man, and with unease, realised that there was a fixed _look_ on Clark's face directed at him, as if he were seeing _right_ through him _impostor, impostor, I told you so, I told you_ -

"Let's eat." Clark suddenly clapped an arm around Jason's shoulders, and what should have felt warm, welcoming, was _heavy_ , as if fucking _steel_ , and without meaning to, Jason found his heart rate quicken, mouth suddenly dry. What on _earth_ was wrong with him today-

"You alright, Jay?" Clark murmured low enough for the two of them to hear, and Jason didn't quite hide his startle well enough, for the older man's eyebrow rose in concern. "Is there something you want to-"

"No, I'm good." Jason shook his head quickly, then straightened, easing Clark's arm from around him. Maybe he was aware of it, perhaps not, but Jason took a seat at the far end of the table, coincidentally, the one nearest the door, and didn't make eye contact with anyone else.

"Alright." Pa spoke after a beat, and Jason winced inside. _Told you, didn't I? They know you're different, they were so happy when you left, they were finally free of you, and now you just had to come back here and disturb them again, put them in danger because you can't well function by your own damnself_ -

"You know what, how bout I just serve everyone hm? Oh, forget the serving stuff, sorry." Jason stood without warning and began head to the kitchen, acutely aware of the eyes on him, of Ma who reached out a hand, Pa who shook his head, but it was Clark who stopped him, voice rather gentle, as if he _understood_ -

and a spark of anger went off in Jason's chest, for Clark couldn't _possibly_ understand what it was to feel like an outcast, alone, to be tolerated at best, never accepted-

"Jay-" The man began, and Jason ignored him, rummaging through cupboards instead, blood loud in his ears. _Like any of them will ever be able to understand, you pretend to be fine and okay, but really, you're just a mess_ -

"Can't believe I forgot-shit, where do you guys normally keep the soup stuff and-" Jason gritted his teeth, focusing all his might on drowning out the Pit's poison.

" _Jason._ " Clark- nope, that was _Superman_ now, almost an order, and by instinct, Jason snapped at the sound, whirling round fiercely, ready for anything, when his anger died in his throat, at the sight of all three Kents staring at him, confusion, a mild horror of sorts, and a sadness that was too damn _sad_ for words.

Jason closed his eyes for what seemed like minutes, nerves on fire. "Sorry." He managed to croak out, and immediately, a flutter of voices, mostly Ma's reassurances, came tumbling out. He winced a little, palms on his eyes, and the noise stopped.

"Sorry." Jason stuttered out again. "I...I have these days. On and off. I-" He tried to work his jaw to explain, but his heart felt heavy at the distress he'd caused. "You feel good for one minute, and the next-"Jason shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair, looking away. "I'm sorry. Clark I-" Jason swallowed. "Sorry."

Ma tired to reach for him, but Jason took a step back, and then another, till he was outside, walking fast, ignoring the animals confusion at his leave, at three pairs of eyes boring sooty holes into his back, rows and rows of wheat beckoning him. _You ruin everything_ -

"No, I don't." Jason said aloud, and sat down on the grass, resting his chin on his knees.

Mercifully, the Pit hadn't more to add, and for a while, there was peace. It was nice, being outdoors, able to sit by himself like this, and think. Ever since he and Bruce had talked, things had been a little weird for him. Sure, they'd gotten off to a rocky start, with Jason having to bite his tongue lest he deck the man in the face for even _looking_ at him, but Alfred had sent him several warning looks to _behave_. Surprisingly, though, Bruce had stayed pretty calm throughout all of it. Jason had let slip a couple of jabs here and there, just because, but Bruce didn't take the bait, not even once, and Jason found himself actually....talking, to the man. Not as friends, God no, certainly not as family, but just...talking. An actual, civil conversation, and the fact that it concerned _Damian_ , and obviously their shared history with the League, the T-word, was by all means no easy feat, but they'd spoken nonetheless, devoid of fists flying and hurtful words thrown across the room. Of course, each had made sure to steer clear of personal topics. What the other was up to, Batman, all that stuff, and strangely enough, it had worked. Heck, Alfred had even left them alone for a minute, not up to two- "apparently" the old man had left something in the pantry, and though conversation stalled in the midst of the older man's absence, there certainly wasn't any cursing, no swearing, nothing about failures, disappointments, and Jason had left with a mirage of emotions, confusion mostly, at what to make of it all. The Bruce he knew two, three years ago, was Bruce that thought and operated in black or white. His way or the highway, right and wrong, yes, no,- but the Bruce in the kitchen, slowly drinking his coffee, was a Bruce that had simply _listened_ to him. Didn't interrupt, asked very few questions, took his time in responding, and for the first time, the first that Jason could remember, actually, he didn't have a misgiving to latch onto against the man. Jason had spoken very little of the League, Bruce didn't push on it. He mentioned Talia's name just once, Bruce only nodded, took a sip, and remained silent - _even_ when it was obvious Bruce didn't like hearing her name, evidenced by the way his knuckles had tightened against his mug, or how his lips had thinned, but still. _No comment_.

Deep down, though he loathed to admit it, Jason was impressed.

It was as if the old man had finally grown a fucking pair and was determined to actually _be a Father_ , which meant stepping up to the plate, and making sure his two youngest kids didn't end up a complete mess. Of course, all it took was his violent, murderous death, years of fighting and estrangement, Tim close to falling apart, the brat causing hell, but still, better late than never, right? 

"Can I sit?" Clark spoke somewhere to his left, and Jason cast him a lazy glance before looking away.

"Can't exactly say no, can I." His voice was flat, but Clark only chuckled, and shifted a basket of Ma's home baked cookies to him. 

"In case you get hungry. Ma would beat me if you returned so much as a pound lighter."

Jason scoffed quietly, then after a moment's hesitation, helped himself to a cookie. Clark was here to check up on him, that much was obvious, but Clark said nothing beside him, legs outstretched, himself also munching away on a cookie. They stayed like that for a long while before Jason knew it was time to speak.

"Being back there." They both knew what _there_ meant - _Gotham_. "Stirs up a lot of old shit, y'know. Can be hard to get out of my mind, even in a good place like this."

Clark made a nondescript sound but otherwise remained silent. 

"Like." Jason folded his legs now, voice pensive. "The good stuff, I know its there. I remember a lot of it. It's just... its either gets distorted or twisted into something that its _not_ , or overshadowed by the bad stuff. That's um....that's the real reason I don't like going back. Why even when I _did_ come back, the very first time I came back as the Hood, I stayed away for a long while."

The munching bedside him stopped.

"Yeah." Jason took another bite of his cookie before continuing. "The first time my presence was noticed by the Batclan _wasn't_ the first time I'd been in Gotham." He laughed quietly, but there was a bitterness that permeated the sound, and he stopped abruptly. "I'd been there for four, five months, I think? Could have been longer. Certainly felt like ages to me. I...I was angry. Very angry, and I wanted attention. I wanted vengeance, I wanted to know why no-one appeared to remember, to _care_. Everyday I thought about dragging that prick out of his house and beating him to death, but whenever I ventured too close to the Manor, there's was always this little thing, a tug, a voice maybe, kinda like when a little kid tugs on the bottom of your sweater to get your attention, or when they're really small, like toddlers, and they follow you around but behind your knee. That sorta feeling - I got that whenever I got too close to the Manor, 'cause deep down, in the midst of all that hurt, the anger, I knew there was good stuff. There had been good times, and when I'd think about them too much, or too long, the Pit, she'd get angry, she'd almost hiss and try and distort it all. And I-" Jason swallowed. "I couldn't have that. A part of me- I just knew I couldn't let her change or take away the good stuff, 'cause then it would be lost to me, and I wouldn't get it back. So, I shut the Manor down in my memories, in the hope that by doing so, I'd preserve the good stuff, keep the 'innocence'. None of the Bats understood, you guys never did." Jason stared up at the sky.

"Dick." He snorted unkindly, shaking his head. "That guy used to whine and wheedle me into coming to the Manor. If it wasn't to get patched up, it was to _hang_ or have _movie night_ with them. Alfred, bless his heart, kinda did the same thing, but I know his intentions have always been good. But none of them ever _got_ it, not even Tim. Yeah, I hated going back because it felt like a sham, pretending to be this big happy family when we fucking _weren't_ , when we all knew what I was, that I'd never be like them. _Fit_ in with them. The more they denied it, the angrier it made me." Jason paused, waiting to hear a weak-ass protest from Clark, some sort of denial _Don't say that, Jason. You know that's not true_ , but none came.

 _Good_.

"The pretending was one thing, I'll admit. But there was more to it than that. Deep down, I...I knew that if I went back, the more I went back, the longer I stayed over there, I was putting all those good memories at risk of getting manipulated by the Pit. Good times, like drinking cocoa with Bruce before bed, or preparing a new dish with Alf. The Pit, I knew, would take all that happy juice, and fucking _twist_ it, pull it apart bit by bit, and start meshing with with shit like _pity_ , like it was all done out of fucking pity, that they were merely tolerating me. And I didn't want that. I didn't want to lose that. I'd get pushed to my limit, they wouldn't understand so they'd react, then _I'd_ react, and it would end with me storming out, and them being confused, upset, and with each cycle, that upset would turn to tiredness, till they were worn out from 'trying' and didn't have the energy to fight anymore. Going back, that whole environment." Jason waved his hand aimlessly. "Unbalances things. Takes a while to settle again."

Clark said nothing for a long, long while, and when he eventually spoke, Jason actually flinched. In the silence, he had forgotten the man was still there.

"That's why you moved to Danver."

Jason was startled to see how intensely Clark stared at him, but he nodded nevertheless. "They say distance makes the heart grow fonder." He joked.

"Hm. Could do with some distance right about now. " Jason noted the change in subject, and was grateful. He raised his eyebrow questioningly, and Clark grinned at him before nudging the basket closer. "Home. Everything I do makes Lois mad at me."

Jason laughed loudly at that. It was a wonder how Lois managed _not_ to get irritated by the man in her non-pregnant state. "Hormones, man. It's the hormones."

"Yep." Clark took off his glasses, wiping them with his shirt. "That's what your da-Bruce said. Hopefully things will settle a bit, but right now? God, she's a nightmare."

Jason quietened at that. It wasn't the first time Clark had caught himself just in time, and it wasn't _just_ Clark either. Diana did it, heck, even Alfred too one occasion, though Jason was not about to argue with _Alfred_. Did they even realise they were doing it? And why wasn't he _as_ angry, like before on hearing it? "They'll settle, C. I remember my Ma-"Jason stopped, then started again. "When she was pregnant. Mood swings were all over the place- hell, step on the wrong floorboard and she'd complain."

Clark seemed to test the waters gingerly. "I didn't know that. About your Mother, I mean."

Jason nodded. "She was pregnant a few times. Four, maybe five, can't remember. Willis would pop up once in a while, promise her the fucking moon, then bam! Pregnant, and he'd be nowhere to be found." He swallowed now, staring down at his cookie. "I took care of her a lot."

"Ah." Clark's voice was quiet. "That explains it, then."

"Explains what?"

"Why you know a hell of a lot more about all this pregnancy and baby stuff more than Lois and I put together."

Jason smiled to himself, then looked away. "A lot of it was by trial and error. Couldn't afford to go to the library- heck, couldn't even read properly. Coupla ma neigbours were preggo before Ma, and I sometimes lent a hand with their other gremlins. Guess its all just watch and learn, y'know." Clark was looking at him know, a soft expression on his face, and Jason didn't know what to make of that, so he continued. "Catherine." He cleared his throat. "That was my Ma's name. Her um, her cravings, they were pretty unpredictable. One day it would be pickles, the next, cheeseburgers. She'd want eggs one morning, and the next, the smell of them would make her vomit." Jason's voice was faraway, remembering with a small smile how pregnancy brought out some of the best in Catherine. She'd do-away with the needles, the ciggies, and even in their squalour, Jason swore she'd never looked so beautiful, despite the nature of how these pregnancies usually came about. Not that they could afford to get rid of them, anyway. 

"What else?" The voice was gentle, inquisitive, and Jason felt compelled to speak a little more.

"She always looked her best, pregnant. Maybe it was the sweat from morning sickness, I dunno, or maybe it was having to carry around an extra person in ya, but Cat- _Ma_ , she always did have that _glow_ people talk about. Probably due to all those extra nutrients, maybe, never really studied it. Her hair wouldn't be so thin, so stringy. Her cheeks would fill, her nails grew and her skin looked proper healthy, despite eating very little most times. Ma sang a lot more too, out loud, to me. Caught her more than a few times cradling her tummy and singing to it. She'd be more active, you know? Just...on her feet a lot more, looking more alert, _alive_ , like she had a point to living and shit. Actually make an attempt to clean, to make things look like a 'home', or what she imagined 'home' looked like. She barely had any clothes, but Cat had this lil game where she'd hold up a ratty ass jumper or something against herself and ask me ' _Does this make me look fat?_ ' And we'd make a right game of it, parading round our place with all these clothes over us, pretending it was fur and rich and expensive and all these different colours, and Ma, she'd laugh and laugh.....And Willis-" Jason took a deep breath, forcing down the instinct to hurl bile at the very mention of the name. "He usually stayed away, thank God. Didn't want another kid to feed, obviously, so the barstard made himself scarce, and for however long it lasted, weeks, a few months, we'd actually be alright. Poor as shit, but we had each other, me, Ma, and the baby, and we'd be okay." Jason didn't trust himself to speak any more, and for a while, he gazed into the wheat fields.

"One by one, they went. The drug stuff, I guess that had an impact, 'cause she lost, like two I think, pretty early. Those ones she'd cry about, but only for a little while, 'cause they were so early, you know? It's like, there wasn't much to cry over in the first place, so she'd be over it quickly. The others....well, that would be Willis' doing. He'd come over randomly, drunken to the hills, Ma would get upset, the bastard wouldn't leave, they'd fight, and I'd be left looking at a bloody mess on the floor." Jason's voice was bitter. "Usually no point in calling for anyone, we all knew it was gone anyway. Beaten out of her, I s'ppose." Something angry and primal entered his tone, and then, a light hand on his knee, seemed to beat away the flames, just a bit.

"Jay, I'm so sor-"

"You know-" A thought struck Jason suddenly, and he turned to Clark now, whose eyes were big and too soft to miss. "I-B told me that someday-" Jason found himself rambling. "- he'd like to know a little more about Damian as a kid. Like, I wanted to laugh, but it never really occurred to me that all this time, while I was away, B had _no_ idea he had this lil kid out in the world just existing. Just, none. I mean, I've never really thought about it before. Guess I was too busy being mad at Bruce and wanting revenge, all that jazz. Heck, that means Talia would have been pregnant at one point, assuming she didn't stuff the lil embryo in a womb incubator or summin- isn't that weird, C? I honestly Can't imagine it. But all the things I got to experience...despite the bad endings, I at least had them. The good stuff. B never had a chance to experience that." Jason sat up, thoughtful. "Not even the holding back her hair whilst she vomits. Not rubbing her feet because they're swollen as fuck, they ache, not consoling her and telling her she's pretty- 'cause she's sobbing at how none of her clothes fit anymore, that her ankles look fat, and she's ruined her normal shoes. Even Ma went through crying fits, and she only had, like, three pairs of shoes. B...No guessing what kinda mood she's in today, what cravings she may or may not have. I mean, shit C-"

Jason stared at Clark. "There were one or two who made it. Cat gave birth to them, and they made it out into the world they did. I remember how surprised I was, constantly, that it was so small, wrinkly, and red, but it was here, real, and he or she had actually _made_ it. B never-he never _got_ that. Holding his own wrinkly lil kid. When they first open their eyes - apparently can't see shit but they can _hear_ you, mine did."

Clark's eyes seemed to widen. " _Yours_ -"

"Yeah." He nodded. "I- no, no more about that." His voice was ragged, breathless, as if he'd been out jogging. "But I at least got to hold- Ma had depressive phases, right after birth. Like, couldn't connect with the baby, I guess with all that drug use withdrawal stuff kinda came on her like a ton, but it was left to mainly me to look after it." Jason swallowed. "I-" He shook his head. "I dunno why its bugging me so much, as if I give a damn about what B thinks or feels, but there was something- something in his voice that day when we talked, that made me realise that he'd missed out on all that. I dunno." He shut down now, voice growing cold. 

Talia had done a lot for him, Jason could admit that, but there was no denying it- that woman had a _lot_ to answer for.

Clark took a while to digest the information."He...Bruce was very angry, when he found about you, and subsequently, Damian. I didn't want to pry, and Bruce didn't say much about it either, but its something I know...hurts him deeply. Very much so, for both of you." He spoke _very_ carefully.

Jason's stomach felt hollow.

"Jay." There it was, that hand on his shoulder. "You're here now, as is Damian. Whatever exists between you guys may not be in the way Bruce or even you yorself imagined it, but you're _here_ , and that's all that matters. I'll bet half an arm the man was just happy to be able to share a hot drink with you, let alone talk." Jason felt a little squeeze and he nodded, the action heavy.

"All that talk before, about not wanting anything to do with him, yada yada, and what do you know it? We're having fucking coffee, discussing his lil brat like we're co-parenting or something." Jason huffed aloud, earning himself a small chuckle from Clark.

"If you don't mind me asking, what did you guys come to, in the end? I mean, did you come up with an arrangement of sorts?"

"Kind of. I mean, first things first - the kid's gotta stop sneaking out, there'll be no more of that. By the way-" Jason eyed the man curiously. "That day, when you and Lo first came over to say hi, and midway through dinner, you took off. What was that?"

Clark looked at him before speaking, his words deliberate. "An emergency."

"Huh. Well, must have been one hell of an emergency." Jason paused. "Thank you. The brat may not ever admit how much Lower Gotham is out of his depth, but I will. Thanks for looking out of him."

Clark smiled and said nothing.

"I'm not sure I'm ready to hang out full on- I mean, going back to Gotham is one thing, but the Manor, and on a regular basis? Its a lot to ask for. Basically, we agreed that I could stay in touch with the kid, and if I just so happened to be up there, so long as he didn't have school or other engagements and Alfred was happy, I could take him out. Not too far, and back before dinner, but still. I mean, it won't be often at all, but if I'm around, might as well."

"That's great, Jay! At least you two have an idea of where things stand, it helps." The older man clapped him on the shoulder. "Damian must be thrilled."

Jason gave him a look. "Really? The boy barely manages a look other than irritated constipation half the time, just like his dad."

Clark muffled down a laugh. "Alright." He raised his palms in surrender. "Can't deny that, unfortunately."

"If-"Jason hesitated. "I like it down here. And I guess, with some of the stuff I wanted to do round here- you know, paint the barn, renovate the kitchen- most of my time will be at the Farm, looks like. Just thought Damian might like a change of scene now and again, if he were to visit. I told Bruce I'd ask you- I said no to Damian visiting before, I remember, but-"

"Jay." Clark grinned. "Damian is more than welcome here. Ma will be beside herself, you know that."

"Cool." Jason was relieved, he could at least admit that. "Feels like this is the right thing to do, you know? I mean, I'm not really his big brother, that's Dick-"

Clark shot him an unpleasant look, as if to disagree, but Jason ignored it. "I'm not, but our memories are linked, and I think this is something that will help him particularly. God knows I've got my penance to pay for what I did to him. That, I can't take back."

"Hm."

"Hm? That's all your gonna say abut it?" Jason's voice rose a little, but Clark would not rise to the bait.

"Yep. Hm. The past is just that, Jay, _past_. As you've said, you can't take it back, but you _can_ make amends, and move forward, as much as you can. You keep thinking of it as 'penance' however, it'll become a guilt festering burden that'll weigh on your mind, day in, day out. I should know."

Jay raised an eyebrow at the manner, then crossed his arms, a smug look on his face. "Story time I gather. C'mon, out with it. You and Pa always make a habit of these stories."

Clark held back a laugh and shook his head. "Alright." He looked at Jay carefully, then turned to the ground, fingers playing with the grass. "This was almost twenty years ago. You probably weren't even born then, or maybe just a toddler of sorts. Back then, I was new to all the hero stuff. It was just me, with all these powers that I was still learning to master, and my only desire was to do good. That was it. Nothing about working with governments, or international peace agencies, or about being an inspiration of sorts - I just wanted to help people whenever I could, wherever I found myself, and when I wasn't helping, trying my best to land an internship. I'd left Smallville for the city only a few weeks prior, Pa and I-" Clark had a strange look on his face, which made things even more interesting for Jason. Didn't Pa make a joke a while back about overgrown rebellious teenagers stomping around all day? It was hard to imagine Clark as anything but docile, obedient, and _good_ , but apparently, the man as a teen had raised utter _hell_ \- that's what Martha had told Alfred, and what Alfred had told _him_.

Interesting.

"I'd left with things pretty strained between us, but that's a story for another day." Clark's voice quietened for a moment before he perked up, continuing. "Anyway. New city, developing powers, trying to make a living but barely managing, it was all very new, typical young twenty something year old's first time experience in a large, bustling city. Then, out of absolute _nowhere_ , these people from out of space people land and start, as the movies do tend to go, imposing their will, which means generally wreaking havoc, chaos, all of that- you name it, they did it. And, I thought- _yes! This is my time to shine, to step up to the plate, put these powers to the test_ , so off I went, happy go larry, to confront these "bad guys"-" Clark broke off here, casting an eye at him.

Jason sat forwards, fully immersed in the story telling.

"They weren't at all what I expected. Weren't green, as in the comics. Worse than that, was that they seemed to _know_ me."

A lightbulb went off in Jason's head. He'd read about this a few years back, as Red Hood. Zod, was it? General Zod, who'd come to Earth with a band of his merry merry men to set up camp and take over, essentially, and he and Superman had had a real go at it. It was the first real public knowledge of this "Super-man", and if Jason was honest, the man, or at least "hero" had _not_ left a good impression, not with all the damages he'd caused in the wake of their fights, costing millions, and lives lost as a result. Millions, heck, _billions_ of lives _saved_ , of course, but still - lives were lost, people were angry, and Superman, all red and blue and ever so visible, was to blame.

He had single-handedly saved their entire existence-

and _yet_

it was all Superman's fault. 

If only he had never been on earth, if only this, that - as if Clark had had any choice being sent here, but of course, the public didn't know that. All they knew was one day, out of the blue, a guy shows up in a silly costume, battling another guy, also in a silly costume, with some sort of personal vendetta between the two, and that was that.

Clark saw that he _understood_ , and the man, after a moment, continued. "The Leader, Zod, General Zod rather- he was... _extraordinary_ , Absolutely... like nothing and like no-one I'd even met, back then. Highly trained, that was clear. Military, that was obvious, a true _leader_ , something I felt wholly inadequate in comparison. Passionate about what he was doing, even at the cost of so many, that this was _life_ , truly survival of the fittest- but more stunning that that, was that were like _me_."

Jason grew still.

"They were like _me_ , Jay. What I called 'powers' - they had it too. Strength, flight, and Zod was even more gifted than I could possible imagine, not to mention the ability to adapt to his environment like it was _nothing_. What I had been apparently developing my whole life, unknown to me, Zod mastered within _hours_ of his being on Earth. Truly phenomenal. At first, he recognised me as one of them, and Zod was overjoyed. He thought we could take over together- the plan to establish a new Krypton here, Earth being suitably habitable for this purpose. And he was so _passionate_ Jay, about what he and the others believed was right, was true, a new day, a new beginning, _my_ people. People of my own flesh, my blood, my cultural heritage, and there it was - finding a place that I could potentially feel right at _home_. Do...Do you, have _any_ idea what that's like, Jay? To spend your life feeling different, an outsider - heck, a _pretender_ at times, knowing that you're _not_ , you don't _fit_....to, for the first time, find yourself surrounded by people who look and sound and share what _you_ have, and vice versa? I went from being so... _alone_ in the world, with a Dad who wanted me to hide and to restrict the use of my 'abilities', to having the choice of being _free_ , free to exercise such things in the midst of people, at my side, who were _just like me_?"

Jason didn't know what to say. He _had_ of course, known what it was to be different, growing up in the Wayne household, then as the Hood, the nightmare of being referred to as the black sheep of the 'family-

but this, what Clark was describing-

this was something _entirely_ different. No matter how bad Jason had felt at the time, isolated and all, there were and had been kids like him - street kids, abandoned by their mothers, drug abusing fathers, and they'd usually stayed together, looked out for one another when they could. Understood and recognised each other, because that's what hardship does - it makes pain familiar to you.

"Not quite." Jason managed to say. Clark gave him a small smile, but it was lined with sadness.

"Logically speaking, they were right, these people. Deep down, a part of me truly believed them, and wanted to be part of this new Krypton....but then I thought about my parents, back in Smallville. My father, who'd tried his very best, despite our differences, to raise me to do the _right_ thing. All my friends back home, their families, all the innocent people who'd have no say in this proposed undertaking, all the children and mothers and fathers, kids who were in school, young people looking forward to work, college, and if I were to stand back, they'd have _everything_ taken away from them. Everything." Clark swallowed, and for a long moment, said nothing.

"And so, I knew really, that there wasn't a choice. It was between Earth who was birth home and yet, _not_ my home, and my people, who were indeed my people, but I didn't know them, neither they me. I...I killed them, one by one." Clark's voice was very quiet now, and Jason stared at him. "What, you think I'm a stranger to killing, Jay?" The man held his eye. "Or Diana, for that matter? When she and her people have had to defend themselves against far greater foes than your mind could possibly comprehend - Hades, ruler of the Underworld, for instance? Shayera, choosing Earth over her own people, her own race, and killing them in order to help us, help Earth, even when we were aghast at how she had betrayed us all? Even Barry - if you knew of his history, Jay? Heck, ask anyone in the League - you don't think they, any of them haven't 'come close' before- or outright done it, _killed_ before?"

Jason opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Diana was an Amazonian warrior, of course she'd killed before, Shayera was a high ranking General amongst her people, the woman was a bloodthirsty as they come. But _Barry_? Kind, friendly Barry whose nephew Wally both radiated sunshine and sugary glee, worse than the Boy Scout? 

It was a sobering thought.

"I made a choice. I...I didn't want to, in the end, when it was me and him, Zod. When I begged him, Jay - I _begged_ him to stop, that we could find another way, bu he only laughed at me. Told me there was no other way, but deep down, I knew that already, and he knew I did. That he wouldn't be stopped - he said so, that he wouldn't, that he'd continue killing until all that I held and treasured was destroyed, and then I knew then, that the time had come to make a choice." Clark spoke into his palms, eyes large and distant. 

"So I snapped his neck."

It felt as if the air, heck, time itself had stopped at that statement. 

"I still remember they way all the little pieces of of bone felt against my fingers as I did it. The main blood vessels that burst at the pressure, how his head lagged forwards, suddenly so heavy in my hands. His eyes, they popped forwards, as if shocked, then sunk back into their little holes, and the light, in his eyes - one moment it was there, the next, _gone_." His voice was hollow.

Jason didn't move.

"I-the moment I did it, I screamed. I kept screaming, even as his body slumped in my arms, even as the people he'd tried to take hostage scattered without so much as a thank you- and then I cried, Jay. I flew as far away as I could, where no-one could reach me, and I screamed, and cried, and cried some more. For the people that I could have called my own, never to have again, for children, possibly, that might have been full Kryptonian. A dead language that could have been alive once more, with so many wonderful gifts that could have been a real credit- and I'd crushed and stomped out any hope of that happening. Just like that, it was all over, and once again, I was alone. The weight....of what I had done, the magnitude of such consequences- it weighed on me heavily." Clark shook his head, shoulders tight. "I couldn't sleep for weeks. I kept hearing those little bones snap. The confusion, on my people's faces, as I killed them, one by one, the _why_ they would wail out, even as each died." Clark chose to stop here, and for a long moment, the air was thick between them.

"Clark." Jason didn't know where to start. "I had no idea." 

"That's alright." The man attempted to smile at him, and Jason felt the urge to move closer, enough that their knees touched.

"Hey man, look, I-"

"Jay. It's okay." The voice was warmer. "I've had years to think about the decisions I made back then. Every little decision, thought, all of it. I can't say _completely_ that it was all the right thing to do - I look at what's going on in the world today, and I can't lie, sometimes I do _wonder_ whether I should have let Zod and his people go ahead. The things people can do to one another, their children, the cruelty - I wonder how things would have looked had Zod's endeavor been successful. It's a horrible thing to say, out loud, and yet I think about it- I have to. It weighs on me, just as other incidents do, like the Justice Lords, and how close I can be sometimes to turning into _him_ , _them_."

Jason whipped his head up to stare at the man - fuck, how much was the guy hiding?! But Clark only shook his head, smile rueful. _Another day_ , then.

"It's the past, Jay. It can be hurtful, painful, downright ugly, and not easily forgotten. It's what has led us to the present. Your job, as is mine, is not to get so caught up in the before, or what ought or should have been done, bur rather, what we have _now_. That's what you're doing with Damian, and I'm proud of you for that. I can't imagine it's at all easy, or straightforward, but I'm glad you and Bruce have worked something out, at least come to an understanding of sorts, and I hope it continues. You've gotta push forwards, all of us must. Diana had to, when her Mother expelled her from the Amazons. Shayera too, when she was left as a traitor to her people, and a traitor to Earth. Bruce, too, whether you wanna hear it or not - he too has to come to terms with the decisions he's made over the years, and that concerns all of you. That's life, kid. Not gonna be easy, but you said it before, didn't you? Some days will be better than others, and there's not much you can do about that except to keep learning from your mistakes, and _moving on_."

Jason took a moment to himself, and then nodded. "Thanks, C. For....just, thanks."

"Mind blown, huh?" The man cocked his head at him, smirking.

"Pretty much, yeah." Jason huffed out, amused.

Clark smiled properly now, and in one fluid motion, had the two of them standing up before Jason could even blink.

"Can't you at least warn a guy before you pull that goddamn stunt?" Jason muttered, as Clark steered him back to the house, one arm light across his shoulders. 

"Now why would I do a thing like that?"

 

 

_Central city._

Wally stuffed another fistful of crisps into his mouth. "Be there or be square!" Linda had given him that warning just this morning, well ahead of tonight's dinner, and boy oh boy, she hadn't been joking either.

He looked at the time, before hurrying. One of the fastest men in the _world_ , and here he was, running ten minutes late for date night. _Great_. Last time, he'd shown up with a full foot devoid of any footwear whatsoever, his T-shirt the wrong way round, and a beautiful but clearly cross _Linda_ , who looked mightily unimpressed with his rather scruffy attire. 

"Shit shit shit shit, Linds is gonna kill me." Wally half muttered to himself. Finally, after giving himself the once over- suit not too crumpled, hair just the way his girl liked it - or at least, _would_ like it if she wasn't too pissed to come back to his tonight- watch- fuck, the watch- now on his wrist, check, wallet -yep, _both_ shoes on this time, Wally made his way to the door, phone in hand to sweet talk Linda into forgiving him for being late, _again_ -

 _when_ , upon opening the door, Wally came face to face with the one and only _Dick Grayson_.

"Jesus." Wally stared at his best friend, who by all standards- worldly standards, mind you- looked goddamn _terrible_. Seriously, just _awful_ \- the guy had bags under his eye bags, hair long and unkempt, his chin was all grisly with stubble and Dick, he just looked, well-

 _worn_.

Just... flat out _exhausted_.

"Can I-" The voice was hoarse, and Wally noticed it then, the red eyes, the way the man's frame trembled, holding himself as if he was about to break into little pieces.

Dick had been _crying_? Wally was woken from his shock by Dick trying to talk once again.

"Can I crash here for a couple of days?" The voice sounded so broken, so dejected, and once again, Wally stared, before remembering that Dick wanted an answer. "Shit, I mean yes! Course you can, you know that! Dick - what is- what the hell is going on?"

Dick, on his part, said nothing, only bending to pick up what Wally now noticed was a large duffel bag. Hastily, Wally had the bag set in the guest room before Dick could even blink.

"Thanks." The man's smile didn't reach his sad, red-rimmed eyes, and Wally swallowed, concerned for his friend. Hardly anyone knew that Dick, bright-eyed, fun-loving, life of the part Dick Grayson had suffered with depression in the past, and more than once too. Dick had begged him to secrecy the first time he'd found out - apparently his mom had had the same thing too, episodes that could last days to weeks, and Wally had obliged his friend, telling no-one. He wasn't even sure if the great _B-man_ himself knew - Dick knew how to pretend all was well when he truly wanted. Dick had had a few episodes over the years, general melancholy and lack of interest in things that usually got him going, not sleeping much at times- but _nothing_ like this. Fuck, the guy was the very definition of _haggard_.

"Dick, talk to me buddy. Seriously, what is all-" Wally began, arms hovering over his friend, but he was cut off by Dick barreling into him, holding his chest tightly, and then he heard it-

a small, but nonetheless discernible _sob_. Such a tiny little thing, but to Wally's ears, it might as well been a foghorn blaring away. And everything, all the questions and concerns and theories and what-ifs and alarms that _raced_ through Wally's mind seemed to die out at that very sound, as Dick held on to him like a lifeline.

"I've got you, bud." Wally murmured into the man's hair, as his shirt began to get wet. "I've got you."

 

 

 _Gotham_.

Barbara opened up her email, glasses perched on her email. "Nope, no, got that already, seen- _Oh for God's sake!_ " She swore loudly, enough that her father peeked his head from the kitchen, concern evident.

"Everything alright, honey?"

"Yeah." Barbara muttered unpleasantly, as she deleted the email from her Inbox without opening it. Once in a while, she received mail like this - research on the latest advances in stem cell research, spinal therapies, the newest invention from whatever tech company decided to keep people like her hopes up in growing a limb again, bullshit like that. After waking up in the hospital from Joker's attack, all those years ago, Barbara had shut herself away completely, burying herself in mounds and mounds of research, signing up to all sorts of trials, desperate from any sort of technology to 'fix' her-

but all endeavors had proved fruitless, and deep down, if she could dare bear the truth, _disappointing._ Bruce had been sombre, apologising that he had tried, and Barbara had only nodded, unable to say a word lest she burst into tears. Dick had insisted that _nothing had changed, Babs_ , but Dick was an idiot like that. A silly, harebrained fool with good intentions, but unable to see the harsh truth for what it really was, unlike her, for she, Barbara Gordon, no longer had that option, to live as Dick Grayson did, head in the clouds. So, Barbara had unsubscribed from all the latest science news, tech advances, thrown away letters, binned journals, ignoring her Father's quiet but hurt look all the way. Every so often, a few would slip through the net, the headers screaming something about 'spinal alignment' or 'replacement', but they'd go straight to the bin without a second's hesitation.

This was her life now, and for all intents and purposes, she'd actually adapted quite well. And now she had to deal with another one of these stupid bloody emails, some shit about a spare place in a research trial, something something privately sponsored, Barbara never usually read the whole thing before clicking delete. To be far, this was the first one in a couple of months, but still - it was annoying, and Barbara would never hide her displeasure at the sight of them.

"It's nothing, Dad." Muttering out another curse, she put her laptop to one side. "Dinner almost ready?" She yelled.

"Almost, pug. Help an old man out, would ya?" The voice was fond, teasing, and Barbara smiled to herself.

_Old man, my ass._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clark hasn't forgotten about Jason's brown envelope, by the way. That will come up soon, and not in a good way!


End file.
